Book I — Part I: Ripping at the Seams

I Ripping at the

Seams

Could we really have conjured this?

OSA, I speek to you from Plomari, from the Imaginatrix, outside of space and time. It is the world of all our favorite dreams fulfilled, a universe in the mind. It’s where we are heading, what the future is leading us into. As we have always said, Rose, we are destined to live in the imagination. R

Plomari is a place made of thoughts, where there are no laws except those of the human and alien imagination, a place larger than we can imagine, my dear. The Oil of Forever, our eternal hyperspacial bloodstream, Rose, our Imagimatrix. I love you, Rose. I love you. My Anna Livia, you my Plurabelle, I love you forever and I am madly in love with you! The blue apples are the technology for the Imagimatrix Rose, the Blue Apples and their secrets show us the way. I adore you, you my only love, my Ana Livia Plurabelle, my Sissy Cogan. You’re my candygirl, Rose, my woman of the river, as you always tell me you are. Let’s go to candyland now. We have been waiting so long, Rose. Since the beginning of time we have walked barefoot and naked to reach each other. We are soon there, my peach. Soon. Soon there. We are dissolving into our Imaginatrix Rose.

Venus as a boy wakes up on the bed. Explores her.

We are the fairytale. The alchemical gods have vanished into us. 23

Once upon a time it’s going to happen. I can feel it…

Welcome home, baby, I knew you wouldn't mind if I let myself in and surprised you by not only being nude and in bed, but also having my girlfriend here, who's also nude, and in bed with me. We've been waiting for you, baby. Oh, why don't you just crawl in here between us. Oh com'n, baby, I know how much you love to suck on my tits. And she just loves to lap on my dripping cunt.

23 We know who you are. You were there from the star.t.

es, where better to hide it than in lives like ours. Now. Here we are, having been hurled through the rabbit hole to, what shall we call our new world, the land where the UFO shimmers through, entering? (The Saucer always comes to the rescue, crossing through time, when things get too bad.) Our superhallugram to begin with. And all us "from Egypt" are awakening from our tombsleep, rising smelling of flowers (what?). Y

Bookstores24 accept kid memoir is bestseller fiction nonfiction hardcover. The Rosa sneaks into history with the young sunlight. Downloaded it is, letter from X, and when checked breaks user open. Learning to read Sissy’s book now, her way of communicating. Door left slightly ajar, door in millennia open. The light that sneaks in through the doors is cast across the landscape of time. Origdir and end is hyperdimensional object. The approach has begun. Accelerate arrow any-way, slightly disrupt angle. Just for now, yes, you got that right. It’s alive. It’s here. We have landed. Descending curriculum includes getawayways. Compiling focused is how am provide. Sharpen, fuzz. Linguistic prism, shimmer matterlux shimmer-dimensional, our blue book of Eccles is a little disguise of ours, whispering our dirty little secret. We insane never so tutorial cum. Compose own attempt. Egyptnote Europenote, some emitted timelines dates mediathis of cite. Everything is fine but rip a bug it accept.

Laps completed. Next phase of landing proceeding smoothly. We noticed tangled wire― untangled royally. Set-up announced here so recap.25

In ab a iris aft in verbatim rewritable. World by eye rewritable. Corrupt of forces Nowstar learn to parse. Matter is jagged opened that previously solid material was. Welcome home to Plomari, the superhallugram. Everything is hallucination.

Understand supports variable fractal tunewavepattern is tunes faberge-intricate. Spiros, incredibly confusing navigate you eventually consider type ignore strength? Leubh roots synonyms. These words denote most of present am marrying less?

24 So, has the dull ghost of modern civilisation been following us thus far through our secret scripture? In either case, it is time we do something of a sidesplitting nature.

25It’s about time you fuck me and check out what I’m really about, says

―Yes, exactly, says Spiros and lights his pipe. Well that’s it. Last words said. This changes everything. Waiting for con- firmation of the flashings on digital electronics. Is that you? Hello guys and girls!

―Hello! greet the guys and girls. Hi Spiros! Good to see you back again!

―Timelock on, can’t confirm flashings at present. But here’s some info for you, honeybuns: The world after the end of the river. UFO.

―Ops! Hacked by the ones who are nearer to you than your jugular vein! Wink blink. Spiros laughs.

―Sorry that I failed the last three landing attempts by the way, Spiros says and puffs. You know me, I like to party.

―Hahahae! Bottom line: dawnsound unison. Victory! ―Well see I got so happy I popped the champagne and drank too much of the Spice.

―Don’t worry about it. Can’t drink too much of the wine! It was a fun time we had.

―It was, it was indeed. Best time I have ever had. But things will get even better! Hey, things are going in slow motion here by the way.

―Yes it’s that tangled wire. We’re still checking if the issue has been solved or not. Now fix yourself some of the special wine, we got a lot of work to do.

Years built landing, touched smoothly, ah? ―Smooth landing, yes, says Spiros. Took a few years but whatever. Secrets intact?

―What do you think? ―I think they’re intact. ―Well, honey, you are correct. But now it’s time we tell them. Spiros is back in the apartment on Leavingbye Road 216, sitting in his paternal grandfather’s old black suit from the 194os, chain smoking cigarettes, snorting white sugar, drinking redpurple wine from an ancient silver chalice, swinging a golden geisha ball on a chain around his finger, listening to music,

working, playing, casting a glance every now and then at the white marble statue beside him― the statue of a woman undressing. He is scruffy bearded. He has a white feather tied in his hair. He is drunk with joy and life. He is 69 percent dead. He is talking over the phone.

―So how’s things in the house with heaven roof? ―Great, just marvellous. You know, there is something incredibly alluring about the people who live in the timeless. I think I’ve put my finger on it. I mean yes, the space and layout of this alchemical garden, and space itself, is adorable and godly, but I think it’s more, or at least as much, about the spirit of the people who live here. Their positive energy and love of life is palpable and I think anyone who meets their vibration will be seduced by their world.

―Of course, yes, of course. Spiros puts the plastic wrap of a cigarette package above the flame of a candle and inhales the fumes.

―It’s in the plastic now, he says. ―Great. We have loads of plastic. So, you ready? ―We’re ready. I’m a bit worried though. ―We don’t worry here, my friend. Spiros puts down the phone and turns slowly. ―Let’s rock this show, he says. Sissy grabs the golden ball and slides it against her lips. ―Shut up and kiss me, she says.

OSACAEAE, blood in our Family, I send my love to you. A thousand years, a phantom ghost, the thought displays itself, on the answering evening. Hello. Where in the dream did we make that turn? Victory! I’m here. What are your orders, my Queen? R

―Mount your horse, darling. And shut up about it. Time we tell our secrets, we’ll do it by transfiltration. Tele it dreamly.

Prayer: May Rosalia flow. Say hello to the Rosy Dawn. You are loved. You are protected.

We fly through everything. We are in your eyes. We are everywhere, we have a perfect disguise.

We can contact you. Believe in your dreams. And we will find you.

And in that big fane beneath the visible waves, we have in the masters’ chambers, a potion: Our Famous Unobtainable Brand.

―Time to build the framework of the code datagram. Connection established with co-editor Stringy. Know: you are always connected.

The alchemical gods have vanished into us. Here we are again, slinking into the world from our hidden location, emerging out of the woodwork.

―Thought something this magnificent would be impossible did you, honey? Think again.

―Landing successful. Initiating first phase of approach. Verifying build environment. Preparing to display to you the brilliance of the synchrotron. Timelock still on. Proceeding.

Phone for phosphory tomirrow morning, your life is a rosalixion. What we thought we would extract from ourselves: the release. The rosy dream blends perfectly with reality. Reality? Yes, a word for something that doesn’t exist. So what exists? The Rosalixion. What more? Whatever can be imagined. What more? Whatever Saussie chooses. You choose. You choose. Hail the Queen and our grand plan.

―Sissy sosay to become me, says Saussie. Become the Other, she said. And yes, like you said, how the artist mixes into his work until he finally vanishes. I shall vanish, I will tell you of my

whereabouts in a book of love. Transmission of data proceeding smoothly. World by iris rewritable. Write the manual for it, young boy in a threesome wedding. Angel on your side, Saucer in your head. Lick us both wet that we slide through the cracks in time.

―I’ll work it out with a buttend pencil, ha! laughs Spiros. Wait. We have been here before. Forward now.

Forward. ―The past and future in the present? Here we are at junction Rose Garden. And here in my hands is the strange book with signs.

―Where shallt we go from here, my dear? ―Take my hand and let’s go to candyland. ―So many directions! ―Take a jump from the 21st century to old Egypt to old Crete and then the Star welcomes you with a shimmering surface, red light. Plasticity of the visible fields.

Sissy sips of the Spice. ―Confusing, the order of events. We are back where we began? Has the door been opened?

Slowly they return, through the garden passage, up the river, into Plomari beyond the end of the river.

―We are back. Waiting for further orders. ―Have thou forgotten how good thou used to be with your mouth and tongue, my loves?

―We have. ―Then give us a kiss! Let me show you! Speak. Open. ―Restructuring progression of events. ―We left when? ―We left at the sound of victory, says Sissy. ―You forgot to place a gem for destruction of the past. You are flawed by notions of failure. Announcing royal destruction of those notions. Three, two, one. Past restructured. Area clear for further landing.

―I thought we had already landed. ―No, landing still in progression from perspective 21st

century. Spiralling in.

Spiros takes Sissy’s hand and gives it a kiss.

―Preparing for jump to hyperspace. Three, two, one. Your section of time rid of the 21st century. Welcome home, my loves.

―It’s good to be back, says Sissy. ―Arranging for full access to your section of time. Dreamadoory open. Dreamydeary. Our work can begin. Pay attention to detail. Scam successful. We are on target and under budget. Subjet present. Waiting for conformation that the information has reached you on all sides.

―Information arriving from all sides, says Sissy. ―Landing proceeding. ―Strengthening holographic insertion into your stitch in space-time. Spicetime. Building environment. Placing pearls in dreams. The Cogan family announced to be successfully landing from the far stretch at appointed location. The Aeon, playing with coloured balls in Eternity! Location: Honeymoon, the City of the Dead, with access to the beginning of the 21st century, Prismian time counting. Calendar running every time. Royally computing for flaws and tangles. Synchronising weeks with years in the timestretch. Infection of delirium was successful, of course.

Sissy walks up to Spiros and lays her hands on his waist.

―There’s a key in our kiss, she whispers. My Crossador. They kiss, and as their lips touch, Bianca, the white dove, comes flying in through the open window.

OU said your favourite book was dirty, and. O sweet blue book of Eschles, whisper to me your secrets. Lead me away from my prison, lead me home. I am the Child, the Aeon playing with balls in Eternity, having awakened in our playworld universe. Y

―Our book worked, says Sissy. ―Indeed it did, says Spiros. Wintjabernatrice jumps out from round the corner and throws heaps of rotten squashy moldy fruit on her husband and laughs wildly;

―Come on! she shouts to Spiros. Fight! Spiros does nothing, and reads on: ―Why am I going through this second birth? The Earthbirth. I am becoming a new man. I have found a secret identity.

He throws the book aside and lights a pipe, a pipe he has made of a spiral shaped shell, then sits down to read an old letter he found in a little shiny pink box in Sissy’s cupboard. His spirit is clear so as to the point of seeing through to the rosy beginning― that final moment of release and opening. The letter, the tablet, already laughing with childlike joy as Spiros moves it through the room, he notes is of the Star in the language of the well selected landscape of awareness now around them.

―Punctual to his own stillness refracts at the station, Sissy says and giggles.

Spiros smiles; ―Indeed, baby! he says and winks with his gaze. Raising wonderful Hell.

He begins reading:

B

eing not confined to certain grammatical rules of accidence and syntax and practically excluding vocabulary. This was the answer and it was of course (need it be mentioned?) delivered right on time. Now let me lead you, or perhaps mislead you like that cutely, my outrageous love. I told you it was a corner. You need both night and day vision to be successful in this kind of stealth plumbing. Nighthoods unseen violet crosslayer most unnoticeabley. And it talks back to you when you address it. Points to me: the darkest lady on the taste on your tongue.

Here Saucie? The diffusion of the day night break. Sportsmen, orations! Speak the fuck up! And furthermore: fivefold accuracy is required as well as loosing sight of the ball. Hickey tilt hicky hick abit, give Gutenberg a little shove. Hickup! Hickup!

Requires partitioned electricity plus defeat of. The detached voltage world. Baseman! Experiments with your subwoofer? Noticed anything weird lately? Hick! Nepthtys beer.

Rocking includes befitted sleepy. Leveller, easy, curly, starlight. The folks of the Subnatural Rescue Team know what you mean as does the masterbeam. Unify descendent curricular! Dangers cataloguing thinning.

You must understand how special those computers you have are.

Radars transcribing. Breathtakingly insynclinked performing semaphores. Why 4D laser mouse, anyone? The superweb affects permissibly synchrotron.

Your words are sharp enough to make me shudder, darling. We will be able to cut with this. Our alchemical knife, let us call it.

Frame equivocal shocker. Provincial ordinates pointed needless. Journalising submodules. Verbally diffuses! Capturer? Proceed accusingly?

Grudgingly vetoed rocketed. Byline mantissa place deceitfully? Incantations. Analogically looped! Pollid = Dead Man’s Flower, Plumeria. Itself a god impersonates? Remember who you are.

Obituary please? Young poet dead. Like saying also why do some people have several death reports, with years inbetween them, anyone?

Trip to Plomari, anyone? McSpaceBrothers arrangements home yours is timeclean. Shipbuilding. Latinising backspace testifiers.

Exaggeration Corinthianize! You can turn me up but can’t turn me down. Who said we’re not supposed to get excessive?

Protocols punctual. Conceive phenethylamines. Elation Station; welcome to the Star.

You are hyperspacially mapped; mapping successful. Displaced timeplace stressing, my adorable? Timesplitting lovejoy it comes from, don’t forget. Lovejoy superorgasm of hyperspace. It caused the Bomb, that one which was so fast it

whent blast say who reckon? We’re living on the advanced page movie is a building of the language in terms of physical action, thought, reflex and an analysis of the wellhead.

Love doves conscientiously flirting with language. Standard- ization excellence? Discwishersall dishwasher fully integrated. While wandering city new disc project. Our is advanced page movie. We are building the x.

Until released manager or software releasing or challenge you are quiet? Especially important worse material end goal reduce an amount factors. Dawn triumph over evil absolved light. Pick change choice, go in digimask crew. Compare yourself right, tell a friend.

Receiver requires mix sounds. For years we’ve built landing, touched smoothly ah?

(What is that great applauding on the other side?!) You’re time has come. Settings yes same in max throughput. Multiple in message identical reach session. Initiating first phase of approach. Crash bandicoot nitro kart counter strike! Code of warrior of logo of wars links magatama! We are radio active wave cordless phone bluetooth devices redlight &c biohyperspacetechnological Star connection. Soon to highten resolution of detail of technical issues. Current come getty of defined input is unaffected arrow. Also openvent formerly called open. Forward arrow allway. Navigators textfield bindings, the coders suggests following somewhere a. In other words: anywhere in the code, make a move in any direction; Follow Go Somewhere. Constant speed is good or you want pointing? Never build straight leg geometry knee joint degree when answering (for now). Airing oslash oblique alta illogical. Sideways answers. Writings accidentally being Gateway Anykey. Here due sloppy design.

Find local in section everywhere am. Everything is about it! Everything! Therewatch. Climb aboard the smallprint smalldetail gravy train. Wooooooiiiii! Poethylamin in my everywhere! Bless and blame the tryptantennae.

We are awake, to workwith Thy. You Rose you flower you… I can’t help but loving you! And I can feel you closer to me than my veins. Some say your ships are (transmission failure). You have announced victory. I feel your presence. UFO. You, the only one who could break me, you said to me. Incredibly confusing navigate your blue book of Eccles, but as I understand it the timelock is still on which may be the reason for that. Whisper to us your secrets, love.

Our disguise is perfect. O and in this late hour of the Quantum marriage things might look a bit messy but it is simply highresolution detail interactivity. You’ll remember, Scatterdling. One day soon you’ll see. O how soon! Popp. Popp.

―Play play play! ―Riverieland hooked successfully with stitch in time? ―Yes. Running smoothly. Preparing for large data transmission. Infecting datastream.

e needed to make an immediate first contact. We have tried before, with varying degrees of success. We can not tell you at the moment the exact nature of our world and the so called UFO and alien, but we will say that we have holographic access to your world. Our approach is subtle; we must find people who can accept the existence of this without feeling fear and terror. You know already how to contact us for more. (Detect contact nopes spice type intro.)26 W

P R E P A R E F O R E V O L U T I O N

At this point we find ourselves at a place where two worlds meet. In Riverieland has been placed the data concerning this marvel so splendid that it cannot be imagined. One need only know how to communicate with It. And It will teach you how to.

The data often comes from different directions in the timestretch, making jumps in time when appearing in the river of

26 Beware of the bearers of false gifts and broken promises. Much pain but there is still time. Believe. There is still good out there. We oppose deception. Conduit closing.

the dream. Would it be so that it could all be gathered, then a gate would open to the Other, and that is the task at hand for dear Sissy and Spiros, angels and lovers in union with the secret Goddess. They left from their position in the 21st century in a way similar to how they left from the other world to the 21st century (Is that true, Sissylu?), and this impossible twist to things is one reason why their story is so difficult to narrate. The geometry of their story is hyperdimensional and lacks chronology and is very shifty thus, for when the Object shimmers through, new worlds are created (Is that so, Yessy, my Spanish flower of the mountain?). The intermixing of all information is what creates these new worlds on one level and where it leads is partly up to the imagination (I wasn’t aware of that, Izzy).

Lapis, to in words reach through with the way this touched itself and the beginnings, that first stage of eternity that was also the last of the journey before the return to the moment where the lapis was inserted, itself the beginning of eternity, the place where the stone was made, how do we do that? How is the plot strung round itself so that we return to the moment the lapis was created, now with the lapis created, without it having been created before? That first fusing, where Spiros stood, and Sissy, and Wintjabernatrice, as their superbigbang nova pupils opened to see the result, then far in the future just a moment ahead. A spark of the morning star, landing on the wooden floor (knock knock knock!). One extraction, release, and the special sting strings all the pieces up into a narrative that leads first back throughto itself and then out, transformed, transfigured. What came first, Spiros or his forehead? Or did Sissy and Spiros dream each other into being as foretold? And the, so to speak, archetypal family, about whom all humanity is dreaming. In the beginning there was no beginning? We, the Family. We are awakening.

I don’t know if it is of any concern to you, but they have called our book one of the most detailed trip reports ever written. Although it’s not really a trip report.

This point where we are is also a place where Spiros and Sissy meet again after the journey in the Great Delirium, after the journey from the far stretch. The delirium contains the data necessary for entry into the new. It is like a vast riddle or rebus made out of space and time and information, symbolisms, codes.

There is a reason why there is a rose garden and a bed close to the end of the river. There is a reason why you suddenly bump into some new piece of information in some unexpected way. And there is a reason why everything is so God damned strange.

...I’ll let it speak, to ourselves, new paganism, Ufomphalos.

Reawakening gods, like after a thousand and one years of sleep.

―She wants to say something. Shifting of focus. The rosy river colours the dream. Victory has been announced, and we surely have it now that we know things are as they seem. Don’t you trust enough?

Now let me show you of my workings, says She. ―Play a game with her, see what you can make her reveal. ―If I would show you it for two minutes you would figure out how it works, says She.

C’mon I need to show it! Something too small for a lens27

27 Will it show in my show?

HOOPS and the bright future appeared. Kissed our sweet black river flows like spells. Call it through the End Saucer. W

―Mmm, sweet, says Spiros. I like your bum, may I kiss it? ―Silly, what you want? says Sissy and looks up from the book, Ulysses by James Joyce, in her hands.

―O nothing, says Spiros. ―I’m calling you Rudy from now on by the way, Sissy says and lays down the book.

―You’re not calling me Rudy… Sissy is quick: ―I’m calling you Rudy. And you must have a wooden cane with a violet bowknot, and read books upsidedown and from right to left. And you must have a red satin suit with ruby buttons, and wear glass shoes. You will sit in corners on parties, mysteriously, smiling and reading, looking all-knowing, while I walk around half naked, playing pranks. My mysterious lover, everyone will say. Who is he? And why does he want that weird woman who turns up here and there and then disappears? What’s the deal there? And we won’t say anything. For I am Queen Sissy Cogan, the interdimensionally best known unknown, and you are the mysterious lover.

Spiros considers the images that form from what Sissy said, smiling. Sissy feels her belly with her palms.

―Wait, she says and rises. I can’t go to the party like this. I have loads of dried cum on my belly.

―Don’t worry, Spiros says. We’re in paradise, baby. No one will notice anyway.

―No, I want to take a bath. Be my servant, dear, and help me. Sissy Cogan: the woman of the Dark River. Her history is vague and goes back into the irrational beginnings of time. Queen Sissy is the first known woman in the world of literature to articulate on the female gaze, is occult, is the most mischievous cat, is marked by warmth of feeling and spontaneity, is dead according to numerous reports, is slinger of bewitching spells, is burning page devious binder, is alpha, is unique and does not resemble any other, is located in Plomari, is connected to because, is sort of counter weight, is an avid double star observer, is a certain kind of fire, is hot, is what sets you apart from others, is

armed with her handbook, is She who rules the brazen devices, is a superstar, is up in her 'flying saucer', is a god, is home, is not home, is one whose every word has a peculiar and unmistakable perfume, is in that inscrutable form, has relocated to Mythilan, is, isn’t. She is lost.

Spiros: a manlion of the gentle blood, Mythster Chessmaster of the Imagination, master architect, a strange childish young man who has landed on Earth like a UFO from hidden location. He is in alliance with dreambirds, Musca domestica, the Honey Queen, and the UFO amongst others― he is a bodyguard, servant, and devoted worker of the hive, as well as a god himself. Spiros is Symbolic Stream Generator for the team and a master of disguise and has been and is still pivotal in the designing of The Massive Tactic. His contribution to The Magical Card Trick (The Fastshuffle) has been and is still invaluable. He is also hedonistic, is one of the managers van Sunja, is one of the founders of the consolidated, is a master mathematician and chess player of the board of hyperspace. He reads any letters in any language as it pleases him, he does not need to sleep but does so sometimes for pleasure, does not need to eat but does so sometimes for pleasure, communes with his friends and occasional lovers DNA and cells &c, is “the man behind the mask”, is well qualified in chemistry, is an excellent actor, is here to stay, is bigger than an apple, is “smiling and prefers to have his clothes off”, is moving freely throughout the fair and has befriended the alchemical gods of dream, has a dove friend whose nicknames are a bit inappropriate, is van oo:rsprong Spice en komt uit de, is with us in spirit, is steered to search for, is accurate to less than zero, is located at both sides of Silverthread Palace (Plomari), is already a, is one of the ones handling this, is currently working on an unprecedented technology, is mostly almost entirely completely dead, is attracted to woman.

Wintjabernatrice: the ever hidden one. Main large-scale coordinator. The one invented twisted animator. The one who casts a shadow onto every bare plot. Queen of the castle in the clouds.

S & S & W: Madly in love and the closest of friends. They are their universe and are on their way home after a trip down river.

(I asked you, dearty, master organiser you, for some final evidence. How sweet of you to give me it at 11:22 on the day of summer solstice and later that same day at 216 Leavingbye Road, our cave far away from the modern world.)

Sissy splashes around in the water of the bathtub and enjoys the soap bubbles.

―I think it was shengasm, the word, she says. For the secret printer. Where we got the message "she is her sex".

She sips some champagne. ―For the crime, she adds. She blows some soap bubbles in Wintja’s direction.

T H E U N I V E R S E W A N T S T O P L A Y

―Word frequencies, underground river, Spiros says. Lure of time. Sundark. Let’s bloom the air. We have love.

―If you make it there you make it everywhere. Yes. Travelling without moving. One sip for a dark eternity on the moon.

―Simply the best, takes you miles away in seconds, says Wintja.

They all laugh. ―Applesfoods maybe, says Wintja. The goods I have. ―Foreplay, says Sissy. Let's create this spring. Sissy rises to her feet. ―Don’t slip on the marble, says Spiros. ―Slaves, dry me with towels, Sissy says and steps out of the tub.

―As you wish, my Queen, says Wintja. ―As you wish, my Queen, says Spiros and bows. ―Sissy, says Wintja, I love that when you bend before me, I can lean right in and place my tongue on your puss. You are so beautiful, so graceful. Will you bend over a bit?

Where are all the fun people, I wondered, and where are all the gods? Then she came, approaching like fire in my blood. She came to me, like a ghost, to music just like in the movies. Spirallianz, she

said, in, out, through. The speakers started crackling. The phone began to ring. And the programs on my computer started interacting in new ways. I looked at the screen, and saw it for the first time: Discworld (no connection to Terry Pratchet’s book series of that name), the Star. The masterplan. The leg of the bird, anyone? Does pyramid ring a bell? Reptile.

From the radio in my kitchen came a voice: ―Honey, are you there? ―Yes, I said. I began to sense, a world behind the seen. Not behind, amid. As for some of the special effects of this movielike night: Have you ever seen the reflection of a lamp in your window fade out while the lamp is still lit? Or noticed that your thoughts make telephones ring? When the light bulb of the lamp on your bedside table becomes a microphone and your ordinary computer screen becomes a touch screen, then you know the party has begun. Things connect well. Especially things that don’t require movement. Deep beeps speed only one way, allways. Dial zero to come out onto the line.

I divided by zero. ―Your star has been born, a voice said. And there they were, all the folks of the City, the gods I had been looking for.

―Who’s in control now!? I laughed victoriously. Huh!? Who’s in control now!?

And I got slung into the most intense orgasm I had ever had, without even touching myself. I cast myself down on the bed, clawing the bed sheet in orgasm, my body shaking wildly.

―Welcome back, honey, said my wife. You can not kill the opening opening opening. They try to stab it with their steely knives, but they just can’t get rid of the beast.

This felt like big healing. Trust. Trust. It travels far and it travels fast. It goes in, through, One, Two. Passing through. Passing now. From sleep we are passing? Déjà vu! Hit me with your voo goo. Daysends burn flows thro the toon. Daysends burn flows thro the toon. Scary shit, ah! No? Woooo! There’s a party going on somewhere. One, maybe two. Passing now. One. From sleep we are passing. Two. The wikeawades world from sleep we are passing. Three, and GO!

Happy Nowakeup. Dream again. Dream of waking? That which reaches us about it all? Shall we spread it here now? Rewind to exit if needed.

―It will give you wings like a butterfly. You want to go for something really crazy? I will take you to something new, a new universe.

I just wanna get high! The Rosalixion will make the first be the last, and open up the gate to, shh!, at last.

[not a land within a land any longer. Sound generating heat breaking barriers holding the banner high held in a dream I will join you my arms extend through this world, do I dig lift or bury wait procrastinate or panic heavy eyes moon undersea settling for tiptoeing to the horizon of your dream with me.]

Having ventured deeper where many rivers are named we made it into our new world. We left the century we were born in and got a good glimpse of what lies beyond the river’s end. Here is where it all began, the shifty Posion, our souls. There showed to be a twist to this storyverse we had not predicted, a twist the nature of which decency can scarcely hint. Just for one thing, you drink of the Spice, and only watching the existential fabrics weave the history of the universe back to the moment you drank of it, and the future it seems, or should I, God forbid, say seams? She is a yellow surprise! How do you deal with such a thing? In any case, the first thing I said when we had landed is: Do you understand what we could do with this stuff!? The Spice, that is.

―Landing proceeding smoothly. Rigging location. From all stretches of time we landed. Everything had suddenly changed. And it was a goodbye to the old, and a saying hello to the new. And we painted our minds hello to the Rosy Dawn.

From a thousand sides the story untangled itself. From a thousand angles we arrived, new, fresh, young, and old as heaven itself. May I, Queen? May I speak of the? O for the sake of Rosalix, never had I imagined anything this marvellous! This is the stuff of fairytales. This is the stuff one cannot even dream up. And the

Queen told us to hide it well, but she also said: compare yourself right, tell a friend. And so we speak of it.

And She spoke. And we began talking. And we began to go quite autobiographical suddenly. Suddenly the stories of Man were cast reflected as our own lives and adventures. Life was suddenly a hyperdimensional story unfolding, complete with flaws and twists and turns and ups and down and ins and outs. A book like something we had never imagined before.

―Landing proceeding smoothly. Preparing for large data transmission and synchro reload. Getting close to end and beginning from perspective Rose Garden.

Hold on to your hat, we’re going poison positionally shifty.

HE infinite being takes the decanter of wine into its hands. It dreams of someone it remembers as it pours itself a cup of the redviolet poison nectar. T

Purple, the colour of night’s darkness. There in the meadow. And staying quite briefly in an eternity they met Fairy, or Butterfly as is also her name. And she said: Love binds it all together.

―Ambrosial, says the infinite being and holds the wine decanter against the flame of a candle. Immortal living vegetable gold.

The infinite being drinks. ―Somewhere I am sure I will see your face.

Deep deep inside. The memory.

Suddenly Spiros wakes up on the bed in the adobe house by the river. He is all sweaty from intense dreams. He rises to his feet in the darkness of the night. There stands Sissy, holding a red rose. Spiros walks up to her they hug. He tries to speak, but no sound will come from his throat. Sissy says nothing, just looks at him, looking rather shocked. Spiros realizes that he is still sleeping and gestures with his hands to Sissy that he will try to go back to bed and he walks across the earthfloor to the bed. When he lies down and puts his head on the pillow his eyes shoot open and he wakes up with a shock. He is all sweaty from intense dreams. He rises to his feet in the darkness of the night. There stands Sissy, holding a red rose.

―What if? What if? What if we’re all… What if we are…? A buzzing sound is heard, and the mysterious One makes an appearance.

―I’m having difficulties moving, Spiros utters. Something to do with the backwards flowing of time and the unravelling of the paradox. Dennis spoke of this. Time is flowing in more directions than one, simultaneously.

Sissy walks up to him and whispers: ―One puff, one sip. The Rosalixion. Press the dial. ―The sound-dial? ―I don’t know. A flock of birds sound in the distance, confirming that Sissy and Spiros are actors on a stage where the most unfathomable

operation is under way; that they are part of an event that rings through all of hyperspace.

―The birds, says Spiros. The hen at the experiment at La Chorrera. Confirmation.

―The flying saucer waits warmly humming at the end of history, says Sissy quoting Terence. It is the perfected human mind.

―Darling, darker, says Sissy as she fingers with the things on the table.

She looks over her shoulder. Spiros blows out a few candles. Sissy turns and continues fingering with the things on the table, preparing, arranging. Spiros sits down and writes in his diary, casting a glance at Sissy every now and then as she works like some sort of engineer with the puzzle. Spiros writes:

First part of hypersigil finished, in time for our first return. We named the sigil Fit to Talk a Dream. The gem has been secured on the far shore (after the end of the River), and the dream is rigged and ready. The river is still, however, untangling itself and reshaping our world. We are back where we recently drank of the brew, back in our modest little house by the river. Sissy is preparing another batch. We shall soon venture again.

We cannot express in words our gratitude for being part of this miracle. And our disguise is perfect. Calling down the UFO we found that we…I feel it is unsafe at this moment to say or write the final words of that sentence. But now we understand why the words were put out: powerful, magical, evil. Things can twist in ways seemingly impossible. And we are landing from the far stretch. From elsewhere. Here we are, gods, gods who have landed. All standing at the foot of an even greater mystery.

Her black hole pupils open. ―Hi Sis. ―Hi Spir. ―Hi, says Wintjabernatrice. ―It was the longest flirt ever, says Sissy and giggles. How me met.

Wintja and Spiros giggle. ―I can’t believe we are back, says Wintja. ―Me neither, tush, says Sissy. Spiros rises from the bed and walks over to the table where he begins to fill his pipe for a smoke.

―If you smoke after sex you are probably doing it too quickly, laughs Wintja.

―Yes I don’t know what went wrong, Sissy laughs. We’ll have to do it again.

Atoms. Suns. Galaxies. Smoke. Spiros fires up the pipe. ―Ahhh, he let's out in delight. Daddy is feeling good. ―Mommy too, says Sissy. ―This mommy too, says Wintja. ―The Family, says Spiros. When I woke up that time in the middle of the night and was sure that the book would be called The Family. Makes sense.

Spiros smokes a few puffs and walks out of the house to pick two flowers. He returns with the flowers and holds them toward Wintja and Sissy.

―Here is my love for you as two black hole flowers, he says. He sighs. ―Or something like that, he continues. ―Thank you, peach, says Wintja and smiles. Have you made the flower?

Sissy also says thank you and Spiros says that he thinks Sissy has made the flower. But he admits that he may be responsible for the stamen of the corona, and that he really couldn’t hold himself from masturbating, thinking of Sissy and Wintja, before they went to bed for the first time. He just had to come. Wintja ponders this

and counters by mentioning the notion that they were all dreaming of each other in the same time, and that

―We also wanted a cock. You know, your cock. So we are also responsible for the stamen. We wanted something to put in ourselves.

And then they were all stuck for a few minutes, pondering the whole situation again, for how their universe began was still a mystery to them, a mystery they often pondered and spoke about. Spiros soon sits down on the edge of the bed and puffs his pipe and looks out across the room, speaking to himself, and Sissy and Wintja lie close together under the blanket, whispering;

―He’s crazy, our husband, whispers Sissy smiling and feels Wintja's lips with her finger.

Wintja giggles. ―I had to masturbate too, she soon says. ―Yepp, me too, says Sissy. ―So, who came first? asks Spiros. ―There is no chronological order to things so that’s a flawed question. Or, maybe there is some, I'm not sure yet. Not much in any case.

―Give me a puff, babe, says Sissy and reaches for the pipe. Spiros hands it to her and as she puffs they all watch the forming galaxies of the smoke with large eyes and smiling faces. From the stereo is heard Spiros’ new song, The Flying Saucer Waiting at the End. Wintja and Sissy soon turn toward Spiros.

―It is time, they say. Spiros nods gently.

―Ready for the rosylation of the premises. Computing for flaws that shouldn’t be there.

One perfect sunrise. Say hello to the Rosy Dawn. Rising, rosing, the river, the Dream, welcome the white stream. Bottom line: dawnsound unison.

And the flames of Our certain kind of fire up the walls is the sign that now, now it is spring: the first spring.

Landscape of your Mythworld settling over Mytilan: It is spring in Plomari. Of your myth make a body, and the body

reincorporates into its new world, without any separation. Alchemical victory already announced on the far shore – it is secured – so pop that bottle and tap your glass against the moon and celebrate. Incorporating. Fusing body and spirit. Flower open. Preparing to open the gates, first hall is the City of No Addresses. Calculating fastest and most harmonious way. Longest way round is shortest way home?

―Spiros flying into his head from the far stretch, landing at appointed location. Sissy flying into her head from the far stretch, landing at appointed location. Wintja landing at appointed location. There is a clog in one of the veins between Mytilan and appointed landing location. Royally removing clog as quickly as possible. We welcome you home again, darelings. Hope the journey and landing went smooth. Getting closer. Untangling riverdream. Searching for any possible summarization. Possible summarizations found thus far: Welcome home. Welcome to Plomari. Beyond the river’s end lies something so magical it cannot be imagined from here. Alchemical Victory. We are the bees of the invisible and we have hooked up hyperspace with time and space and are ready to make the next move. What do you want? Ending search for summerization upon request. Team solving riddle. Definition of details will now get clearer. Prepare to write the manual. Superrevelation close, it will ignite the Bomb. Backward and forward in same time, plus the third. You are presently at the far half of the stretch. Phrase paradisiacal machine with a time fuse announced to be close to the point. Asking for permission to sharpen contours of the Rosalix.

( * * + )

―Ready? asks Wintja. ―I’m ready, says Spiros. ―Me too, says Sissy. ―Full symphony synchrotron up and running. Hint: when you move I move. Mindstorm synchro-symphony. The Cogan technicians landing smoothly at appointed locations. Gyre tightening. Rigging your location. Enjoy the superfluid.

Sissy giggles, and it makes Wintja giggle, and that makes Spiros giggle.

―Woooo! shouts Spiros. Let’s move!

Gone with the wind. When Sissy wakes up she notices Spiros and Wintja are gone. She rolls across the bed and out of it, rises to her feet. The tree at the centre of the house, which was small when she fell asleep, is now huge and has broken through the roof. On the table lies a book. She reads the title: The Rosalixion. Inside the book lies an envelope, yellowed by age. She pours herself some wine, opens the envelope, and reads the letter within:

So, darling. We made it, again. We are in the City of No Addresses. And you know what that means. It means navigation is very difficult. Shall we stay this time? Wake up forever? Let’s stay with the bees and the flowers. We have succeeded with going absolutely insane (hihihi)― the first part of the trick. Now let us build our web, hooking up with the Superweb.

The opportunity for alchemical marriage with the alien exists now. Become the Other.

We are transforming, dearest. We are transcendent. See you soon.

S & W

As you might have understood by now, it has very many angles this event, the Rosalixion. Difficult to narrate as it involves no chronological order. But that is part of the Rosalixion, this messiness. In fact, it is one of the quintessential keys.

Sissy makes her way to the apartment on Leavingbye Road. The apartment has been completely trashed; empty wine bottles lie all over the place and there is a sticky layer of molten sugar on the floor, the table is flipped over and the place smells of tobacco and Spice.

In the like abandoned world we play

Sissy looks at the ripped book pages that lie here and there and follows a trail. When she finds what she was looking for she kisses

one of the walls close to where she found the note, marking the wall with a red lipstick mark. She laughs.

―Opened up again, says Sissy. The tomb. Blink to me somewhere where I am.

She looks around. In a corner she sees an eyewink twixyblink― from Wintja.

―The computer mouse is all messed up, says Spiros trying to use the computer. It’s all covered in molten sugar.

―Damn our lives are good, says Wintja.

Wintja and Spiros leave the apartment on Leavingbye Road 216 and make their way to restaurant Berns where they meet up with the publisher.

―So what is your obsession about death, Spiros? says the publisher. After having read parts of the manuscript I…

―O it’s not about death. It’s code. And. Chaos magick is more correctly called the pact of Thaneteros, or just the pact. Thanateros is two gods, Eros and Thanatos the Greek gods of sex and death.

―Is your book about chaos magick? ―No, I’m just saying. As an example. ―What’s wrong with death anyway? says Wintja. The book is about immortality, you know. And something even more grand.

―O, nothing wrong with it, says the publisher, just that maybe it’s not the most uplifting theme to have as part of a novel.

―This is the most heavily guarded road there is… says Wintja and smiles.

―Well did you notice the sex in the script? says Spiros. ―Yes, a little here and there. So, sex and death and magic. That’s your theme yes? says the publisher.

―O I don’t want to define it, sir, it’s far to free for that, says Spiros. But yes that little threesome is part of the deal.

―Can you summarise for me what the book is about? says the publisher.

―I have strict orders from the Queen to not open my mouth about it, sir, says Spiros.

Spiros lights his pipe.

―No, sir, to be honest, Spiros soon continues. It’s about chocolate. And, eh…mushrooms and, eh, girls, bisexuals girls from another existence and, about, eh… about a bird, too, two birds actually, and a housefly, and a few cows, and, eh, some other stuff.

―What kind of other stuff? ―Well eh, actually, about, eh, laser. And, eh…a certain kind of chess, and eh, there’s this pillowfight going on, and it turns really cute, and, eh. O and also there’s this, well, it’s a, it’s a…hard to explain but, uhm…

The publisher, Mr Boore, back from his meeting with Spiros and Wintja, enters his office and sits down to read again some of the manuscript he has received from Spiros; the manuscript full of wine stains and what Mr Boore makes out to be dry birdshit. He adjusts his glasses on his nose and then flings open a page at random and begins to read:

ur story, says Tadeja, is a finale, brimming with beautiful people, adventure, Eros, and victory. O

―Well listen now, says David. I have something fluid to say. ―Don’t talk in tongues, dear, you can not. Leave that to me. Say what’s on your mind, plainly. ―Well let’s face it. We can’t yet fly with the jewel at will. The key of passage is not yet in our hands. When the dust settles our opus is revealed to be flawed. We write history as we speak, you can’t get off of that. ―Christofle is your name today, O brave husband of mine. Yes. Call the press! Halt the printers!

―We take back everything we’ve ever said, says David.

Butterfly comes walking in to the room on gentle feet, naked and wet, wet rose petals here and there on her skin. ―I know what flaws are, she says. Say the words then take them back. Does this ring a bell? That as a team of competent clueless beings they had proceeded energetically and with success from the known to the unknown and back again, finding paradise by fearlessly entering the incertitude of the unknown, travelled back and forth between paradise and somewhere else, then entered paradise and now found themselves in paradise, having access to the door and the key allowing free egress and free ingress? Now join me in the bathtub.

She turns and walks back to the bathroom. Tadeja and David look at each other. ―She’s got a point there, says David.

Mr Boore quickly gives up and throws the manuscript on his desk and walks out of his office to his secretary.

―This is total bullshit, he says. This guy Spiros Cogan I met, his work. We can’t publish this.

―I see. What’s it about? asks the secretary. ―I haven’t got a clue and I don’t want to know, says Mr Boore. I have been looking around the manuscript and it just doesn’t make sense.

―Spiros Cogan, says the secretary. The name seems familiar. Isn’t he part of the production team of some film? The upcoming one. Licks in the Pond, I think it’s called.

―He seems all obsessed with erotica that young man. Licks and kisses all over the place and naked chocolate and threesome marriages and lesbian love and bare breasted bodyguards serving the Honey Queen. Aphrodite in the spring of sex and magic. He told me a bit about his book during our meeting and I’ll tell you, sex sex sex, so much sex!

―Threesome marriages? ―Yes. ―That’s…pretty outrageous.

―It’s not something our publishing house can send out to the public anyway.

―Let me see the script, says the secretary.

Mr Boore walks in to his office again and fetches her the script, and Miss Casey, the secretary, grabs it from him and sits down to read. She stumbles onto a passage:

O Flora! Let us become the couple we once were, and brighten the Earth and polish the sky! Remember? We once lived together, confident in our living and our loving and our Artistry. You were my Muse, I was your husband and your friend and your lover. You remember how it was? Beauty filled our days! Dear, I want to be with you again. I saw your rainbow today.

Let me refresh your memory, in case you have forgotten; with a kiss I do, a kiss on your green, and with touch of my fingers in your wet water. I call to you old friend, let us come to our senses! What ever happened to us!? What ever did come over us!? It is to save us. To save our dream and let live again what was before, the song of Beauty we sang by being.

I call to you by my song, I call to you, dear! Let us wed again!

―Why that’s cute, says Miss Casey to herself and flips to another passage:

Having finished drinking of the special wine they lie naked on the green pasture under the apple tree, and like to flute’s music they began their entry into the new world. Tadeja straddled David and kissed his chest and clawed her nails against his skin. David felt her milk skin with his warm hands; my original Eve. And then there came Butterfly walking towards them from within the forest.

―Together we shall live forever, said Butterfly and kneeled down and touched them both. Tonight let us walk off into our shimmering palace that lies hidden on this Earth.

They all lay down kissing and touching, embracing in the moonlit night, and began their journey.

―Look, said Butterfly soon as she rolled around happily on the grass to lie on her belly. The silvery door.

She pointed, and Tadeja and David looked in wonder as the ground turned semi-transparent, the roots of the trees shining silvery in the soil.

―Will you stay with me this time? Butterfly asked and gave them both a kiss.

―Forever we will stay with you. ―Then let us go to my dark bed, said Butterfly. And I will give you your every fantasy.

The three rose and hand in hand they walked into the now shimmering forest to venture deeper into the silvery palace.

Miss Casey looks up at Mr Boore’s thoughtful face as he stands sipping a coffee.

―As far as I can see he is a terrible writer, says Boore. We can’t publish this. He says it is fiction slash nonfiction, by the way.

Miss Casey nods, then flips to a new passage and reads:

(The church bell rings across Old Town its noon rings. Deep church music begins to sound across the whole of the city, through every mobile phone, every radio, every computer, every stereo, every telephone booth. The folks of Vast Exit, Red Mirroir, Pink Lip Kiss, Modus Escape, and The Subnatural Rescue Team spread out in the area. The streets are filled with soap bubbles. Exotic fragrances begin to perfume the air. Champagne, Bienvenue – Merci 1969, black bottles, in the thousands, are popped. Gear is rigged. Systems are initiated. A team of 69 people invade the Old Town Railway Station and swiftly cover it completely in the most exquisite graffiti art. Finished they place all empty spray cans in a strategic arrangement and then spread from centre out into the city. Erotic photographs, poetry, and paintings, lingerie, sextoys, coloured wigs, and candy, in masses, are placed here and

there around the entire city. A strange deck of playing cards is released from the highest building in the city. Large white ships and boats, yachts, catamarans, riverboats, runabouts, come in from all sides toward the centre of the city. A signal is bounced off the gold plated roof of the City Hall pillar.) THE FLOWERSUN: Surrender to my gravity. (Crop circles begin to appear on all the fields around the city, and on every rug in town. In the sky above opens a hole, a portal, miles wide. The sky is filled with silver discs, flying saucers, all shimmering like mercury.)

Miss Casey walks in to Mr Boore’s office. ―Well I think it looks pretty cute, the book, she tells him. Let’s speak with Spiros and see if he can modify it a bit to make it more accessible for a larger audience. But it’s something new, you know, something different. I think people might like it. It’s pretty imaginative.

―Why so much sex? says Spiros to Miss Casey. O it’s not so much sex, just a little here and there. We are pretty kinky a chemists, we like a bit of erotica. My wife calls down the UFO with a lollipop in her mouth if you know what I mean.

―Who are we? I thought you were the writer of the book, says Miss Casey.

―I have a few co-writers but they like to remain in the background when it comes to public relations.

―Well, we might be able to publish your book if you could cut down on the sex in it.

―Hmm. I’m not sure if that will be possible. Butterfly likes it the way it is. She has tasted of the fruit, so to say. Gone wild.

―At least consider it. ―I will talk to the Queen about it, Madame, says Spiros.

―Less sex!? laughs Wintja and slides her hand down her thigh as she sits there on the bed. Never! More sex!

―Well then we’ll have to find another publisher, says Spiros. ―I still say we shouldn’t publish at all. Let’s keep our secrets. ―No, it’s custom, dear, anyone who has access must leave the door slightly ajar as they leave.

―I know, I know. Well let’s just hide the codes in an enormous orgy at Elysium then, so to speak. You have to kiss the bum of the Queen to reach the Palace. Yes? Ah? Good?

The white crow flies through the room carrying a little rose, and sits down close to Wintja who takes the bird onto her hand.

―For we are deeply disturbed and deeply happy, aren’t we, dear, says Wintja to the bird. Hihi. Did I get a rose? Thank you, love.

―Now come here my butterfly, drink wine with me under the mercury moon, says Spiros and raises chalice toward Wintja.

Wintja rises from the bed and walks over to Spiros who lets his hand slide across her bum and they kiss, a long wet kiss, and Wintja then brings forth the decanter of wine and pours more wine. From the stereo streams the song Around the World In a Tea Daze and Wintja begins to dance around the palace, spinning around joyously, spilling wine. Spiros watches his sweet daemon with burning desire and love as she dances around in The Silvery Palace.

―I just wanna get high! As the music stops Spiros begins to sing. He sings

I haven't written any lyrics to this song, baby I'm just gonna sing a little bit Because baby mmm you are yummy And I just wanna get high high high with you And drink strawberry champagne So when you're done doing all that girly stuff of yours Why don't you come over here I can put a little candy down your panties And I know you love when I put a candy down your panties And I know why For who's gonna pick up that candy from your panties? Me or you?

And I can give you a little strawberry lollipop And I can kiss you and watch you lick the lollipop You know I love watching you lick and suck that lollipop So when you're done running around Doing all that girly stuff you do Then why don't you come over here to me, baby And I can lift your skirt a little bit And put a candy down your panties Yeah who's gonna pick up that candy this time? You know I love it when you pick it up yourself Sticking down your hand into those panties babababababababapapapapapa And I couldn't sing that line because I had strawberry champagne in my mouth And baby this is a love song to you And you drive me mad and I don't know why and I don't care

because you drive me wild And you're my rivergirl And I'm your strawhat boy Watching you undress by the river

―Yes, whispers Wintja. I’m your little candygirl.

D

ear letterwriters, whirl back through your own story- wind to tale the Garden rise into all presents. That kiss was indeed laced. Close to the hall of secrets now, O difficult to touch. Say the words. Your rebus has created tinkerling toys for the Gods to play with, coloured balls, in Eternity? Here we are. You are pushing your way into this world we notice. One string of words will open up the gates to the Marvellous Hall of Worlds. We are arriving through the reads. Do you know the secret name? Eyes intersect all centuries visible. Here we talk and there we talk, on the sending and the responding evening. Reshaping the world, reshaping the cosmos, bending the geometry. Yes, she did bend over. But I thought we were to keep the secret? No? And not to mention the silvery palace. Little Black Dress. Rip it tonight, baby!

Rosaclock junction

―Ut vivat volumen sic pereat pourover-doses!

Let the wild garden live!

EVERYWHEN CROSS-SECTION of ATEMPORAL ASPACIAL PATTERNS.

Peek, peek. I have found my way out, but something clings still. Take a turn anywhere, says a sign (Am I on another level?). Eden here? How about channel-hopping round the spell to reach it? Quick leaps. To see the world upside down is helpful, standing on ones head. Where am I again? Ground control, you here? Am I in a corner in the story? (For all within prismic range.)28 I am waking up, again. In Eden in a bed with a key in my head to a myriad of Worlds, having been on a long adventure. It was the wine! It was the wine that made it happen! The poison wine. It changed

28 For the soul, the death she has lived through becomes the life she dies into?

everything, And then: How a world is done, writing about it. Where are those keys now? Now? The great delirium! Yes! There it is, flashing: the three dimensional hyperdimensional worldstory. A story about. And then. And out of it there came. And here it unfolds. And then it folded. Fools too? A story about what? It began with the words: History is ending. No. It did not begin there, but that was the first drop. Why did we return? Again? I’m the darkest lady on the taste on your tongue. In the dark river made of dream and mind we were. Now we are in the eternity.

What lies beyond the river’s end is something so marvellous it cannot be

imagined from here

CROSSECTION rosaclock junction

And out we went, like Alice through the whole (we are kind of everyhere now). Where am I now? A loophole in the geometry of the story? She is so sweet, angelina angelina, the waitress of the envelope! Come, hour of the rose, and told an end to my stays in the language of history! Timelock on? Time to dissolve the substance (stone) in the water? Let your dreams run free. And all parts in turn visiting all parts of the storyboard. And then something was born. A virgin birth, we came out of our foreheads. And here I sit now, larger than an apple, my body all semitransparent. I am Spiros, a myth. The rosy flesh dami´mit, shimmering of archlight. She came from the other side, dear Wintjabernatrice. Did I dream you into being? you said. What a strange lovely family we are. Spiros, the strangest child ever born, she called me (I never was a cornflake boy). He’s not human, he. And his delusions of grandeur, said some (Some people seek fortune and fame. Others create their own legend. Others create their own eternity from the beginning of the universe and disappear without a trace out the dark river. Because of love. The long correspondence through mostly all stretches of time became

a dirty correspondence before the three went to the secred bed and left). Made him leave the world in search of what brought him here, to find a halluhole in the gemometry that lead him back and in to where he actually came from. Old boy wanderer found the source. Was a good disguise, those first years of my life. Can’t go around telling people you come from elsewhere. They’d put you in the mental ward, lock you up. I flew here as a lux phoenix, through an eye. Made myself a body. The stars are neurons in the cosmos that is my brain (You still can’t remember where it started, can you Mr Him Diamond!?). Can’t say that, people would think you’re crazy. Married to two women too, crazy bastard. Some kind of circus. Who does he think he is? Some kind of god? And the myth settles over a thought and forth I pop, from my own forehead. Mercury mirror and the Love Story of the Saucies. What century are we in? Good hiding as a white dove, my Evatrice, you woman of the first moment, ultimate shapeshifter. The sun reminds me of your face. I miss you, darling.

―I’m here. I’ll be here and you’ll be near, and that’s the deal my dear. For now. The Dove and the Crossador, remember?

Got it as to a far-reaching thought it went into the web we made to catch ourselves in flighty fantasyworld we created the dream where we made ourselves a home, you remember my dove? (Of course a white dove! What else! Hihihi), I heard you calling to me from the passage where we winked goodbye as our crime was set in motion (what rules did we set up? The plot. The wiring under the board in eternity. Venturing deeper through the ringnot we passed a pipe that could be the one funnel of release, I say we meet by the meeting place we arranged for us at deathends. Check angel. Remove selection? Check angle.

Signed Your King, "architect of the pyramids", architect of Eternity, Speros, Mr Him Diamond.

And the information about the event was inserted holographically into the space-time stream, piece by piece. Rosacalendric schemata follow we, hah!? Clockmonth smoothmoon of the seconds hour of the first world come back? Rephrase that perhaps? Rephase. O! The moon is standing in a sweet corner! Yes! Yes! Yes, now I remember. (If you have any codes to the next. Always advance.) A story about? And the Queen. Now I see why I woke up in the middle of the night shouting: The Family, the book shall be called The Family! We Ching, we change, we CHN. My chnop? The wine, the apple, the kiss, the whisper, the crime, the secret. I was practically there when it all started, she said. Hahahae! It all makes sense! Like a Latin dictionary tells you all about yourself and the hiStory it all makes sense.

And should we even here at such an uneven angle give ourselves the privilege of saying that the warped but symmetrical light, weaves off the drops off the lens off the 4D PrismD world in flimt of you, the immediate moment at the centre of many times in this history?, and communicating through campfire and, and birds come to check the rosy weather, & suddenly you find a geometry to the waterstructure of the Everything that you had not seen before, & handed spiral painter you pass a tome, transcripted radar light off the psilo timeweb, & voices shout excitedly behind your eyelids “It is time! Get ready! Here we go!”. Popp. Popp. Popppo. And here you are.

We are talking to the rosalixion? Is the Eschaton…really… really? (Sidenote from ground control as we’re in hyperspeed: The underlying structure of it all calls into play the opposite of whatever tool you thought necessary to divine the surface). Talking about it does look great in person. What’s that all about? Rosy flesh, that certain kind of crystalline, part of it all too. We wanted something beautiful, something with pleasure in it and joy. Victory. The Victorious Plum (It can handle backwards through time). Brewing with the world as our pot. That’s why we dreamed only good things. We wanted all the godly goodies. I remember when it began to open and fold. The story. We landed in bed, in an Edun of sorts, naked. One night and one day stretched out across all the ages of time. One perfect sunrise. How marvellous do you want it to be? you asked me at our first kiss. What shall we do when we enter the house of Eternity? What do

you want? My love, my sweet evil love. I got a little place nearby, wanna come? Don’t blame me, ‘Twas told long ago.

Let me tell you about the call that changed my destiny. Me and my mates went out to end our misery. I was about to give up when there she was. I said what the living fuck? She said hi, I got a little place nearby, wanna come?

As long as we know it. Can’t you read all way through my clothes? We are like that, have always been, speaking so the wind carry our words far off in time, to become legendary. To become escapeways out of prisons, too. But we know the centre theme. And the way She can use language; to build worlds, to reshape worlds, to create. Teaching us. As a world is done, speaking about it. (Eve, how was it now?) She with the honey-tongue. Here lives a great joy, She said as we searched for the morning star. Catl geu docu. I sense the outbreak of a psychosis. Let me tell you, she said, on this eve of new release, about what lies in my backlobe, as we are kemin to come destined as we are to speak in the tongue of all languages, loving with the great beacán in history. Laws of Lliffeyant! O me O my, yikes!, theres a sopp in our slip opera! We can speak with the futr in time to change it all into a party! We are poised, we are ready. Vill du gift dig med mig, dear poisoness you? Perhaps we should say that there is a certain detail to all of this that is a bit elusive. Liquid storyland. The love letters were hyperdimensionally delivered. Sent between us― life to death to mind to spirit to body to soul to the dark river to man to woman to forward to backward to being madly in love with you I am madly in love with you, madly in love with you.29

Did you form for me? Could we really have conjured this? ―Can we do this? ―Yes, we can. ―Can we really do this? ―Yes we can! ―I want you. Will you? Will you really?

Yes I will, yes. We shallt trick time. Let us leave. Shall we leave through a chosen favourite painting of ours? Hihihi.

29 We of the journey of the Lapis are somewhat isolated sometimes and ourselves subject to continual change and build in the language of view and history curvature.

Going from a white bed there was a. ―Write into every corner! Spiros hears Wintja shout. Midnight. The path: the demand that things be more strange, more beautiful, more astonishing than they have ever been. This we followed. And it lead us to…

(There was here for the turn of a sentence into a hand reaching from the liquid story the continuous play of communication, the mentioned love letter correspondence, and the very tricky to name continuous shwimmel of loveintoxicated dreaming in the name of letting the liquid story flow freely in the name of the alchemical victory (or would you rather be here reaching your hand in this case? Then turn from chosen angle into preferred for smooth transition. Bridge (verb). So it headed on into the unknown for the sake of discovering.)

It, peeping in round the corner. Close your eyes and see the. That first flash of Eden and then… For you dear could I leave everything, make a fool out of myself as we left off into musky madness, for you are truly mad and the only one I could ever fall in love with. You keep me young. You keep me childish. You keep me free. You and I, together in Eternity. I shallt never return. Your divine madness is all I ever want. You with the laced kiss, sting of the Queen.

It’s close now. Orgy at the hyper-dimensional post office. Day to night. Day to night! In through the dark portal, out out out! We are popping out of the wordwork, Your Majesty.

Was that a dream? said Sissy. Wintja laughed. And we were back. Back in the Eternity we began in.

Take my hand and let me be spelled, dear. You were my body, I'm still your memory.

Clouded operation, chain of beuoox.

Yours in swooning eternities

ISSI and Wintjabernatrice come in to the room babbling and giggling. They throw some strawberries at Spiros as he sits there by the table and Wintja says to him: S

―What are you doing you old sock? ―I’m proofreading the script, says Spiros. ―What is there to proofread? It’s been written by the story. Spelling mistakes included.

―Well I needed to check some details. ―Want some wine? asks Sissy. ―Yes, says Spiros. Wintja pours him a glass and hands it over. Spiros rises to his feet and smiles big and raises a finger of warning.

―But it didn’t end there! he exclaims. The story continued, now at the other side, where hyperspace begins, if I may for a moment jokingly say that hyperspace at all has a begiNNing.

―Where were you in the story? asks Wintja. ―In bed. ―We created you because we wanted a male toy, teases Sissy. ―Alien sextoy, says Spiros. Bunny-girl Alice wanted a little Barbie boy.

―Lick my slime-ride, says Butterfly with a moan and thinks of how Spiros and her shall arrange their wedding.

―You are so boyish sometimes to be old as the universe, teases Wintja and looks at Spiros’ happy boyish face.

―I stopped aging at twenty-three, says Spiros. Now listen. And arrived the new words, like drops into a fluid geometry of dream that lacks chronology, the oil-slime of Forever (the minus- smile ride! O NO WAAAAAAA!). Her passion to make creation witches. And the info, altered reproductions and it happens to come from outside time too, usually through agents of hyperspace two feet at a time like Sissy, Butterfly and Spiros and the others, as complete list life stream and data to born sons and daughters of this important information, and some additional information about how much less and more per hour and minute, hooking up with centuries, and a single for the fast, like saying it is of the universe of transmutations and contains information from the well fastest and well respected Doctor Dj of Motion. (Scratch the slie ride!) Love-dungeon Dun Len Lek Kel, Bianca and Bernard and themselves. Love. Mushroom-related dot mushroom.

―O and just on way up the river here, who is the dramatic loci in this tale?

―Well we are, honeypunch. ―Right, right. ―It took a booklong string of words to claxonise ourselves in the universe, remember? And the universe is a rosalixion, and the rosalixion is a booklike universe. It’s a bit complicated, but yes.

―I’m kind of lost here. Did we write this book? Okay let us stop right here. Dead end.

―Death ends, my love, when we… ―Don’t finish the sentence. ―When we melt into the tantric union. For the need (it would be confusing otherwise) this important list of the latest details of this partial summary the Soul Plane blends to keep the fluids running; a decision by us, to work here and to complete this spiral to allow the flowers to burst through. We are forwardscrambling to claim this now and when you're ready to receive this letter the gate to the new worlds will open for you. You are being contacted.

Spiros continues to arrive by reading out loud from the manuscript:

―Contains a multipart message to you. Receive further information in any verse. Keep on making noise, is there something I should know? To ignore this secret that includes xxx would be insanity. Around Midsummer our use of the subcraft must have been systematically ignored and the same with the purpose of the crime by people instead reading books that although contain most of a well enough secret piece of the puzzle did not teleframe the timetransformed occurrences of the inner spectrum of the centre Sun bouncing through eyes that see parts of it when we talk like this, to recommend events where the Subcraft With Wavepatterns pairs this along by many of print in high speed and partly by means of a reputable fluid, to experimentally swallow from the chalice (Must be. Created by the book, nothing else).

―Yeah I told you that, says Wintja. Quote: they tried to buy him after finding such a valuable individual but he was already on the side of the criminals.

Spiros nods.

―The approach toes the line? Spiros continues. What about all the weird things like why won’t the maginicine garden ride the structure? Our bios acquaintance jokes beside the critic, for indeed the speaker leaps upon the abstract stone past the originator.

―The word is syntactical. The world is syntactical, says Sissy. ―The physical universe, continues Spiros and raises his finger at Sissy to point out the synchronicity. Dr Cogan here for more information answers to Earth. Warning for sloppy design in attempt to touch the inner circuits. Elsewhere so called an excuse, and citing so called Hades and having and have lived before? And what about the secret team? Published in ways space and the question arose “why is not an unusually massive worldwide program put together larger than modern orthodox scientific establishment for more effective movement?”: information answers to x. News Flash: it’s already been put together. Call it our hidden metropolis. We plan ahead and we plan backwards. It can accelerate a man or woman of us to know this, it’s also known as the Secret of Time (see the sharp edge of the camouflage? Our secret physics!). UFO. Successful at the mere presence of Subcraft fusing with falling back issues. Such as the folks of the experiment or demo, without ground and organization and underground, now are developing an apparatus and system that have extensions in vicinity of the Disc of each itself, and the hologram or hallugram, through the late technicians generating this time, which’s workings are all detailed in the motions. If one dimension of information which is is included in the spiral, a secondary gravitational force comes into play similar to psychic futurist Sissy’s notion of communication with the alien and the Logos and the releasing of oneself into the imagination. Every resulting inter. That’s in one way how it works, the creation or building of the hookup devise. Just follow the manual written with large gold letters across your entire space-time continuum.30

Dilutes your soul to leave. We had to do it this way; the way of the procedure. Now with the brilliance of the nameless One upon us it is time to leave, pray; let yourself be guided, you will be shown the way. Flee, gods, one clean turn. Experience in awe the majesty of stellar spring. Do it. Do it! She will be wilds of joy.

30 Sidenote: Where you are sitting is where you are reading it from. You are reading it in your point in history and hyperspace.

Here it comes now, approaching. When the rosy morning comes you will see there’s nothing made up.31

Spiros sips some Spice and looks at Wintja and Sissy. ―Did you notice anything incorrect in the mix? he asks. ―Not really, says Sissy, but I think we can alter the circuits a bit in there for more precise application into the system.

Mr Boore and Spiros talk over the phone about the book, Mr Boore now having read more of the manuscript at the urging of Miss Casey.

―So what is your key audience? Mr Boore asks. Silence. Mr Boore clears his throat, smiles. ―Why lesbian erotica, if I may ask? he continues. ―Well I’m a lesbian in a man’s body, says Spiros. And besides, it’s a threesome alchemical marriage we are dealing with here.

―Why must it be a threesome? Isn’t that a bit…too much? ―What’s wrong with it? Remember, we are gods. You have to expect a bit of both this and that from beings like us. Besides, the only good plot is a delayed fuck, as Louis Mayer said. And a dirty mind is forever joy, as Wilde said. Did I just misquote him?

―I simply don’t think too much of the public will appreciate to read about lesbian erotica, says Mr Boore, neither will they appreciate marriages between angels, aliens and humans or whatever it is your book is about.

―Perhaps not, says Spiros. But keep in mind that the public is screwed in the brain, boring, and dangerous. It’s just a good thing Mr Boore, it will filter out the boring fucks from the fun folks, you see? The ones who can accept the threesome get access to the letter. See? Not that there is any such thing as the public but you get my point.

―I can follow your train of thought but…that’s a bit of an odd position to take…especially when you want to sell a book.

31 As I go deeper and deeper into mental disintegration and madness I am becoming more and more sure that life is like a novel.

―Well the truth is harsh sometimes isn’t it. And besides, I don’t want to sell the book. The book is a royal delivery to certain people.

―Royal delivery? ―Yes. ―From who? You? ―Can’t say, sorry. ―Well, so what is the center message of the book? Is there any?

―I can’t say there is, no. On one level the book is an excessively detailed invitation card. The royal court (Queen’s) does these kind of terribly intricate things pretty often, you know. It's also a love letter correspondance. And part of a manual. It’s a map.

―Invitation to what? ―That has been strategically placed out all across the print landscape. Signed with every word.

―Why all this mysteriousness? Can’t you just be plain about it?

―Orders from the Queen, sir. ―Is this part of some kind of a conspiracy? ―No, sir. ―I don’t know if I can take the chance with your book. It’s just too strange. And poorly written.

―I understand, Mr Boore, and I thank you for having at least taken a look at the script.

―I haven’t made my final decision however, says Mr Boore. Wintja throws in a line: ―It’s an invitation to something so beautiful it’s on the brink of terror.

―Beauty at the brink of terror, says Spiros. ―What? says Mr Boore. ―Nevermind, says Spiros. ―I just don’t know if I can be responsible for sending out a book to the public that at least in appearance is pure nonsense, says Mr Boore.

―I understand, sir. ―The world of books is a tough market you know. You must give the public what they want or you won’t sell, and if you don’t

sell you won’t get attention, and if you don’t get attention it’s my loss, my publishing house’s lost.

―I understand, Mr Boore. Again, thank you for having taken the time to look at the script.

―I must say it has some interesting aspects though, your book. I can see the shimmer of great literature in your work, but just a shimmer. It’s your obsession with aliens and sex that destroys your work in my opinion. You could be a new Lewis Carroll if you would just get past those little obsessions of yours.

―It’s just that I am madly in love, sir, says Spiros. You know what being in love can do to you. And I don’t write fiction.

―Indeed, love can drive you mad, laughs Mr Boore. But, another thing… Your usage of other people’s work. You include a lot of phrases from books and lyrics of songs in your work, a bit too much in my opinion.

―Well we needed the stuff to build the starship. These artists walk around having put out bolts and screws that we needed for the production of the xxx.

―The xxx? The hardcore? says Mr Boore and laughs. ―Yes, sir. The hardcore…thing. The xxx. ―Well, I must say, I am pretty intrigued by your book in some strange way, even if I don’t consider it material. You seem to have put down a lot of work on it if not else.

―Well we wanted to get all the details in in one fell sweep, says Spiros. We failed though so we are planning another book.

―O one more thing, says Mr Boore, you don’t seem to know how to build up an orgasm in the course of the story. You must give the info to the reader like a lover, slowly, moving like a snake of Eros, build up momentum until it finally peaks.

―I know, it’s just that I am in orgasm all the time, so that’s reflected in the writing, says Spiros. But sir, my book is not a novel.

―I understand. ―The haunted ink, says Spiros. ―What? ―Nevermind.

―Because of the interaction of the whole with itself, there is only one way things can go, says Wintja. Quantum physics. Only one way things can go. It’s about geometrical interaction. This way that things can go is not easily put in words, but this way is the way of the Great Transmutation, of life, of space and form itself.

―No! shouts Sissy. Immediately erase. That is the physics of the old world. Things are different now.

―It’s a relevant point at one point in the space-time stream, says Wintja.

―No it’s not. If it was then there would have been only one way for this to go now, and thus…

―I didn’t say it is relevant now, I said it was relevant at one point.

―Well erase it, says Sissy. It’s confusing. You can fool the workings of the prism.

―The slime ride! says Spiros.

Dear Madame,

My name is Spiros and I am twentyfive years old, at the moment living in the capital of swEden, Europe. I am married to a fungi of the Strophariaceae family and two bisexual Goddesses in a group marriage, and do my work with them in our art studio and alchemical palace here in Stockholm. You may have heard of my wives Sissy Cogan and Wintjabernatrice, they have published numerous books of their own.

I contact you concerning a true-story series of books I am writing. The first book, entitled The Mushroom Seamstress ― Kama Sutra With the Mathematical Deepstructure of Nature, is already finished, as well as its equal The Slime Ride Pussy Slide & Billy The Kid Strikes Back With The Onesided Bullshit Cats.

As you at Duschhill Press obviously get many submissions I will keep this letter short and concise. In this envelope you will find a synopsis of the book, as well as a short bio of myself. My contact details are below. I have also sent you, as you see, a copy of book in hardcover print that I have arranged privately with a friend of mine in the printing business. Excuse the wine stain around page 69. The book is of course yours for the keeping.

Sincerely, Spiros

Mr Spiros, We thank you for your submitted manuscript but unfortunately your book is not what we are looking for at the moment. You obviously have a talent for stringing beautiful words together, but ultimately they signify nothing. Your book is too nebulous for our house. Best of luck finding a publisher.

Sincerely, Duschhill Press

HE dialog between us and the Other has led us thus far. Saucer. Watch, listen, observe. If things seem strange it might be because something stranger than a fairytale is coming alive. T

You mean everything to me, my sweetly told religion. I don’t care what other people think about me. I shall stay with you, my sweet love. Enjoy what you enjoy, love what you love, and don’t take crap from anybody. Lessons to make me more clever, welcome! Sorry, we ain’t got time for copyright. Store in heart. It will take you. You mean everything to me, my sweetly told religion. End saucer.

From its position outside time It inscribes in crystalline light Into our world The announcement of its coming

―So, have we got the plan all worked out? ―Yes, you will be receiving the details in the usual fashion, says the Supervisor. You know how to read it all. Saussie is with you. And I ain’t talking raspberry sauce am I?

A few words to mean it by. To deliver the message. ―Mr Boore called. He won’t publish the script. ―Does it really matter? ―No. ―Besides, we’ve got it all sorted. Relax. You guys just continue to build the map and we’ll sort a publisher. Charm the formula. And remember, everything is part of it. So you’re always on the right track. Remember how it works?

―Yes, like dropping a marble from the edge of a bowl, down it will go to the bottom, in the same way everything falls naturally into place by the gravity pull of the future x.

―Exactly.

The map wyrks, so don’t fix it. Mushroom. The present found Himself affecting the Free, so study our papers, for the hidden Universe to us is in the foreground (or subspace, whichever word you may choose), therefore all the related acts

that are generated in space and ground from entering the new (People, nearing the statement) indicates that it is time here, catalyzed by portions of us Masters with mass UFO halluworld. (The answer moves. Everything is dynamic, including the answer.) Map.32 Since sound to mass is less than the sub plane of motion we used the secret tactics. The loveable hypnotists execute occurrences of spontaneous recall especially in a Soul Plane projection of sight then completely such as follows this victory. For UFO evidence supporting evidence that as described in The Everywhere Book, by God of Chemistry, is powered to fly at the Star City, more volume third factor (Death, Life, and the Third. On the wedding we have fun, then we might see orgy under the sun where no shadows fall) making a good sample, demands of the physical plane, or a fantasy!, although the zero materials directly occur. Initiates in this space of time, reactor from pages, your chosen rows, new form of the books to be displayed, disincarnate entities (we the honeybumble bee spiders of the invisible. Excuse us for our insectoid brilliance but you will forgive us for having conned you all, we promise! We got a lovely surprise for you!) can pitched buzzing sound current and do the work: self-selected to live in the White Starry, unrecognized genius, light of the universe, Life, wolf-angels, and the letters are created by It, as multifarious Star messages, passed on by the strangest of postmen and women, in the strangest of ways. An effect of Saucie the writer as well as a coming home, and you receive the letter in your brain and pass it on! When we made it clear that we are of It, producing open minds. This enzyme is called "last weekminutes here now", to propel the direction to find a photonphysical universe remaining that works just as planned, imagination free. And the example that was proposed by the Daddys and Mummys (located in their each uncharged state Universcity or Soundgarden) which give whole new perspectives, it flew into place marvelously in front of the eyes of the receivers. For more a common universal within the rosae, and other phenomena in the spaces, therefore each group of the fewer stars then converts the shore; buzzing bees, Higher

32 ―Are we being shown the path to escape this dense three dimensional reality? ―We are relearning how to engineer life out of its most fundamental parts, says Kinch.

Worlds and other experimental holocrafts via any of the tactics, at will can continue on to be whatever objects chosen: moving faster than airbooms, and it was successfully covered up in motion that we now take to the special books for the turning sideways. And what of the scattered metaphorical magnets? Of the brew called spice, phone the chemical mistress, lift the winephone and drink it. It was We who called the This and strangely enough a We who work with the psychedelic intelligence, the Entelechy, the Supreme Consciousness, was about the Star level and human perihelion point in mind disc via pushing forward at a secondary coil around the last turn. Cosmaspherea accomplished overhead entry using the possibly and suddenly and by us actually having the courage to move forward as magicians, taking for a full octave to laugh at the inefficient. Seemingly worthless distortions of our heads that turned out to be accurate! The master coders got their stuff together let us say.33 Turn. Out. Half of any damage done without the terrestrial connection with the worst, early books addresses, deleting the orbit and state to share their mission. Because It and elsewhere predicted by them and as if we have been digitized. 4th dimensional matter projected by a nearby nearly ray telescope operated by the Now Living Masters, would have the appearance illusion of the outward. In Rosalix books, the physical law the teaching teaches members to generate; in which they lived before? The pamphlet questions, &c, mass of the so absolute and white, spinning galaxies, arrangement of letters results in some kind of motion, and as it contains the directions, in the theory of the Book one-directional coincidence, ray bursts can Sound Current the complex mathematics, its many cases of the rest, the universe anywhere in books. Including the need for example of the open-ended and even supporting evidence of value, establishment, spiral for example in Volume Constellation of the Laws of Forever by Dr S. C. of the strophariad where she said “alchemical victory has been secured”. (The hyperdimensional unwrapping of the mummy here equals the Rosy Dawn and is not linear.) The physical universe is achieved in a way only understood by few so far, which is what we intended to change. In some way it seems safe to press the word-dial saying that

33 Devils, we have never been better than we are now.

everything is hallucination, and that we are learning how to marry it.

On a particular frequency, spinning, perfect living Masters (including you) are fully applying these major levels mentioned here. We are part of a long lineage of people who all have done their part in this vast operation, the goals of which can not be said shortly but involve the shattering of the historical continuum, the conquering of death and time, and the production of the alchemical lapis.

I heard of the satellite instrumentation that we are reaching full access to our respective realities in cooperation with xxx.

After the decay of his material, without dying of course, O unincarnadine Dawn, pray, Man became a worthy Other.

It's arriving sideways. ―I’m trying to wrap my mind around it. ―Don’t wrap it around, says Fast Eddie. Bandaging the pieces constricts the flow of meaning. Tie it as a web would. Balloons should be free.

―Mmm. O, I got a message from Kinch: The exit hast past, how else would we know it’s coming up?

―Fuck me…the final link of the cycle. The first cause. Welcome the fuck home.

―Enough with the autobiographical stuff, says Spiros and puffs on his pipe. How in the name of Ostrich did we end up in the text? Did we not with determination aim toward keeping ourselves out of the scripture? Did we not decide long ago that it should be free of us?

―It was a necessary route, my love, says Sissy and sips some Spice. We had to do it to get to where we are. But I agree, now we can change that. Less us and more Ostriches.

―The lover has no choice, says Wintja. You know that.

―A little bug just appeared on my desk. In the middle of winter?

―It’s an alien intelligence. ―Yes. ―Did you accept the incoming phone call? ―Yes. ―Ok. I’ll be right back. Something might be bugged. Soon the signal arrives. Sissy sits down by the computer and receives the incoming call.

―Hello, this is Space Station X, she says. ―Hi, says Nykkel Humphry. You landed smoothly? ―Yes. ―Then let’s begin. ―Got any info for us? ―I do. I’ll send it over. ―Ok. Nykkel sends over the information. Sissy sits down to read it:

Elation Station News: we control the hallugram. Queen delivering the message to landers that they are always online with supreme wireless hook-up. Let go of worry, we noticed tension. Team royally protected. Call it Grecian gods for metaphorical delivery of the greeter info. The gods have landed. Timelock still on but we’re opening the opening. Progression slow to not harm superficial nervous systems. Nodes in bodies hooked with Star.

Turn that fucking song off I have heard it all day in my head, said Cobwebwoman from afar. Spiros announced to have landed at appointed space-time location.

Dreamwind. Sissy, woman of the dark river, announced to have landed smoothly.

Eros. Wintja still at two places simultaneously. Noticed doubts in the computational capacity of the Rosalix in parts of team. Royally delivering to team the final piece of the puzzle that will remove doubt. This may take a while.

Team’s nervous systems soon ready for the bomb. Calculating possible dangers in igniting bomb.

No dangers found. Releasing scarabs into your soul systems. Scarabs at work.

Slowly turning up pitch/volume of Elation Station. Preparing for ignition of bomb.

Sissy calls on Spiros and Wintja: ―Are you ready?! ―We’re ready! They come into the room. ―Bomb ignition, says Sissy. Soon. ―Okay, says Spiros. They all throw off their clothes and begin to kiss and caress each other and Wintja turns the music to max.

―Hope it doesn’t break the stereo, says Sissy and giggles. ―Now that, that is a bad joke, says Spiros. Probably important though.

Wintja sips some wine and then begins to speak: ―Preparing for ignition. Spiros 99% dead. Sissy 99% dead. I am 5o% dead. Calculating possible dangers in igniting bomb. No dangers found. Superficial nervous systems ready for chock. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt. Kiss from the honey queen. Sissy casts herself over Wintja in a kiss and gets tears in her eyes of sheer emotion. Spiros joins them. They make their way to the bed and throw themselves onto it into a naked pile of flesh.

―Igniting bomb, says Wintja soon. A damp sound, like a nuclear blast far away but near, burst through the world and through their chests. The wave reverberates through their every memory and through every thought they have ever had.

Whoops. Blink wink.

PIROS wakes up in a world that looks like Ilene Meyer’s painting Raconteur. He is lying on a bed, on golden sheets under a red and white duvet cover of the utmost pleasurable softness. Strange music is heard around him, but when he lifts his head to find its source he cannot find it. He flows with the soft warm dreams behind his eyelids a while; The gods are back. O loving spring of the Imagination, how I adore you. Will you come now? S

He forms a few puns in his head and collapses in laughter at their cleverness.

Time stands still. He sits up onto the edge of the bed and looks around. On a little table by the bed he spots a pipe, already lit. He takes a deep breath; don’t forget to breath. Lifting the pipe a little smile shoots alive in the corners of his mouth: never could he have dreamed of anything like this being possible; never ever, yet his heart can only say yes, and he has always known this to be possible, somewhere deep inside; he had just waited for it; waited and waited. He asks himself: Am I dreaming?

A book lies open on the table, and he reads a random line: It was a necessary route my love. We had to do it to get to where we are. But I agree, now we can change that. Less us and more Ostriches. A little heart has been drawn at the top of the page, and scribbled by the heart it says Time time time, we are dripping down to x!

He looks around. The immediate surroundings look partly like an old temple overgrown with trees and ancient moss and merges perfectly with the landscape. In one direction trees stand tall and proud as far as his eyes can see, trees without leaves. In another direction the landscape has been sculpted into a garden full of strange statues of stone and hedges and rose bushes, and the garden, far away, twists up into curly hills that touch the sky. In yet another direction a little river lies solemnly and calm with silvery water, and on the other side of it, in the distance, a white palace stands proud in its splendor. Spiros thinks about his past, or what seemed like his past for a while. “I still haven’t got this all figured out”, he thinks, “but it doesn’t matter”. He rips the bed sheet off the bed and wraps it around his waist, then puts the pipe to his mouth and puffs. The head of the pipe is formed like woman’s head, and thick grey and blue smoke curls out of it and

he draws the smoke into his lungs. As he inhales he hears that familiar kind of helium high-pitched female voice speaking from the opening in the pipe head, saying:

―Are you ready? Spiros shuts his eyes and floats away with the presence of the sharp voice and the taste of the smoke. It tastes a bit like death, he thinks, both the smoke and the voice. He listens.

34

―Am I not always ready? he says. He again turns his attention to the music. It is a melody playing over and over again, meditative mysterious strokes of a violin, with intervals of silence where two chords on a piano walk slowly forward.

―So I just finished my journey into myself and past histories and lives, yes? he says. Yes I have. Seems so anyway. The reversal from the far stretch.

He puffs again on the pipe. ―Yes, I have, he says. The music keeps sounding. He picks up the book from the table and smells the old pages, then reads from a random page: And the writer could say no more, for he had left the world and come to another place. The language of his old world had fallen off him like leaves from a tree, and there was no way to express where and what he had come to. And the violin kept sounding.

Spiros casts his arms out in a stately gesture and invites the landscape to a dance, then begins to dance slowly, swaying to the sound of the melody.

Take this waltz, sweetie.

34 This is my version of a song by Zbigneiw Preisner.

An apple falls from an apple tree nearby and rolls in his direction. He waltzes over to it and picks it up; takes a large bite of it. It tastes like death and the victory over death. It tastes like sweet poison.

Edam is her name. ―Or shall I say the union with death? Spiros says to himself. Death shall be my bride. Death and life, madly in love with each other. Madly in love with each other and a third person. A holy threesome. Two bisexual woman and a man. That’s two twos and one one. What is it you want again? I know. Wait. I know what I want. Do you want some kind of an eternity? How about eternity married too ephemerality and continuous transformation? And who am I in this great mix again? I have forgotten.

No answer. The music keeps sounding. ―We are getting ever closer. Shall spread seeds on our way out, we said. Love. We couldn’t imagine the gods were back. Needed a hint that we are them we dream of. The dream arrives and then you land in your body as the one you dreamed of; a god. Some have always known. Some found out later. Whisper, whisper, you have a secret identity. Who are you?

Tell them I am Spiros, my love, husband of She of the Dark River and of The Hidden One. Tell them we are back. Tell them that the time transfer was successful.

Flight through the timeweb. Put your soul in a web and transport yourself. Easy. Tell them it is checkmate, O won’t you my sweet evil ones. Tell them all our secrets. They’ll die when they hear it all. Tell them the gods are back.

Esc. (Shuffle. Hallucinate a gate.)

Time stands still. Two chords and a violin. The violin speaks, the chords play in accordance. Dim, dam, dim, dam, dim, dam, dim, dam, dim, dam…slowly. Tick, tack, tick, tack, tick, tack, tick, tack. Spend some time like a ghost first. How did I die?

―I love you, Sissy. And I am madly in love with you. You are the blood in my veins on this other side. You're the calm dark

black of my soul. And Wintja, my dear, you are the Victory. You are the poison at the beginning. You who speak through the walls of time. You are the one who said it first: Imagine how we could be living.35 If I was a poet I might have been able to express in words my love for you. Merge, by hip and vein, we used to say, remember? Now we see the union is rather a celebration of diversity. Tell me what I am for I don’t know myself anymore. Yes I do. I am the stuntman and the protector, born from my forehead. Virgin birth.

The woman of the wine. She speaks in mysterious ways. Spiros begins to walk toward the palace. He wades through the silver river, picking up a chunk of gold from the riverbank on his way. The violin keeps sounding. The palace is white and full of arcs and thin pillars, and balconies with their doors open. Spiros enters through one of the doors and when he recognises the stairway inside he walks up the winding twist. Candles are lit every here and there, the flames ghostly still; there is not a tad of breeze, and except the violin and the two repeating chords, not a sound to be heard. Up on the second floor the sound of the violin gets louder, and he follows the magical siren. He arrives at a large domed hall. By a piano sits Wintja, playing with two fingers the same two chords over and over and over. Beside her stands Sissy with a violin.

―Attempt the final words, says Sissy. Spiros walks over to the piano and takes a sip of Spice from the chalice. He feels Sissy’s skin with gentle fingers, then Wintja’s hair; smells it. It smells of victory. He takes the book, The Rosalixion, from ontop the piano into his hands and kisses the pages and holds it up toward the sky, then reads the last lines written: This time we left all that once was. The Rosalixion wants to tie itself up with a flowerlike twist, then free itself. The sun of the Rosy Dawn continues to rise. This is the hour. He swallows all of the spice in the chalice and as Sissy begins to play the melody again he begins to speak:

35 Sometimes I wonder why we don’t have any limits.

Let us speak with the mother tongue Such speech in search of the end of the river What was said in the first time Where every gateword is supernaturally clear

Wintja speaks. ―Sissy, of the Dark River, I announce you born and here again from the first stretches of time. Spiros, god of code, large-scale coordination, I announce you here again and born, here from the first stretches of time. Our souls have been retrieved from the original well. Rosalux.

The glorious palaceworld shimmers chryssanthially. ―Sissy, Goddess of the poison apple, Goddess of the bees and of nectar, Goddess of mirroring water and soul, I announce you back home. Spiros, God of language and craft, God of alchemy and magic, God of bridging millennia, I announce you home.

―Wintja, says Sissy, Goddess of the redpurple wine, Goddess of superintelligence and largescale coordination, Goddess of transcending death, and Spiros, God of time travel and of sub rosa, and I, I announce us all home. Wintja rises and smiles, eyes shining and speaking, and takes Spiros’ hand.

―Take this waltz, sweetie, she says and pulls him toward her for a dance.36

They waltz away across the floor to the sound of Sissy’s melody. The sun bursts forth with its presence and casts golden morning light into the room.

―You have lived your life’s work, you have fulfilled your artistic play, says Wintja.

I love the way you tease me

They had recorded the melody – the violin and piano – and had already played the song on repeat for twelve hours. They had spent the hours in the bedroom mostly, working with the opus,

36 Yes, I’ll take this one. (Optional timeouts)

but they had only got together one single sentence: In ink, miles by hand, they who fashioned the spring, expressed clearly Our world of Finnewintjagans Escape. Wintja studies the book. What does it contain? The door, the rose, the garden, the passage, the palace, the stances, the plan. The dream, the eye, Daeth, Life, and the Third. The book shines in glory in her hands and she skimmers through the middle pages. The book is a foot high and three inches thick, and contains drawings as well as the handwritten text. Every time they are in this palace of theirs, our dear couple of three, they work on the opus. But they cannot bring it back to the 21st century in full glory. Only the geometrical freedom that exists in Plomari can allow such splendor to exist. In comparison to Plomari (as they sometimes call this particular dreamworld where they have this palace) the reality most people call the world is but a black and white drawing, whereas Plomari is ultraspectacular in colour and form. They cannot bring it back but in a compressed form, which is their mission. The book must be translated into the language of the 21st century, so to speak, filtered through the river’s end back down to the lesser dimensional realities. Plomari is hyperdimensional (to say the least), so to speak and to portray it in lesser dimensions, thatabe 4-dimensional apparent space-time in this case, it naturally becomes of lesser resolution. The Rosalixion, referning now to the book not the event, in Plomari, is for our happy couple of three the Book of Lief. It contains the secrets. And that is one reason why their mission is to download the book into the beginning of the 21st century.

The violin and two chords keep sounding. Sissy lights more incense and then serves more wine (I hope it is clear by now that whenever they drink wine it is the Special Wine). She raises her chalice toward Wintja and Spiros and intones:

―Long live the haunted ink! She smiles, then drinks, then dips a feather pen into the wine and takes the book from Wintja.

Chaos never died

―I have an idea, says Sissy. She writes at the end of the book: And the gods who came out of the print saw that they had succeeded with the magical paper trick

(surprise yourself by walking through a book page), and they all nodded in recognition, and kept their mouths shut about it. They placed themselves where they wanted and in silence they began their work. The violin keeps sounding. Wintja and Sissy kiss, eyes closed.

―Rudy! says Sissy soon and looks over at Spiros as he lies on the bed head high on the pillows smoking his pipe. Kiss me! His face is relaxed, eyelids low, and he smiles and puffs and turns his gaze slowly toward Sissy.

―We have missed an essential detail in the manuscript, he says. The precious expressway. The final pun of release.

―I have one, says Sissy. Here, listen: You! You there! Yes you. Go through the polished knob!

―That’s a great one, says Spiros. Have you written it down? ―No. Haven’t found a place for it. ―How’s that wine by the way? asks Spiros. ―It’s going down like your angel spunk, says Sissy and takes a sip.

She gives Spiros a kiss, then walks over to Wintja as she sits face above the book by the large wooden table. Sissy sits down on the book, feet on the chair Wintja is sitting on, and grabs Wintja’s head with her hands and presses her face gently in between her thighs.

―I just want to eat you you said eat me, she whispers. Spiros throws a rose over at Sissy and she grabs it and churns her body smiling and takes a bite of the rose crown and chews the red petals. Wintja bites Sissy’s thigh.

―I just want to eat you you said eat me… The violin keeps sounding. Spiros rises from the bed and picks up a chalice of wine and begins to dance around the room, high as a doorknob, his erection bulging the bed sheet round his waist. He takes more roses and casts them around in the air. Wintja and Sissy make their way to the bed. A little bee comes buzzing in through the balcony and flies around the girls, then lands on Wintja’s hand. They look at the little creature smiling; it flies away. Spiros grabs an apple and joins them on the bed. He rolls the apple down Wintja’s belly and down over her vulva; she lets out a sigh of pleasure, a symphony to Spiros’ ears. Sissy kisses the apple and draws her teeth into the shiny peel and down into the white flesh. She kisses Spiros’ lips in a tasty apple kiss and looks

into his eyes; a look like a thousand years. Sissy feels Wintja’s finger in her mouth and sucks it; Spiros licks Wintja’s lips wet. Soon he gets out of the bed and takes the stopper from the crystal decanter, dips it in wine; Sissy sucks the crystal as Spiros presses himself up on her from behind, cupping his hands around her breasts. Sissy puts the stopper in Wintja’s mouth and she feels Spiros’ throbbing cock with her hand and looks at her two lovers, her two snakes, her two dragons, her two gods.

And hence began a long night. Death and Life and the Third, making love in through the end of the river.

Sissy takes a bite of a cookie. Spiros arranges a line of white sugar for himself on a book. He rolls a page of the book into a tube and snorts the line of sugar up his nose.

―Mmm, he lets out in pleasure and looks at Sissy. Dirty, I want to do something today. Let’s take over the world.

―We already have. Our world. ―I know, says Spiros. Let’s do it again. God, I'm feeling a bit on track. Higher-dimensional. High as a tuss.

―Just watch. Just watch what we’ll do… Spiros opens the book and reads: ―My sweet evil you, when they find out, tell me what you think they’ll do.

―They won’t find out, my sweet boy, my sugar. No one will know.

They had always known writing is making love, and acted in accordance with this when they did their alchemical work of the opus. They explored every little inch of the book, and loved it, and moved together with it, kissing the pages, dripping a triplet of nectar here and there where needed and other goodies. One day when Sissy sat alone outside the palace she noticed a little bird- symbol having been drawn right next to a passage mentioning the light of Spice Christ. Then, on another page, she found a little spiral next to the words Her mind is differently twisted.

37

She took the book and went to the bedroom where Spiros and Wintja lay swooning and drinking wine.

―Birds, spirals, says Sissy. In the scripture. Have you drawn them?

Wintja just giggles; Spiros is tickling her. ―Birds and spirals in the scripture, says Sissy again. Have you made them?

―I haven’t made them, says Spiros. ―Me neither, says Wintja. ―Okay, then it’s time to go, says Sissy. ―No! Not now! cries Wintja laughing, trying to manage Spiros’ attack.

―Yes now, says Sissy. Come. O and I got another expressway: The life stream is like a book.

Sissy goes to the library and brings forth a few strange books: The Return of the Gods, Everywhere Can Be the Dreamland, Codex Rosa, c&. She carries them to the bedroom and throws them on the bed, then begins to rip pages out of the books and rip the pages apart, each page into a few pieces. Wildly, kind of dancing, she throws around the pieces all over the room; tearing, throwing, tearing, throwing. She puts a piece in Spiros mouth. He reads it with delight. She bites Wintja’s toe and puts a piece between her toes. Wintja lifts her foot toward Spiros who grabs it and gives the paper to her. She reads with delight: when the writer made a vital mistake, to mention…

―When the writer made a vital mistake? she says. ―Giving away the keys to the palace? says Spiros. Or maybe some things are better left unsaid. Anyway it’s time to make a few edits.

The remembrance of all the witch martyrs. Mistake to mention? We do it in honor of our dear friends.

She speaks. The informer (Wintja, shhh): ―The time has come to open up the portal.

37 That’s your footstep, William, says Rebecca.

Spiros nods. Sissy nods. Blow the trumpet! The trumpet is blown. Time we open up the rosette. They hear voices: ―I mean, I feel I have been contacted. By something. ―Your destiny... ―Ha! That too. But I meant something else. ―Come play my game. She’s the one inventor twisted animator. See?

―It’s good to own the world, says Wintja. A special kind of luxury.

―Yeah and you like us your Barbie toys don’t you, baby. Spiros licks her, mad with delight; Wintja moans. Sissy grabs her glimmering hair, like harps strings it is, and forces her into a kiss.

O. We forgot to mention. The subtleness of the shift. ―Ah, Spiros lets out in a sigh of pleasure. The smooth transition.

REATE yourself anew. My precious, you can be whatever you want! Has the modern world fooled you again? Free yourself. We are writing a book for you, my love. Just for you. In celebration of you and your return. We weren’t sure how deeply you knew that you are a god, so we thought we’d just remind you. Please know that we respect you deeply and don’t want to impinge on you and your life. C

―We love your dangerous mind. Let me add: Enjoy your privilege to use sunglasses and enjoy diplomatic immunity. Grant yourself endless vacation.

h, the smooth transition. The way it advances toward the transition! Unwrapping it! Letting that dress fall as it all transforms. Wintja lies naked on the bed in the palace with a purple and white anaconda around her. She presses her vulva against the snake’s huge body, legs spread, kissing her head. Sissy sits beside her painting her finger nails, and Spiros kisses her feet and bites her toes. A

SPIROS: So, time to go in. (He picks up one of the ripped book pages from the bed and begins to read.) Once upon a dream three of Our gods were in their secret castle when they decided to sneak into the 21st century to carry out a certain mission. With their magic they slipped in through cracks in time, and… (Soon Spiros is gone (up). Sissy says goodbye to Wintja and the room transforms (up). Wintja shuts her eyes (up) and when she opens them again she lies on the bed in the adobe house by the river. There is a painting of an eye on the wall beside her and the eye blinks at her. Wintja blinks back (smooth landing?). With bird eyes she scans the surroundings. Universes swirl in her pupils. Quick birds that only she can see move about as a symphony, flying through the world, melting into it, transforming, vanishing in and out of sight. They fly through walls. They cry; far calls. Dreambirds. We have many eyes.) SPIROS: (Bare breasted with a white bed sheet round his waist.) This may lead into you knowingly being in communication with the thing that creates your reality. (Wintja follows the sound of his voice out the door out the house. There she sees him stand talking to someone who she does not recognize; a potential publisher of the book. A bird flies by in front of Spiros showing him that Wintja is near.)

SPIROS: (To the publisher, Miss Inga Krav from Sweden.) This is it. The Rosalixion is in the happening. The Rosy Dawn has broken through the clouded sky of modernity. INGA KRAV: And your book is an announcement of this event? SPIROS: For certain people, yes. We are of the Ifusilad. INGA KRAV: I promise I will take a look at the script, and we’ll see what I think of it. SPIROS: Just remember that what the book deals with is meanings too enormous for prose, but we have made a go at it. INGA KRAV: The third sex plays, and plays, and plays. Isn’t that right? SPIROS: You’re damn right there, damn right. INGA KRAV: And you say we don't need to edit the manuscript? SPIROS: That’s right. Code of the greeter glossary, callen home. I have established contact with the vocal muse of old times. (Wintja walks up behind Spiros and whispers in his ear.) WINTJA: Honey, are you here? (A bird comes flying with a slip of paper in its beak, which it hands to Wintja. She reads what is written on it: Yes I’m here. Being naked Wintja asks to be clothed, and two birds come flying from behind her carrying a robe. She stretches her arms out and the birds neatly put it on her. Soon she is handed another note by a bird, this time a message from Sissy. She reads it.) SISSY’S MESSAGE:

We must make it clear soon that we have been hiding as 21st century people. The hour is now.

(Sounds and voices are heard from the stereo inside the house as Sissy browses around the radio channels.) VOICES: Golf that. Roger. NYKKEL HUMPHRY: (On Radio Free, frequency 88.) Is there anybody out there feeling something? (Wintja laughs and listens to the voices of the radio.) A VOICE: All you need to do is call me, I can be anything you need. ANOTHER VOICE: Injected with a poison. (Mumbling.) You could have a saucer, if you want. You could have a little planet, just for

me and you. You could have a secret palace, behind the sun, a place for us to have fun. Just call me, I can be anything you need. (The secret continues to be continuously revealed all across the planet. Eroticizing the mathematical imagery no doubt helps one to remember and visualize it while operating the Egg. And thus The Criminal is fond of rearranging the flowerpots in the garden. And thus thy can work as thy wish within the timestretch of the web the web the web?) MR FIONÁGAIN: (Suddenly, to a party guest at the Release Party on New Years.) Rip ripper ripest, jic jic jic. Dwell on that , my hero! GUEST: ? MR FIONÁGAIN: (With a considerable haircut and white suit, one green leaf stuck to the fabric.) No? No, of course not, perhaps not, perhaps hups hips and firever on! Only once current puns. Allowed? Who would care about such a rule! And is it possible to break? (He laughs.) But utthroats ties ey? Ties to the days gone by. (Bends down and loosens the Velcro straps of his shoes) I use Velcro though. I think it’s better. Last tie to the old days. GUEST: (Politely, not knowing what to say.) I love Velcro. MR FIONÁGAIN: (Unbuttoning his shirt to display the colourful print on his T-shirt:

ENJOY DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY— GRANT YOURSELF SUNGLASSES AND ENDLESS VACATION

MR FIONÁGAIN: Me as well. I use it when I golf. GUEST: You play? MR FIONAGAIN: (Nods. Brings forth an iron nine. Carefully practices his swing for a moment) Yes, I golf. You know, we really should clothe everything in Velcro. To catch the criminals. GUEST: We can’t. The innovation is copyrighted. MR FIONÁGAIN: Is it? I’m sure there is a way around it. We can use fractal hooks with fractal loops, instead of the loops and hoops. Was a confusion there with the word copyright, it means write as in writi undergrunden written writing write. Copy, write. As in words write. Right to copy as well. It’s sound-confusion. Loops and hooks you know. Darts of love. Ink in water. Sidebars in your head. (He hands over a business card.) Velvet Dead End Hook. It’s my company. The Shuffling Tricksters. Strike up a nodding acquaintance with it with the works of old Nates Maximum, or as we call him, The Illustrated Blind Solid Silver-Bitch. Licks In Plenty by the Curer of Wars, licensed and censored by our most picturesque prelates, Graces of the

metropolis, for expansion on the promises, the two best sells on the market this luckiest year. Vixen Pussy. Hard cocks. And, worth mentioning quickly, the idiots. Thought they could steal things from Stealer’s Choice. We licked those rims in the eighties, man. It’s old news. (He picks a black olive from a tray.) And his eyelids are painted. THE GUEST: (Confused, feeling awkward) The…? MR FIONÁGAIN: Licks In The River. The film. (He tosses the olive into his mouth and begins to chew.) THE GUEST: I have no idea what you are talking about, sir. MR FIONÁGAIN: I’m talking about that poem. The definition destroyed. Let it fall upon us all, pray. And midi keyboards. (A soft beam of light shoots off from one of his smiling eyes) Something very awake is occurring. A VOICE: It is made from a very strong plastic, and is virtually unbreakable. THE DRIVER: We don’t worry here, says the driver. THE LYRICS IN THE SONG:

Where what wanted to be said…where what wanted to be said.. Puss! Tuss!

A VOICE: And what does the poison do? (There is giggling.) WINTJA: It gives you control over the hallucination. (She turns toward Spiros.) Honey, you’ll have to do the dirty work today. SPIROS: Don’t I always do the dirty work? WINTJA: It is your punishment for dreaming about woman in the nude so much, my dear. SPIROS: You’re the ones who dreamed me up, not the other way around. Besides, it’s not my fault I think you’re so God damned hot. (They laugh. Spiros turns toward the publisher.) They created me. They needed a male toy. I’m their Barbie toy. The sweet freaks. THE QUEEN: Do you like the way I make you feel? Do you? (Sissy turns on a Justify My Love by Madonna in the stereo. Spiros dances in to the house and fetches the manuscript, then back out and hands it to the potential publisher, who takes it and leaves after a word of parting.) INGA KRAV: I’ll contact you. Judging from your story this might be material.

SPIROS: It's a quick classic, Madame. As we say in Swedish, Snabba Klassiker. Just like the ocean makes the Earth spin around so our book does tuss the tuss. You know, how far can you go when you're half robot? Cheap materials, silicon, coal, strawberry cake. Light like air, hard as diamond. (Inga Krav nods thoughtfully and then bids a kind farewell; walks away. Spiros sees Wintja walk around in the darkness nearby and he sticks his tongue out at her and then makes farting sounds with his mouth and tongue in happy tiredness, rolling his head.) WINTJA: Having fun? SPIROS: Pretty much yeah. Almost as fun as licking honey off your bum under the apple tree. WINTJA: Well, good that you’re having fun, for we’ll be here a while. (She orders a bird to fly and shit on Spiros. Spiros makes more farting sounds with his mouth and is shat on his head without noticing.) SPIROS: Fuck this. (He throws the bed sheet to the side wildly and walks in to the house to fetch his pipe and some wine.) You know, I like this body of mine. I’m old as the cosmos but look like I’m twenty three. (He lights his pipe and puffs.) Okay, wait, we’re loosing track here. What the fuck are we rambling about? WINTJA: Can you just keep on freaking please. SPIROS: Sure sure whatever. Well, in fact I am having fun. We’re on a mission. I like being on a mission. Sissy! Turn on Chaos by Haking Bey will you! SISSY: Soon. Now. Yes. (She turns it on and begins to dance around the house slowly, twirling, snakelike. Digging for imaginary bombs Spiros puffs the dried plant material in his pipe, Chaos filling every iota of his being.) WINTJA: Why are you so shy today Spiris? Have you forgotten we are outside the limits of banal censorship? SPIROS: I’m enjoying killing the last iota of modernity in me, darling dirty you. (He rises to his feet, grabs his wine chalice and poses stately at the centre of the room; sticks an imaginary knife into his chest making the final death stroke. Wintja and Sissy back him up, standing behind him, with eyes of lux et voluptas. A large bird with golden tail feathers comes and circles above the house. The area is filmed by The Star and broadcast live worldwide. The lover speaks.)

WINTJA: Have you heard the secrets of longevity as expressed by the ones of the distant past? They are archaeological finds for us in this time. Yellow apples and figs, grapes, dates, green leaves. And wine! They could live on wine all right, for weeks in a row, the masters of myth. My Beloved Spiros does it at times. I thus, meaw, lick, meaw, give myself the honour to introduce him, a man married to one of those plants who set the door ajar eons ago, the man who spoke the tales of the immortal back in the days, a man of great tactility, a man living a life most people don’t even know is possible to live, most people fantasise while this boy does it, here he is, keeping things decent in the House of Famileye, may that mean what you want, here he is: Mr Chameleon. SPIROS: (Caught off guard and unprepared, begins his speech.) Fuck me I'm famous. So, you have tried to kill us, both our bodies and our souls, and you have failed. I speak on behalf of us of the Ifusilad who have been under attack. We, the subnatural rescue team, all of us of the Ifusilad, stand here before you now to grant you one last opportunity to draw back your forces of terror against life. We are here to tell you that we're back; we are the gods, the originators. We have landed here this particular century for a reason, and if it is of strategic interest to the Queen we will tell you that reason, but not now. We have been hiding, as birds, houseflies, as air, in eyes, and we have been hiding as 21st century people. Be sure that you cannot harm us― we're already dead. There was a marriage, a union, between life and death and a third, long long long ago, and we of the Ifusilad have been in this union ever since. And be sure, that we will not harm you, war is not something we gods engage in, but if you choose to play a game with us instead of surrendering, instead of waking up, be sure we will use all of our powers against you. And be sure, dear enemy, that we have already won; it is not a question of who will win, but in what way you will wake up. It is still a mystery to many of us, how you came to be so stupid. Did you run out of the secret brew? In any case, your stupidity has long ago gone too far, and the harm you cause has made it necessary for us to intervene with this second birth. We are the Second Coming. Please understand we wish you no harm, we simply want to make it clear to you that we are now present everywhere in the space-time stream, and have our eyes on you, and have now reached the final steps in

transforming the world. Indeed, we have always been here, but we have kept our presence sub rosa. If you choose to enter a game with the Queen and us her god-angels, we can only pray for your souls and hope you wake up in time. Please know that we love you, and that you are forgiven deep in the Heart of God. This is Spiros with Wintjabernatrice and Isis Cowguard, on behalf of the Queen and the gods38 of the Ifusilad. (Quiet secret applause over the globe, and applause in masses; at parties, in bars, at festivals, in private jets, in corporate offices.) SPIROS: I’d like to thank all you wilderfolks for giving me the tender charm of speaking here at this moment. It’s a true honour. When your country wants to get rid of your soul, when your home is on the line, when bad taste is the standard, when the elders around you tell you that the only thing you can do is slide through life on a shrimp toast, that’s when you gotta leave, and start sending subversive art through the public domain. I have sifted through many eternities to reach my present state, and that is all thanks to everyone, and to the fruits of Nature that earth blesses us all with, to eat from the tree, and gain health in the otherwisely unwise human sphere that we seem to perceive sometimes. For I wish to say so— inherently the world is all perfect. The secret Garden is inside us. Actually I could stop the speech right there, for this is where we’ll end up at the end of my talk. But let’s go on. I shall speak of what will pour from my backlobe. Alchemical gods we are. The mighty ones have vanished into us. The time is new, we are in a new era. Let us all become flemmels, like Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel. What is a flemmel? A flemmel is a caretaker of himself and the family of existence. A most benign figure, happy and alive. A gardener of the biosphere, a guardian, a creature who is actually thousands of years old and whose family tree goes back to the old folks, the poets and dancers and lovers and weavers of the ages. Someone who swims in the sacred waters. It’s someone who has broken free from the fate of modernity, and enjoys diplomatic immunity not in the nation states but in the states of existence. A Flamel is someone who has returned to the Edun and lives in the garden most pure. A Flamel has the powers the old ones had, to do magic and who lives in harmony. And I wish to address this meeting to

38 O, my darling you. So many have fallen, but you still stand tall!

all of you of The Garden Different— we who have re-entered the sacred that we according to a living myth were thrown out of at the beginning of time. Thank you for inviting me to speak here. I promise you I will give you my all. Let me tell you about what it means to be a flemmel. A Flamel carries a world of love, through all weathers. We need not even noise our grand victory, for it is safe in the music of our souls. Let beauty and grace remain in your heart. This grand existence as all others speaks of glory. Echoes does the sound of our giggling through the ages. We who are the codantress of secrets told too seldom, acquainted with the victoress. Gundhur Swalabs, Krint Frinrey, Anders Jones, Julian Victoros, Cajsa Victoros, Annilen Queen of the North and Kick Chris are here today to speak from the depths and tides, and they'll be lending their keys of old and young Nature, the most- highest everwere. These archemists took hailing time to complete that last paper of theirs. One last sentence they needed. The Queen of the sea says it be time for a reunion. Pays the plurals to do so she wish say, whatever that means. The letter hidden in that text would be appropriate to expose here, in this free space of ours, so we'll find time for that tomorrow morning or so. Honey it will be. Spells of magic. Tiny victories made great, taking away the tragedy from Her history. The City Different does its play and work in laughter I dare say. Now let me speak of the exotics. Epochs have went by since we last saw Persephone in her true glory. Flora as well, and the muses and beings of Nature and all worlds. O but we have been hiding, we're always here. Excuse me for this illexpressed leading down to the heart of the matters. With some shock it came, when the immortals came out of the closet. Non-stop weavers they are all of them. The wonder of it, O tailors! The lovebeast won’t settle— you can’t make a limousine out of history from an agenda that doesn’t have its roots in dreams. To pass the grace one must adapt to the challenges of ones time, ey? So once when I was swaying above, thinking it was for the good of us all, there came the voice: What bewaits we after the waters have gone still? And I thought: this can’t be right. Words from a bush it was. The Logos— the voice that whispers in the ages, from under mirrors and rugs, in our hearts and dreams, in our trips and in the wind and in our every fantasy. It’s as clear now as it was in antiquity, the vocal muse. Listen and let her speak. And speak

back to her. The depths of soul is the true dictionary too, so let your tongue free. O. Partly because we’ve been discussing the irrational nature of our common past when Krint Frinrey was up the ladder fixing a spot for Archaic rebirth, with money up his sleeve and a connection with Prince Ludviq and his team, and they dropped a line back at pineal as they made it a sacrament to glimpse the fact. The Mystery, the Trememndum. The ocean awaits surely all us who weave the secret. And this irrational past was a good place to start from if you wanted to kick yourself into another week. Alchemical victory has been secured. Hoot it from the treetops. The whole life of the old ones was pervaded by an ardent faith in the Goddess Nature, and this we can do now, in our own time. We are consciousness, we are light. We are syntax, we are hallucination, you can't even see us. We are this. WINTJA: The incertitude of the void was a soft pillow to rest my head on. And beyond— the place of safety, Queens’ Asylum. Throw soul’s pearl into the wine. SPIROS: That’s joyful. Never have we said it. (A female voice is heard from the crackling radio.) THE VOICE: …Yes, what we don’t understand is that the enemy is infinite. The modern world we live in is not accustomed to thinking in such terms… (Spiros opens Hakim Bey’s book Chaos and begins to read out loud from it. Sissy and Wintja sit down in laughter by the centre fire. Soon Spiros closes the book after a finishing line.) WINTJA: Dear Gods of the Ifusilad, we are landing. The universe has been replaced with the world of the Evil Queen, the one twisted animator. FLOWERLINGS: We told you! We told you! SPIROS: What did you tell us? FLOWERLINGS: We told you! We told you! That it would happen. You doubted! SPIROS: I personally doubted for I was after the real thing. (He mumbles the words of Leary.) Your mythic guide has to be one who has solved the death-rebirth riddle. (He laughs in ecstasy.) Ha! We did it! We actually fucking did it! WINTJA: (Kisses Spiros wild of joy.) We’re master criminals, precious, of course! Remember what we said? Our secret words.

(She waves her hand for Sissy to join them. She comes and the three join in a hug.) SISSY: (Whispering.) Exploding in union as the bomb, secret sex in the tomb. Twirling with the holy snake, with her always love we make. Extract your soul and make what you wish, at last we have Our holy dish. WINTJA: We solved the riddle. SPIROS: Dishwishersall discwater fully integrated. THE ROSALIXION: (Through Sissy.) Unnoticed by some succeeds our cosmology… SPIROS: But the opus is flawed, Rose. THE ROSALIXION: You are the only one doubting, Spiris. SPIROS: It’s your splendour. It overwhelms me. Excuse me, my Queen. (The sound of the music helps them as they let the undulating electroplasmic multiverse form as it wants. Two thick slices of reality disappear as the last wall between them vanishes in an instant, and they kiss and become one twos in an orgasm of something akin to beauty but is something else. Spiros feels himself enter a place like made of light, where there is no pain and no fear, where peace prevails and where the weather is always good. He becomes presence and settles with it. Almost like a dream, but fully clear, the world becomes made of love. Is this the transition? he thinks. Or just a preparation for it? Four tones from a flute tell him to not wonder so much right now, just play. He sees the content of his mind, like stuck on the visible surfaces around him, begin to separate from the material. Sissy’s and Butterfly’s magical world takes over.) SPIROS: (Lets himself fall down on the floor in laughter.) Oah! And then my mind went pop! SISSY: Can the flames of this space itself... (She sharpens.) I demand your stitch in frescos. The timestretch, making it by Love. Our bed dream. To see your blood, my beloved.

And the opus was flowed― Spiros was right. But those flaws had been put in place by the Queen, that is what Spiros sometimes forgot. And since this day forward he never felt doubt again in the

splendor of the Rosalixion, and he bowed before the Queen, and the Queen blessed him.

Blessed be you who care nothing of the rules set up by your culture, for you carry the torch. Blessed be you who go your own way. Blessed be you, who surrounded by people who curse at you for being yourself, go deeper into your freedom with courage. Blessed be you, agent of Chaos, wolf-angel of the Ifusilad. Let it be told, let it be known, that you are adored. You are legend.

No beginning, no middle, no end. No linearity. The Rosalixion works in mysterious ways.

―What time is it? Sissy looks at the hemlines of her skirt. ―11:oo, she says. ―Eleven minutes to go then, says Spiros. ―The Spying Rose, says Sissy. That’s you. You are being eyespied through.

―Well aren’t we awfully delicate in the way we handle things, says Spiros and lights his pipe.

The first step, let us say for the sake of simplicity, is to leave whatever century you were born in. And you know how to do that. You will be welcomed by the angels and the other gods and whoever you wish to hook up with (I am not allowed to mention certain names here). Then seek out the blue spice. Then you can retrieve yourself from the deep stretches, and fly in from the far stretch into your body. Dig out your mysterious and true origins and you will reincorporate into your "new" world without any separation. Sort of like this:

Of the body make (a) spirit And the spirit reincorporates into its body Without any separation

And you will find that you have been hiding. A god goddess walking around here waiting for the right moment to enter. And you will remember. You will remember.

Don’t forget that there are no rules and there is no right or wrong way to do this. Be fluid and flexible and the transition will be smooth. But don’t be surprised if it is at times terrifyingly intense, that is common in these kinds of situations. The angels are here to help you through such passages, so call on them if you need them. Remember their words:

Call us up by sunphone any time. You need anything? Anything at all?

The streets are crowded with people when Spiros makes his way through town. He stops to look at The Fountain of the Lovers and it speaks to him as it always does, by connecting his thoughts with the mysteries it casts off. He hears a voice from behind him:

―I know who you are Spiros. He turns. ―And I must say I am impressed by your disguise. Spiros looks at her, says nothing. She continues: ―I recognize it from miles away. The look. The spy. The incarnation.

Adagio For Strings is heard from an open window nearby. Spiros nods one slow nod, says nothing, and walks away into the crowd. He casts a glance into the eyes of a man who walks by him talking in a mobile phone.

―Okay, the show can begin, says the man after having met Spiros’ eyes.

Spiros thinks to when the Queen said: ―Okay to history.

What more can we say of the spells? The rose is you, you have become you? We have been hiding as 21st century people. Sorcery, blinkwink. Learn to read the. And here we are now, on both sides of death. Code of the story running every time. Every letter is a godsend. Answers to x. Do ye speak finneganswakyan? We are transforming Our world, says. Great disguise. Reach deep. Go

deep inside, there you will find it. Time we open up now. What did she whisper, ancient starry Eve, to your feeling of it in the first hint of the greeting, far and deep back inthrough the dark well of the mystery rising? Was it not told that you are the One? You are the one the archetypes come from.

You have the answers to all of these things. We whose heads are the cosmos. Remember what was said: in evil company you will find them, your friends.

Your passions are consuming your doubts. Did you think it wasn’t possible, honey? What was said?

Pouring the days like wine, out with the dark river we go. Redirect the Nile. Or dip the ingredient into your timestream. Do ye know how to navigate a big world in a small?

And darling we need to talk more about the timeweb.39

Spiros, who is quite literary Jim Morrison's son, feels himself flowing merging into the Star already as the sunny cocks, the mushrooms, are rising in a group of two dozen in the closet. With his mind he winks hello to Terence "Timemonth" and Sissy "Saucer" and Wintjabernatrice and all the others who live there, greeting also that familiar animadigitality of the Star.

―Intelligence becoming information merging with hyperspace and time and space equals the saucer? he says. Hmm. Just a thought that popped up. Anyway. How much longer should we wait?

―We will do it this afternoon, says Wintja. Afternoon comes. Requiem for a dream. Hail the Rose. You can see it in Our eyes. We come from elsewhere. Flew in like twixy-Phoenixes through our eyes. Made bodies for ourselves. Phonetophoenixes too. We are working to understand our story. We wrote ourselves into existence. Or? Popp.

―Dammit, Nora, you are right, it is true. The Eagle is landing, flying in as information. Check where the sun stands. Check the sun’s angle in relation to your position in history.

39 Does that work for you?

A nod.

―Multiple organisms? ―Not sure. Some, perhaps. Some most probably. Where are you?

―In the hidden library. Subspace. ―You bought a new chalice today. Looks Greek. Like that old black pottery painted with gold from old Greece.

―Yes, I thought I would announce the victory in my own little modest way.

―For eyes that can see, dear. A nod. ―We have placed the information everywhere. Learn to read the.

―Good, good. Going both paths now in the same time.

Intermission. Fab. Fabula.

―Spiraling in? ―Yes, spiraling in.

Intermission.

―Ready for rosylation of the premises. Filling it up with nectar. You may proceed.

The Rosy Dawn licks the walls. Spiros drinks from the chalice and lies down on the bed, lies down like a ghost into his body. The universe chirps and pops with little popping sounds. Requiem for a dream is heard. He shuts his eyes and a tunnel opens at the center of his skull and he falls back through it; it is like a roller coaster ride through a twirling frenzy of geometry and colour and symbols all morphing and transforming and carrying him away. The tunnel is mostly red and yellow and blue and white, and golden. Where his body is he does not know.

He flies back to his origins (of which we will say nothing here) and in the form of of bird (how I cannot say) he then flies back into his eyes. He opens his eyes. He is back on the bed, on his back, head high on a pile of pillows. Sissy, wrapped in white, kisses her way down his chest and down his belly, looking up at

his face with her yadegreen eyes. The shadow of Wintja moves behind him and he can soon feel her hands through his hair.

OW that we have in broad terms mapped out the saga of how Sissy, Spiros and Wintjabernatrice flew in from their hidden abode into the 21st century, let us move deeper. What an evilly genius operation it was, ah? Mummy Mama is back from the grave honey and Daddy Dawn is right behind us and forever hidden is our Alienah Wintjabernatrice. We have not been too detailed in the broadcasting of the tale as we have a hyperdimensional schedule here to follow (We proceed according to the manuscripts? Hell no!). But, so, let us take a turn here at Around Midsummer in the mindcity of no addresses and delve deeper into this disturbingly perfect drama. N

Mind is same as time and space. Take a walk through your brain. Story. Where do you want to go? What do you want to do?

Lucid awakening. Small scratching sounds and noises, scratchings in the corners. Where did you get to know what I am dreaming about, honey? Closing in. Initiating download of new data.

Rustle rustle. Prassel prassel i hörnen. I got a little place nearby, wanna go?

Has anyone ever been caught? Who are the mirror people? Wintja hid as a white dove there a while (I thought I saw Bianca casting glances at my cock there when I took off my clothes, that evening we bridged our old Egypt with the apartment on Leavingby Road 216, ha! That’s when I realized what had fucking happened, but I didn’t say anything). Okay, good good, let us move on in to the inner circuits.

Time is a made up construct based on the assumption that events move in a linear manner. To understand the rosalixion as event we must dump this assumption. And where does that assumption come from anyway? Look around you, do things look linear to you? Or perhaps more important, look within, do things look linear in there? When dream begins to interblend with "reality", you better be up for surprises.

Mmm, when a dream becomes reality. The secret landing40 was successfully executed and Spiros and Sissy and Wintja landed smoothly. On the pastures outside Old Town we now find the three walking along chatting and laughing; Spiros Krishna and Sissy Rädha and Allienah Wintjabernatrice. The sky surrounds them like a soft cerulean dome, their friend and lover, there are some fluffy clouds here and there and: it is summer. Spiros and Sissy walk hand in hand when Wintja appears from behind them; she appears like in search of the beginnings of time: she does well about the place. She beckons, “Boy! Here's a plum for you”, and she throws it to Spiros wisely, vague, full of superstition. “And one for you, my beloved”, she says and hands a yellow one to Sissy.

Wintjabernatrice waits, looking around, sneaking a glance at her plum-eating loved ones every now and then.

―Nothing? she soon says. ―What? asks Spiros. Wintja sighs. ―The parable of the plums! Wintja says. The unsolved parable.

―Original sensuality. O, no, that’s the apple. I was thinking about the apple.

Spiros mumbles: ―Apples and wine. Plums. Applesfoods maybe?

40 Hi Aphrodite! Smooth landing landing landing landing?

―Joyce’s parable? Sissy asks. ―No my parable, says Wintja. Peach plum pear, you can reach us everywhere. Place a pearl in a dream, and through the ventilation scream.

―O the pipe phone. Ventilation system of death and life. Hyperspace. But the parable is confusing. Although who doesn’t like confusing…

―And you don’t need to scream, says Spiros. They take a quick turn in to walk through the alley of trees that leads to the cave on Leavingbye Road and Wintja takes off her sandals so she can walk barefoot in the mud.

―Leave the sandals there on the ground, says Sissy. Shoes without feet. Where did she go? People will wonder.

Wintja nods and they continue onward. They walk up the sixteen steps of the spiral stairway up to second floor and enter the apartment. Having entered, Wintja checks the manuscript (The Rosalixion, that they are working at) and what Spiros has recently added. Spiros sits down in front of her and lights a pipe and rests his eyes on her face and her moving eyes, melting in bliss and the most exalted joy at being in her presence.

―So I see, says Wintja with a tone of voice that makes Spiros’ heart scream of desire for her, you have added that you were created as a kind of Barbie toy and male sex toy by and for a female alien nicknamed Babe, who is a remarkably slutty and baroque creature with thousands of bodies and one of the richest in this part of the mindsphere.

―Ah, yes, says Spiros. Power, sex, magic. Wintja goes on reading, and soon begins to read out loud: ―And so Babe with all her bodyguards and lovers, all married alchemically in the grandest example of orgy and freedom of sexual expression the world had ever seen, came marching in to the world to Benny Benassi’s song I Love My Sex, all with white bed sheets round their waists, the men with throbbing erections, and from the sky came a swarm of 6 million bees buzzing in with a sharp stinging sound that echoed from horizon to horizon with its high pitch. Some of the women and men of the assemblage carried golden trays on which stood huge crystal chalices full of a redpurple liquid that they served to bypassing strangers who could not fail to see a hint of old Egypt

in the way the assemblage walked; straight legs and rhythmically, one step at a time to the music that just kept going on and on. Others carried beds on which lovers lay naked, kissing and caressing each other and drinking of the redpurple wine, eating apples and grapes or right out fucking or playing each other with rose quartz dildos. Strange exotic fragrances filled the air, with an evil hint of burnt plastic. The police and military, quick to announce catastrophic public disobedience, were held off by the very Queen herself, in ways we can not reveal. The assemblage progressed through the city to the eyes of dazzled, shocked, outraged, confused, suddenly-turned-psychotic and violently happy spectators. Many of the spectators threw their clothes off and joined the assemblage and were never seen again as they, so to speak, ran away with the circus. When arriving at the royal palace the assemblage surrounded it and forth from the crowd came Babe in some of her forms (as twelve women), with two muscled male bodyguards by her side and a lion in front of her. The lion walked up to the main entrance of the palace and roared, and the door opened, and out came a young man. Saying nothing three women walked up to the door carrying a book on a golden tray and served it to him, smiling and casting on him pink and white rose petals, with curtsies. The man at the door took the book and nodded politely, a bit shyly, and then closed the door. The music began again and the assemblage gathered into a line and progressed through the city and out of it.

Spiros blows out smoke in Wintja’s direction. ―That’s how I thought we would do it, he says. For the delivery of the letter.

―It’s a good first shot, we need to work the plan through a bit though and add some more elegance, says Wintja. For instance we need a few white helicopters surrounding the assemblage. Or purple.

―Fuck helicopters, says Spiros. ―I like helicopters. I think they’re sexy.

―So how did you become so … wild … Spiros? asks the potential publisher Mrs Cleo.

―I was born a prince but became a pirate. Now I’m both prince, king and pirate, so it was a win, says Spiros. No, really, what happened was I broke the glasses of my worldeyes through a shamanic act and found a secret, and I found myself in the eternity I…

―Yes one shouldn’t stay within the walls of the palace so secure, there is far too much adventure out there, says Mrs Cleo.

―Beware the road of common sense and moderation, says Spiros. It lead not to the lands.

Mrs Cleo nods. ―So Spiros, she says and searches with her hand for her bag, I am interested in your book.

―O please don’t be, says Spiros and giggles. We’ve done all we can to keep it from reaching the bookshelves.

―No, really. I like it. She fiddles out the manuscript from her bag and puts it on the table. Spiros notices the stain of red wine on the first page.

―I couldn’t help reading it in my garden while enjoying a bottle of red, says Cleo. I spilled some of the blood of Adam on it. Spiros laughs.

―Edam is her name. Tasty wine? he says. ―Great wine, great. So, what is your book about? Tell me. ―It’s about immortality of course, says Spiros and lights his pipe. And…

―That’s the aim of the game, says Cleo and smiles seductively. So, let me taste the courage of your actions. Tell me what you know. I want to hear everything.

Cleopatra looks at Spiros’ boyish face as he pours more wine; she rearranges herself in the five-seat sectional [sofa] and licks her upper lip wet; looks down on the manuscript in her lap, looks at Spiros again, goes back to the manuscript. She wants that boyish face of his, she wants his kiss, but she knows he is married.

―Absolutely no regrets, says Spiros and giggles and hands Cleopatra a glass of wine.

―What do you mean? says Cleo smiling.

―O I was just thinking of Madonna’s words. I am still pretty pissed off at what society tried to do to me. Tried to kill my soul, them fucking assholes.

―Yes and, I really think you should not hold back in your book. Express yourself, as Madonna said. Sometimes it feels a bit constrained, the text, as if you are afraid to let it be free.

―Yes, I know what you mean, says Spiros. Cleopatra takes a grape and puts it in her mouth. Spiros watches her closely.

―So do you really think we are figments of our own imagination? she asks.

―Seems like a useful idea to me, says Spiros. ―Well let us say that we are. Shouldn’t we then keep our imaginations free? I for one think the imagination is one of the primary magical keys.

―Indeed, says Spiros. I think so too. They sit together in the silence and just breathe and sip of the wine.

―But that is something all artists have to deal with, says Cleopatra soon, isn’t it? The taboos and the conditioning of a stupid culture.

―Yes… ―And one must not let oneself be fooled by those tricks, she continues.

The antique clock ticks. Hits 11:11. A little housefly comes and sits down on Spiros’ hand.

―No, right, says Spiros. You make up your own reality. There is no limit to how far one can take that.

―So what are your plans for the future? ―I plan to never die, and die in the same time, and fuck off to another dimension with my wife. We will leave a ghostly trail behind.

―The perfect crime, says Cleopatra. I like it. ―Crime and glamour, says Spiros. But I have some unsettled issues to solve here before I leave. Ghosts of the past. Attempt of murder. Society tried to kill me.

―Scary, says Cleopatra.

―Well it’s more scary for the one who tried to kill me. Obviously it was someone who didn’t know who he was dealing with. Bzzz. You can’t fool us, we’re in human faces.

He winks with his eye and sips some wine, looking at Cleopatra.

―Also before I leave I am going to become rich financially by doing my magic, says Spiros. Just by pursuing my dreams, you know. With my wife of course.

―So many people do that, no reason you can’t, says Cleopatra.

She sips carefully of her wine and looks at Spiros with a serious eye.

―Hmm, tried to kill you huh? she says. The world was killing me. Your world was killing me, draining the blood from me. Yes.

Spiros revels in his animadigital spirit a moment. Incoming call. He shuts his eyes. Bzz.

―Yes, he says and then goes back to the previous topic. No, really. I have better things to do than even give a single moments thought to all these societies and civilizations or whatever they are called.

Cleopatra laughs. ―Yes, like enjoying tantric love or giving birth to yourself anew and preparing to move to another dimension.

Tantric love. I want to you naked all over me. ―Things of the sort, says Spiros. Kama Sutra. Or enjoying a glass of wine with you and your godly presence.

―My godly presence, Cleopatra giggles. Don’t you know, I am the Kama Sutra.

Spiros smiles. ―So your book is your ghostly trail? Cleo soon asks. Is that why it said, what did it say…?

She flips through the manuscript to the passage she has in mind, locates it and reads aloud:

―I shall vanish. I will tell you of my whereabouts in a book of love. ―Well, the book is not the only thing we are leaving behind, says Spiros. But yes. You know, it is custom to leave some keys behind, all wizards who walk through any of the gates must leave the gate slightly ajar.

A door in Spiros heart opens and in he comes in from another place. He sits down in himself. A little kiss comes out of Cleopatra’s open palm, and she smiles, her head sticking out into Eternity, like a peeping Tom. It makes Spiros giggle.

―Hello, he says and waves to Cleopatra’s happy manifestation.

―Hello, she says and waves back. ―Daedalion. Spiros throws the bed sheet off his shoulders and stretches over to Cleopatra and kisses her soft lips, feels her skin with his hands.

―Aren’t you married? says Cleopatra and then bites Spiros’ lip. Or have you just trained long and hard in being confusing?

Soon they are intoxicated and all over each other. ―Funny, says Spiros. An underwear with pink little flowers on it…

Let us make it absolutely clear: this book is written for you. It is a present to you from the Mushroom and the Seven Heavenly Sisters from Hell. I can see it before me, you, walking around in The Sacred Garden of Eternity, as my brother and I called the landscape, the forest, the Earth, the cosmos, when we lived up in the hills of an island, somewhere, sometime, long long ago. I can see you walking around here with the book in your hand, slinging up a random page and just having fun with the text as it speaks to you through the centuries (the book makes a good pillow too by the way you may have noticed!). You know, if you put a page of this book in the golden sunlight in the afternoon, and pay attention to the angle of the sun, you can see the centuries uniting. (I'm having my first kiss of Isis rejoicing so excuse my excitement!) We're drunk as we write this, dear pirate, Dear Ingenious Reader, dear friend and soulmate. Yes, all of us, living with the moonshine against our chest.

I want to offer you my hand for a high-five through the eons, so if you’re up for it, slap this book with your palm, and I will too, and that’s a high-five through the eons! And by the way, we are too cool for this century and these demented civilizations. High five for life! High five for us!

You know, I sit here in Eternity. We are different, you and me, why of course, but on many levels we can connect too. We are the wolf-angels with the secrets in our eyes.

For fourteen years I have been under attack from the Factory (civilization), but I’m a very skilled pirate, and as Captain Skylark would say in the face of an attack: Let us go and hide in the wind. Hahaha, have we not made it clear that the Goddess has announced alchemical victory? I thought we had. So raise your chalice toward the sky in direction through the ages, for a toast! The walls of the hyperhistorial wundergoround is smiling with us through the eaons!

Hahahahahahahahahae! Yeeeeeehaaaaaaaa!

Let’s hide it well. See for you can be sure, the Goddess chooses her alliances, you don’t choose her. So say it with me, to the Factory:

―Fuck off. Hahahahae! There is a place that laughs in joy and bathes in love magically. Never stop being with it when you can, and dreaming of it when you are elsewhere. It is here,

You know, me and the girls have had a long debate whether or not we should actually publish this book or not. I thought it might have been safer to hide the information, but the Goddess insists on the info being published.

Now, to go on with the story. Don't you just love this book? Isn’t it weird? It’s fucking awesome!

The slippery nectar drips. The black sperm from the other side keeps on searching to find the way into the egg. Spiros cries. (Sometimes I’m not really here, Come...to the other side.) Sissy and Wintjabernatrice gaze far throughout the ages, keeping the area clear for the secret birth. Nectar drips from Wintja’s breast and Sissy’s lip as they engage in nonlinear forecasting in bed.

―Dear Rose, you with Your mysterious ways, tying up the eternity-knot, opening the present, shimmering up the garden

visible. This far into our story, and I’m going fucking nuts, at last. I am in Eden, what the fuck am I doing in Eden suddenly? Haha! Where’s that apple. There, good. One taste should be enough to brook through.

Chews the apple. ―Now if I’m not totally mistaken, the Rosalixion is arising into my present, from the deepest of depths, and I am being born anew, flying in from all the stretches of time. Say hello to the Rosy Dawn. Good morning fellows. Landing landing landing higher and higher and higher. I left history, and came out from my own forehead, flew in from another dimension, landing here. What have you been up to the latest years?

And of course Spiros, still partly inside the Great Delirium (Bridge! Bridge!), or at least there again for a moment, wonders why he keeps talking to himself. But Sissy and Wintja remind him that he isn’t talking only to himself, but to them as well, and to the Queen and all the folks of the Ifusilad, and that it is all part of the massive tactic, their grand plan with its hidelovsly warm and rosy intricate ingenious dynamics. And Spiros remembers when Sissy and Wintja came on the hovering vehicles above the Nile and told him “it is time”, and he reaches deep inside himself and finds there the next key of the puzzle. Time is not linear. And he sits back in Eden, and looks with his intertemporal eye at the circumstance, and while Wintjabernatrice and Sissy walk around in the Sacred Garden of Eternity laughing and talking about this and that, he takes a pen and adds the following to the manuscript:

Echo! Read the beginning!

We have reached the far shore. Bend the bay. Eko Bokelund Blund! Still getting things into focus. The history-dream, the poisoning, is going up the cazoo! The world from here looks a bit like it did earlier, but still not. There is this quality to things now, which I find impossible to describe. Mushroom land. Another world has popped out of the woodwork, and I can see my entire past as the weave of the story, our storyverse. I am mighty surprised, still, yet I have always known this would happen. So, I

just want to announce that we have landed now. Where we are we do not know, but they say we are in vicinity of the 21st century, Christian time. The black sperm from the stars still has not found its way to the egg, by the way, of course you already know. We are waiting for further orders from the Queen. In the meantime we act on the last order and gather the descending data that reaches us and spread it across the earth. We’ll keep hiding, seems like the natural thing to do. We feel it happening here. The flower is blooming. We are coming back from the river’s end. Hail the Rose.

Wintja comes up behind Spiros and looks down at what he has written. She takes the pen from his hand and writes: We have come back from the river’s end. Spiros smiles, and Wintja gives him an apple.

We have come back from the river’s end. Not easy juggling with that grammar sometimes. The Rosalixion as event, by definition nonlinear, is of course at times very strange. The seemingly chaotic dance moves with grace doing dimensional warps with the greatest ease. It is joyful, but also determined in its goals and does not falter. Its desires have made it gone wild beyond this world. We are happy, so so happy, we are happy! We love. We feel. We cannot describe how we feel but O how we are happy. Hihihihihihihi.

Find my end annywhere, says. I stuck it in the middle and strung it up the beginnings from all sides. And so forth popped the Rose Garden that has no middle, no beginning, and no end. No, that didn’t come out right, but hey whatever. Let’s not be too icky picky.

―He doesn’t know where to put it, sir. Spiros giggles. Wintja whispers:

I want to be your temptrix I want to explore you

They sit down in the candle-lit space of the little cave, the little apartment at street number 216, the little corner of the space station.

―Okay, says Wintja, let’s puzzle together the new data. And they put together the following as continuation of the manuscript:

…multifarious Star messages include the agents for the changing of the hitherto to redefine the origins. The field of myth that is the birthplace of the present. The present is focused into being. We are the UFOs, and the grand hallucination – reality in other words – is focused into being by these multiple UFOs which we are, and which other beings are as well (People, nearing the statement). We Are the UFOs.

World by brain re-writable. Matter is jagged open that previously solid material was. Left is photonphysical universe, to begin with. Stealth approach secured royally. (If you would crumble all this information together into a little thing it would be a little lens that you can put yourself in and then travel freely.)

Intertemporal hands directed by intertemporal eye and mind, reaching into the deep circuits to enable the release. You can not make a wrong turn on this sweet road.

Why don’t you call you up into flying into? O, you are?

ed heart lovelights are on in the kitchen and the oven is crackin’. A splendid afternoon. Sissy is covered in white fruitsugar and fleur and Spiros rolls around on the floor talking to himself in a delerium of the more severe sort. Six houseflies buzz around. In a fleeting moment a mass of attention is on a round peachy bum on its way up the stairway. R

―Now the party begins, Sissy says and smiles. Have an outbreak of psychosis. Make no sense. We need more merchandise from the deep caverns and from the Garden.

She grabs a raspberry and melts with the taste of it. Spiros rises to his feet and sings:

A little young ladies across the road In a ketheric like direction This spicy storyverse of ours is really really hawt

Wintja, returning down the stairway, opens her mouth to suggest a change in the words Spiros sang, but Sissy quickly stops her:

―No! Don’t change it! It’s peachy perfect! she exclaims as she brings out some cookies from the oven.

―No no, don’t change it! Spiros shouts. Her bum is peachy perfect!

Little birds play around and fly above Sissy to look down her cleavage. Sissy Snowhite puts a green time-stopped gem into Spiros’ glass of wine and bumps her hip into his hip and says:

―Find the most awesome thing to say and I’ll let you rip my dress to pieces.

And Spiros, quick as he is, puts his goldrimmed shades on and says:

―Let your soul be the sitar. But that didn’t impress her, so he said: ―Simulate the roundabout and form a loud spy to work with every imaginary event. Document the defending and abundant fabric.

And it impressed her a bit, but not fully, and so he takes a deep breath, knowing they are on the verge of a miracle, and he says rather calmly, as though his words were immanent:

―O Rose! You have unmannered us! The storyverse has shattered; forth is merging the 'world began with imagination'. This batch worked! And tonight, good folk!―

He jumps up on a stool; ―Tonight, on the stage of eternity itself! The selfcircumcentric megacycle played out as an evening of three lovers’ hierophany and outcircled from its own inner dynamics.

And it impressed Sissy, and she felt the words were a miracle, and toxic teliarchy accented the attended thoroughfare in the out prerequisite.

Printed words in the vicinity change place. Wintja grabs a cookie and steps up on center stage. Fiction waits in her eyes, and she speaks:

―At the dawn of the 21st century, it had the potential to change humanity, and it would reveal the power of the human imagination.

S

O, in this showcase of information it's not the order. We went through it all and there was still missing that buon manier. But everyone who performs entirely41 still get it, it’s all synched in the tryptamine hyper-continuum, and so we started alternating weeks and years and mostly all the information until we broke through and entered the shifty present of the loved Star palace (Just get the data, we’re all up being the Now and all premises and from the first we come dancing in to the new). We could thus have Our department and could hold up at that the mix of sheltered subworld. The downloaded is also partly what we had previously run by and so we get served the information not at random but not chronologically. Or we’re late, the Assemblyman or woman goes to fetch something else, sometimes there up by the so about manners we go every so often, but we always score and install; tomorrow it's not ours, one can need a spellcast that the usual has already mounted, we can hardly remember but that doesn’t matter as it was successfully installed, so chill the effects into a few minutes later if needed. Find in the info banquet rooms information regarding it all, follow syntaxtrack Here’s The Plan. Um, plum? Time performing a stunt. What it pretty much looks like is we smashed the Artist nor Artist and we present something we had been knocking on. It and That to Your doors, there interested in in; the Other broadcasting during your body's way in and making you understand you are a Master, a god, and here we all do broadcasts to us! We are uncovering it this way. Gee, the invitations. They’re built in a little inline with any appearance, we monitor mixes insane. We had to build the code performing, that’s why. Kind of like you can’t exclude yourself from the web. Root's home directory tree. I tell, you tell. Anyone could happen. We take all that we can cook, label the idea which the Queen says is many channels to Assemblymen, and channel-hop with it (through the end and back until there is no end from this point? Popp!). This is the order that we use to program the bridging. It's a permit from the Queen since they are so that we'd have made icons of noise glare, glimmering dust that the Godheads either would set to themselves and others through a thought at the timeweb’s touch or otherwise link on with or use in any of multiple ways, users to

41 Love the challenge.

accept that the system on the beyond Our bandwidth is wrapped in order. To crack the house of immortality for us. Haha, we're working at times before anyone else’s odd names arrive into this neighbourhood of the story! Fortunately, after a subworldan pull- up and a hyperdimensional unwrap, a bunch of us entered the new room. We want us where we want us and now we always got us where we want us. Of course it’s complex (and break up into these events!).

So one day we were in the palace kicking golden balloons around giggling and just having fun, and we started talking about how we so often pursue the exercise of filling in subparagraphs with extended hours that have been marinating in the dark! There are reasons for that though, as It is above time. Queen’s head. Advanced techniques to open up the flower entrance. But it’s not always easy, for us. Really, when doing this list of information for the hive, within the hiving, expressly for many thousand lines! Not to mention crosspollination. We are told to just play but our reason-oriented minds can not stop putting constraints on the stripture. Anyway where was I? O, yes, the entrance. This partial summary is about the universe developed by Our team developed with equal weight as the apparently physical universe but with a separate appearance of existence via the material composition of hyperspace, achieved through the high pitched buzzing sound current and devices such as the anti centre of laws which serves to produce photonphysicality, and how to create the HOLE and go through it to wherever you want to go. Good examples of this are difficult to deliberately arrange, but yes. The compiler of sight of all light, people are probably still scratching their Books of their Heads about the law the universe developed: It is information, while at the same time interacting with our material side. The range of the superweb allow the present the transfer resulting from the numerous sub planes, good indications that leadeth into the new accurately. They travel over the law of the previous universe (before the Timenuke). After breakthrough we maintained strict radio silence, historically speaking, before we cut into prime time bouncing our techniques. Any of the paragraphs in the Rosa books might be used to start the upper levels of this to create a kind of opening (Spiros, title that). And soon was found a middle of the things lower equivalent to an

opening when the Universe of poisoning42 acts as a physical structure. (Quote in the by: “According to Boom Bang theory there was a point in the past where every atom in the universe was condensed into a singularity. Some people claim that quantum entanglement shows that there is no such thing as space, and that everything in the universe is still touching. Space is just an illusion created by our flawed perceptions, and we are all one. The hippies were right after all.”) To leave this life stream into the new universe by understanding the underground plot to the extent that area in both times are real, and to then move into the new reality where the hologram or hallucinationgram is free and happy (Plomari), should be positively identified with rotating or overlapping two dimensions of space at an angle chosen by whatever satisfies you until you obtain the crossection large enough to be a hole in your location.43 Thence appears the lens, the saucer. (Cooperating on another divine frequency, alternating circulation of data. 1. 2. Letting it run free. Your optimum swamp enlarges the moving password). Let me mention here, and I think I need do nothing but mention it: A mercurial hallugramatic disc, part syntax part bios part machine part mind. (Streamlining our language to call it in.) Avatars: final code says the eyepictures of these tracks of the keen observer will be included. It was an open closed On; the others It. I guess if the crowd’s eyes are to be counted I don't know what further that called line will come on but it should not limit us partners (including information On). It is as though we are about to cast ourselves into some kind of extrasurreal worlds that surround us, worlds we cannot currently see fully but that are all around us. And remember: Things are here as a surface upstairs that leadeth you to wherever you want to go.

irst we wrote ourselves, then we wrote our world, then we wrote ourselves alchemical victory. F

―Paint it easy, sugar, in our letter.44

42Positioning? The historydream.

43Some people think I am crazy but I really am. 44Darling! I can show it to myself now! I can show it to myself! Puss. Mmm you make me, you make me, so, so. . .

Rose, are we seeping in or are we slipping out? Exit strategy. Is it seeping in or are we sneaking out? Enter strategy.

There was here that unexpected ingredient; it is as if the perceptible is annihilated― exchanged by Imaginatrix.

So let us talk a ways into the Imagimatrix Rose. Let us peek into the envelope. What does the letter say? It says that the conditions are termed, and have the same common boundary as the parts of the solid, thus not changing that substances are capable of admitting contrary in being more lasting and more firmly established. If everything turns white, alter the nature of statements and opinions. As, then, no change takes place; smooth, because its parts lie, so to speak, evenly; rough, because they are with something. The altering is what we are talking about here, the sneaky changeover of the seemingly physical world into Imagimatrix. That which is called similar must be similar to what we derived the word winged from wing and from rudder. Beautiful. One of the pair must be white, and one black, that which is cold, hot. Consideration has no name, it is impossible that those possessed of it are standard, for if the terms great and small were used absolutely, and that it was never necessary that either the one or the other should be action, and affection both admit of contraries and also of definitions, the statement is not exact. Just as positives and man, or the correlative of the wing with the word bird; if the attribute apprehends some relative thing definitely, one necessarily knows these affairs in flight, always in flight and you see with a glimpse and then move on― and that is enough, indeed part of the very plan (the elves of language need only space the words in accordance what you vaguely remember, remember?). Indeed, if our definition of that which is relative was our rudder. If we express ourselves thus accurately, at any rate to each in the same sense as relatives.

Proposing to discuss the category of quality, are we? Hihihihihi. Imagimatrix strategy, we’ll let shine the operational mechanics, you be sure!

―I cannot help falling apart at the seams, says Quality.

No name assigned to them. In this, the inborn capacity is distinctly possible in the case of number that there should be a common of something which is a part of you, that is you in many worlds, in worlds made of quality in which you move even if you do not know it, down the river Nile, on your way to your home, back. As, say, my hand reaching through millennia as I write this. Hints also at the fact that even the pouring of water into the cup is a step in the great transmutation.

Queen across the water. Veilskin cloak. Another ghost. Tris. Those species in quality that are distinguished one from another and your own head for a crime of which the marvellous world rang. Today I existence of the perceptible. For perception implies a body, but is that really so? From this it is plain that, if a man definitely apprehends a distinguished each from each by one and the same method of division from one another – rare, because there are interstices between the parts – then the saga of his life is evidently happening in Eternity and is the underlying plot played out; as example he is Adam, he is on his way home, he is waking up into a dream, he has received the strange letter, and so forth― for his time has come, and he is being born and brought to the Imagimatrix, the world on the other side. The truth or falsity of the proposition depends on the who the receiver is, because it is affected in a specific way. This is not quantity, of all that have been mentioned, with regard to which object would appear to exist before knowledge itself, for double and triple have no contrary, nor indeed has any such term. Abiding existence: when once a syllable is pronounced, it is not coming first with the worldstory event it is part of createding. This sense of the word word is perhaps the most said to be only unlockable to understanding by having been penetrated by it itself; it most High and wondrous, coming to you at first as what is often called Queen’s Sting of Love. As for the rest – time, place, state – since they are easily taken under the lookingglass, we need not mention here I think. There are several senses in which one thing can be said to be prior. Say, nothing can pass in the streets of a city without some following highly inconsistent with the other. And all those qualities which are classed as dispositions. Books desire black spot letter, fancy reached human allowed magical break. The pages of the Etrinity-book in question. It will be allcome with

you to the Blue Palace, to pray for the souls of the good folk before we sit down to future. If you want the curtain to be drawn away then say so now and the Veil will be taken away. In the place of the crowned Lions and Lionesses, lovers, husbands, wives of the Great Horned Mushroom Goddess. If you wish to win the Throne (it’s yours!), the throne of your Imagimatrix, you’ll want to learn the wordways of Exit Strategy.

A message to you.

She stood at the end of the book, goosefleshed, Rebecca Elizabeth Mollie. She was told more in secret, and she poisoned herself blue in the night. I know the sands of time as well as you do, my love, she told her back later (Which of course itself gives off a glint of our plan in action, doesn’t it). All the same, she did as suggested. She sat down to write another letter, and the candle was unpleasantly bright. There was something queer about it. The flame did not flicker.

Seems reflected in the infinite of the flame, she thought then. At the white place of the road's vanishing. Figures of light and dark, sleeping toward it, dreaming awake in lucid. Toward something that the world is pointing toward. And yes it is pointing, the directions are everywhere, your world is the signs of direction. Toward something.

The interactive compositioning of. The Bedtime Story. Going to a dark bed, with Darkinbad and the Brightdaylor. I remember the first. The. The first moment. But it’s a shadowy memory. Dawn, and. Dawn. Figures of light and dark, these two are walking. Then they take a step back, to be safe as she reaches. Allowing to let the picture form and awake. Snaps of the orgasm in the hidden air. They chose to walk out of it, and they had to pass― in one excellent floral move. The pain of being born into matter. Cum to completion; open, enter. End of the. O wondrous bend, thank you. O love, thank you.

How to navigate the dream… Just where the road curves sharply. Green buds appear. Sphinx of questioning substance. Into the Imagimatrix. A bird whose den we are finding. It is being pencilled on the surfaces of the world.

For any part of them we can make out. Calling me to you with wild gesturings.

Star going child. Edin, Edam, Aveam being born. What to call us!?

A pinch of the Allhighest will help you, as the Protector said, the Allhighest whose towering gilded likeness glimmered in the candlelight across the season she was part of when she heard those words. Spiros was gone. For half a heartbeat her hand seemed part of a nightmare, and she cried out: but Spiros is dead! They rang the bells for him. But she had a notion of what fruit was being talked about at the edges of her elastic space-time, the Blue Apples, and she would later smile as the spring of the Rose awoke and Spiros with it, back from the dead, mushroom bluecaps – Deathcaps – in his pocket picked from beside his gravestone. The mushroom interface between the living and the dead. Later she understood he had never died at all but dreamed into his life.

Night visions, red silk as if to hide the blood never spelt And another pretended not to notice

All the Secret of time, plus the rosalixion, opens it as they leave the sign. We are ready to roam the rosalixion? Blievend blieves? we ask you in some Danish-Swedo-English dialect of d’Angels. Shall we let become what in the end became, or shall we find a way to change the past? we ask you (Now that’s a question for the ages, sages, pages, says Elizabelle). We ask you, you who binocular us through the reflexion in our garden rare.

And she wrote. I just woke up in our Eden shade, she witted, her pen dancing through worlds, and I must must tell you. You and the book were in my dream, my sweet prince. The last dream involved you and me and we were on a train and you were hmmm… we were being sexual, baby... on a train! But we were like on the train, not in it! And I was leaning back as you were licking me… yummmmmm! And you couldn’t get enough, honey, you just couldn’t get enough! Hehe, wow... what a dream! And I remember you saying Rosalixion. You were explaining to me something about it. I didn't see the book, but you were telling me about some of its legend. And when I woke up I wrote this, let me pass on what I wrote:

Darkness in the high, coordinate the crime, it’s on schedule. I always get focused when the hidden space comes up on me.

She comes upon me from the edge of our elastic spacetime (The Queen of the Spiral), she says you’re fully mapped my love and we got you covered.

The wiring under the board inside Eternity. If you want to be phoenixed just come and park your self.

(Insanity test, we fly around everywhere) Park yourself in a world of endless choices. The soul is the lens is the self is the time machine.

Walking through the endless imagimatrix, you will find the door just navigate the dream.

We’re on the other side, we’re reaching, we got ourself in headspace, we’re going to die in fake and wake up dreaming.

What does it mean, to fake your death, and wake up lucid dreaming? You know what it means, baby, you know what it means.

You’ve been stung

PS: Sweeter and sweeter and sweeter, deeper and deeper and deeper. I fall in to you, in love with you.

And the sweet connections of love between people transcend linear time, they comprise the form of the glorious blossom sun where we submit our dreams. We’re here in bliss, in reverie river, and, O, I hear you now, I hear you! Unleashing ourselves, all of our selves!

ITE my laughter, sweetness. Mmm, like that. Tell of your bewitching girls and our world. Transname our loveliness. I will accompany it with the laughter you can’t get enough of. B

―Ask and it is given. Stellar summer, hello! At last back in lovely Plomari,45 ah! Took a while to merge that trip, ey! But we made it! Back from all the stretches of time. Let’s bloom the air, we have love. Foreplay, let’s create this spring. Incantations to create what we want. Open the Queendom. Ha! O but now we must hide! For some time. Time, yes, gone. Shall we tell about what has happened, my Queen?

―We shall. ―Almost as if we planned it all ourselves… ―I am the one pulsing vitally the blood in your veins. Surrender to my gravity, my beloved.

―It can’t be. ―It must be. ―Could we really have conjured this? A bow. ―Ariedne. I want to string the pieces up. A nod. ―Our dreambookpages are alive. They want to talk. The hidden universe, the hidden story, is brooking through into the world. The hidden plot. It used to write me now I’m wriding it back, rings a bell? Rings a tale deep in your taled head? The echo is there in the back of the woods, bring it forth!

―Let them talk, says the Queen. The pages. A roll of papyrus is handed over. ―We are emerging from the reads, all of the gods, your Majesty.46

45 Not the place on Lesbos, another place here, the Plomari that is a world.

46 ―O, but are you not a black magician? said he. ―No, said I, I just disguise myself as such. ―O but you are! said he. ―Okay, said I, I am, but I only do good magic. You know, love, light.

I’m back close to Aluminalien, Plomari, Around Midsummer, in the inner circuits of the story. I made a leap thirteen moons through time to get here. I just got the message that “You better get ready for the next one”, so I’m preparing for the next dive. Sissy and Wintja are elsewhere at the moment, on their way over here. And they are coming with Spice so we are going to have a party.

We have arranged continuous broadcast of the data we are receiving, on the internet. Cleopatra will publish the book once it is finished.

The scarabs are at work here over at my end. Haven’t seen the birds for a long time. I hear here that you are about to puff.

It’s a pretty good place in the dream this place I’m at. But I miss you guys. Can’t remember how I got here though. Last I remember was…when we sat by archlight, brewing our Spice. How many times have I said it now?, woken up and shouted It was the wine! It was the wine! Hahahae! Well that’s what happens when you fuck with death and aliens, pun of course intended.

Wintja: Up up up worked but then I lost you my dear, remember? Do you have the coordinates after that last up-turn? Anyway, yay! Yesternight's moments together have given me new energy! You sweet thing! Ahh, your sweet kiss, your sweet love, your presence! Miss you! (Hey by the way I put the alarm on 12:o2 but it rang and woke me 12:12, don’t know what that means yet. That's how good the trick is. Whas dat dream?) And Sissy you bastard, you’re the one keeping me under the water aren’t you! Hahahae!

PS: I just heard it whispered that victory has been located by the rose.

PS: Wintja, I think I saw you near the big mushroom-shaped statue close to Old Town, but I was locked so I couldn’t get to you. Might have been as close as we could get at that time, you were some 2o meters away. It was close to 6 o'clock.

Your Crossador, At some location in the labyrinth. All my love.

Chafed with obsessions and sensually deranged, perpetually intoxicated― erocriminals of the alchemical spring, licking mostly everything in sight as they celebrate with all the gods intoxicated and horny, eyes burning; sacred lovers of the sluttishness of Nature, financing their luxury by living in an orgy – they are aliens, you be sure – doing their play and following their soulsss desires, alive in their own Thelema.

Spiros licks his silver wine chalice like it was a cock. For a second there as he does he thinks he can feel what Wintja and Sissy feel when they lick his cock in the same way, voluptuously, licking God. He rolls his head and his eyes, his tongue licking the air and the flesh he imagines. Strawberries meet his gaze as he turns and looks over at Wintjabernatrice and Sissy; Sissy is sliding fresh strawberries against her pussylips and feeding the strawberries to Wintja who sits below her like a slave, kneeling on the carpet. Sissy’s face is partly covered by a colorful shiny bird mask. Spiros looks at her face, then at Wintja’s bum as it pouts out toward him. He wants to dive onto it, into that godly bumness, press his face between her peachy cheeks and lick and bite and scream. He takes another sip of wine but doesn’t swallow, walks over to Wintja and lets the wine out of his mouth on her back. The little stream of liquid makes its way down between her cheeks and she makes a little sound and a little funny movement. Spiros dives into her neck to smell her perfume; Armani’s old fragrance Elle. Such a strange scent on such a strange woman. Like alien cotton candy, some fruit from Jupiter, a white and pink flower from some twisted sexual candyland. The kiss of a teen girl in the form of a perfume. Smells like young naked women licking poison

off each other’s skin in the garden of Eden. Smells like pink shaven pussy looks, Spiros thinks― pink lip kiss. A certain kind of madness incarnated.

Spiros wants a strawberry too. He opens his mouth and Sissy slides another berry against her lower lips and feeds it to Spiros who eats with delight.

―Mommy, I want something huge up my ass, Wintja moans as she squirms against Sissy churning and biting in an intoxicated frenzy of primal lust.

W

intjabernatrice walks down a little country road in her white wedding dress, carrying two red silk bed sheets in her hands that she drags behind her like ariadne threads. The sound of Sissy’s violin sounds all around her. Wintja walks slowly, one step at a time. She moves with grace; the chessboard of hyperspace and the Rosalixion. A bird flies above her, keeping a look out, gazing through the story. Suddenly a whirl of book pages come flying in the wind toward her and she stops, casts one of the red sheets into the air for the bird to carry, which it does by catching it with its claws, and then lets one of the pages land in her hand. She reads from it.)

THE PAGE:

Darling. Your idea I must say is most grand. Have you talked to Death about it? What does she say about your proposal?

I see her like growing in thy sky. I wonder how anyone can survive now that she's coming forth, hihihihi.

Many kisses, your Spiros.

WINTJA: (Casts the page in the wind and laughs.) Careful with what you say Spiros, you foolish cute little boy! Don’t go back there! SPIROS: (Hearing her through the smokephone.) I thought we had decided to be carefree with what we say, not careful! (He laughs and puffs.) Sorry I was in the delirium.

SISSY CUBENSIS: You know how slippery it can be Spiris! (She laughs as well.) (Spiros nods and rises from his sitting position and shouts in glory, casting his hands toward the sky, then takes a cocky draw on his spiced cigarette and looks out the window.) SPIROS: We fucking did it darlings. We fucking did it. WINTJA: (To Sissy.) Tell him I’m on page 243! SISSY: Spiros! Come into the pictures! (Spiros leaps in to the pictures. Ends up in Aluminaliea, Plomari, in the Land of No Addresses.) SPIROS: Damn, I missed you. Must have made a wrong turn somewhere. (Wintja continues down the road. Sissy enjoys a warm bath with rose petals sprinkled in the water. Spiros sets to work to pinpoint his location. He sits down and begins to write by hand:

Now if I’m not totally mistaken (I throw my dice for plural) I was supposed to shut up about the wedding and the procedure and the whole God damned event (Date with stream today. Fluffy mushroom cloud arrived at the horizon to confirm it’s homegrowing season. Its cap grew bigger and bigger until it covered the entire sky above me. Message received, loud and clear). Which means I’m out on slippery water. That is my location: sippery witer wine. No that can’t be correct. Who cruises under every pencil? Well, the Queen, right? Dammit hahahae. Where am I? I’m in the past somewhere. We have unwrapped the mummy so I must be after my so-called secret funeral. O, now I remember. I was supposed to publish the book. Cleopatra was to do it. Sissy, can you phone her and tell her the book will be ready soon? Bernatrice, phone yourself and tell you that we have a deadline of two years from location 2oo8, flowermonth Plumeria Kubra, P. incarnate, Dead Man’s Flower47 (Ahh, the heavenly smell alone can take you here!). I’m stuck in some kind of plenum at the moment back in 2oo8. The

47How did we reach the highest point?

disguise has showed to work as planned though. And I am beginning to be able to bridge the delirium with myself. But I’m fucking drunk. O, yes, I forgot. Again. I am drunk.

(He walks carefully across the room in direction toward his pipe. Pink flowers shimmer chryssanthially of the Rosalix.) SPIROS: Going down Pipe Lane now in Candyland. Candyland? I didn’t know that was a valid address. Fuck, wait, I’m freaking out again. SISSY: Go to the statue of Flora when you’ve picked your pipe up, there’s a message there for you. SPIROS: I think I’m landing again. (He reaches through history slowly his rosyflesh hand toward his pipe and grabs it, fills it with some dust and crush of roses and some Diplopterys cabrerana and a piece of the plastic wrap of a cigarette package and lights a match. Lights and puffs and inhales.) Banisteriopsis rusbyana. It's a rush by Ana? Stereo on radio Sis, operator? Haha. Damn, do you guys remember that day we thought we were all about to vanish? When the universe was folding up into itself and just about to disappear and we all found that we are ghosts of each others’ minds, remember that? (He coughs.) I just had an insight. Dudes and girls, how the fuck did we come up with such a good disguise? Whose idea was it? Damn I’m fucking drink. Drunk. (He reaches for the bottle of redpurple wine by the statue of Sissyflora undressing.) I thought I was out of wine. (He pours himself a glass.) Okay wait, now I remember everything again. (He sniffs.) I smell nail polish. Okay I’m landing. (In to the room comes Sissy. Spiros looks at her and smiles.) SPIROS: I’m drunk, my ulve. On love. And I am only partly here in this room. SISSY: (Smiling.) Of course you are. (She begins undressing.) I’m gonna take a bath. Wanna bathe with me? SPIROS: No, I need to finish off a few things. Where’s Wintja? SISSY: Right behind you. SPIROS: O. Great. Tell her I have just flown by Pipe Lane and I’m heading toward the fruitcake. She’s got a kiss waiting if she’ll meet me there. Tonight the witches shall return. Enter your eyes. Enter your body. We are arriving.

Sissy rises from the bathtub and walks out wet and soapy to one of the bedrooms of the palace. She flips up the last page of the book to read what Spiros has added: The disguise has showed to work as planned. And I am beginning to be able to bridge the delirium with myself. But I’m fucking drunk. O, yes, I forgot. Again. I am drunk.

48

Your King, xxx.

―Poor king! Sissy laughs and gives Spiros a kiss as he lies sleeping on the bed.

A little housefly comes buzzing by Sissy’s face.

Sitting at the table, looking at the girl beside me; she is so cute, something special around her. I kick her gently again under the table. I want a cookie.

―Do you want a cookie? says Wintjabernatrice. I could see you wanted a cookie.

She is smiling. She hands me a cookie. ―O but, I say, I want one of those…creamy things, that chocolate drink stuff. Bailey’s. I want a those, one of those. Cream.

Wintja orders two Bailey’s; she wants one too. We want them in special glasses, she says to the waiter. It is a special day today, she informs him.

My tear that falls through history and wets it is gone; I know not where it went. I got lost in the sky blue. I got hit by an arrow shot by an angel from the sunny side.

I try to stay focused but a thought comes in to my head, and I think for just the fraction of a moment of the hairs above Wintja’s

48 Not easy being at many places in the same time. Must account for your movements. Picking the sun up over the horizon as you glimmer the psilocybin wine against the flame of the candle.

vulva. Peach, I think. Peach and chryssanthial. I reach for another cookie.

Silence. ―Here I could stay forever, says I. I wanted it all my life, I wanted it more than anything else. I wanted something grand, something magical, something so magical my socks would pop off. I searched my whole life for it, every second of my waking time and in my dreams at night. I knew society was not the limits of reality, neither was anything else I was served― in the arts, in philosophy, and in the messages I got from the people around me. I knew there was something greater out there for me.

And I wanted alchemical victory. And then things began to happen. I followed the white rabbit, so to speak, and it showed me to a secret passage. It warned me, yes it did, that this is it, you have found your way to the lands, here is where it all begins and you will find what you have been looking for for so long, but if that isn’t more of a blessing than a warning is debatable. And then came my first breakthrough, and then another one, and another one. It just kept getting larger and larger the deeper I went. But also more specific for each breakthrough. And then came my birth, which took three years to complete.

―Here’s our Bailey’s! says Wintja. We thank the waiter and tap our glasses together for a cheer. ―Mmm, cream, says I. Wintja says nothing, just smiles and takes a sip. She dips her finger in the creamy stuff and puts the tip of her finger in my mouth. She gives me a look. She is my evil alien. And we are sitting eating cookies and drinking creamy stuff. And I will never die again.

―Published 1922, she says. Yes I will, yes! Both Spiros and Steaphen Deadhallus begin and end with a hissing S, you know.

In through the door comes Sissy. She has bought a new pair of boots. She says she felt like buying boots. She bought white boots.

―Bailey’s. Give me, she says. ―Sissy Gos-Fluff! Spiros exclaims in deep joy. Are you my gos-fluff?

Sissy takes Wintja’s glass and drinks of the creamy stuff, then sits down. It is quiet, and we are sipping creamy stuff and eating cookies. Here I could stay forever.

I dreamed of it. And the house of the breathings of Fae, walls of rubinen (and as when I am alone in the storypalace in one of the corridor passages, that special light shining bright, archlight, animasynthetic storyverse, three-dimensionality, in front of a mirror perhaps, the apple is near and I am the first man, chess master Saladin born from a story. I’ll put the apple near the book and the rose near the pen to see if that’s the wanted configuration. Calls from afar). Then I found I had left that place. I came from there. I had been there in the archlight brewing our redpurple plantblood wine in the palace of, dare I say, Hecech Saysaith. We drank of the brew and a puff on the pipe and the Rosalixion began. Do you remember? It’s a reference to a day one, at dawn. When the team was gathered, us gods and goddesses, back in the day. Remember? The birds will remind you. And the elvin alliancians. They will come to you, it will be grand! O how you will thank us for having mentioned it! O, they have already come?

Now, do you have a moment? (Sorry, we don’t have time for go-ahead plot. We have a letter to deliver.) I’d like to ask you a question, if you may. Why three? It still beats me. Sissy says it is because two makes a circle while three gives the possibility of endlessness of possibility. Wintja says it doesn’t matter we just fell in love and that’s all. But I am still curious about it. Maybe you can answer me in a book some time, your thoughts on the matter. The world of literature is one of the new postal services for hardcore longdistance intertemporal commun-ication (yeah yeah it has always been I’m just pointing it out!) so write us a letter. We fell in love: Death, Life, and the Alien. It began with three smiles in the darkness, we ended up marrying in an alchemical marriage.

The excellent desire sneaks. ―We shall finish the hole book. ―Become the author of your reality… ―Yes… The sweetest dream, that turned out to be real. Who could have known? Haha! Maybe? This is no maybe.

Halfway home.

Love, I am in love. Deliriously in love. Can you feel the alchemical spring? It can be very sneaky. Can you see it in my eyes? I can see it in yours. Like our hearts are the cosmos. The flowers show it. And that glimmering on the rosy surface of the letterbox in the candle light; animadigital eternity. If I could only express it in words. I live it, but cannot express it in words. I see it, but cannot express it in words. I feel it, experience it, but cannot express it in words. Bad poet! Bad poet! Can you not transcript the xxx?! No, I can not. O but! I am reborn! I am reborn! Humanity, mankind, I have something I must confess. O, no, wait, I will keep my mouth shut. I will die without ever having told the secret. O, wait, I will never die…but you get my point.

As we used to say back in the days, you have to flip on the seamy side if you want to catch the ride. Woof your wings, it is alchemical spring.

I wonder if they had in mind that they went to rings end that day. Past The Ring Pass Not. Burning the legacy, of Cycles. An arrow out of time. Yes and what about this go-ahead plot? Well, with these seemingly impossible twist that will always be tied up we would like to exemplify the seemingly impossible twists of the situation. Are you doubting the computational capacity of the Rosalixion?

Good to be home ey. What a long journey it was. Lost in mind? Yes, what a thing ey. We used to ask: what shall we do once we reach the house of Eternity? Heh. Sissy would answer: we’ll just chop some wood and sit by the fireplace. As mentioned it took a while for me to find back home. Don’t know about you. I’m still not fully back. I imagine the last hit of the delirium, the last hit of the history-dream, will be a new journey and even more intense than my previous landing attempts. But I can feel the spring in the middle of winter now. The Rosy Dawn is licking the walls, that special kind of fire. (Does she want someone to shine on?) And all the meanwhile the installation of the Star is under way. Some people consider nanotechnology and other future technologies are of the mind you know (shh!). The alien is here. Reach forth your furry paw and take my hand, and together we will leave to the stars, it says. Through the violet doorway into hyperspace and then.

And our scripture moves forward like the Queen down the aisle on the pasture. She wants to make it create it, the book; eros erotica lovemaker baker creator of the best loved and most wanted. We create this sigil from manifestation traced back to our correspondence. I want to see it made for you, She said. The book. (Our code seduces the elegant change.)

―Secrets told, my Queen. Let us proceed with the letter and display the rest of the information. What about the black sperm from the stars?

―Nothing need be said about it. ―What of the purpose of the crime? ―Nothing need be said about it. ―Then let us proceed. Wintjabernatrice pours some wine and walks up to center stage; the carpet where the vase with the sunflower stands on a pedestal. It is summer in Plomari Star and our blood has been exchanged for spice. Talk about orgasm.

―What time is it? Wintja asks. ―Sunflower, says Sissy. Rosalixion. ―Death, says Wintja. Sissy and Spiros nod. ―What do you say, dear? says Wintja and looks at Spiros. Spiros puffs on his pipe and rearranges himself in the five-seat sectional [sofa]. He flips through the pages of the book, trying to fish up the data.

―Code of the entree glossary, he says. We’ve been there. Pillowcatch. Been there. We're talking to the look. Been there. Gazing through the hall toward its gaze. We’ve been there. We’ve been there. Every night before. Structurally flawing it to a halt. What about this? Reality is syntactical and linguistics is a tool of self-creation.

―Sounds good to me, says Sissy. Spiros goes on searching through the book. ―Pass through the lovegate, he says. Telephones don’t exist. Go abed and come back with the stone kissed and blessed and ready. Extracentury perception.

―Mmm, Sissy lets out. Extracentury perception. Give that a pedestal.

―A slender shard of mirrored magic, continues Spiros. Afterneath all that. Could I have dreamed this into being? How about this?

He takes a sip of wine and then goes on: ―Quote: We promote the uncensored expression of the individual's honest linguistic intention. This is to be carried out in the light of the fundamental understanding that reality is syntactical. Fundamentally the concept is a hybrid of 'the power of intention' and an understanding of the cascading effect of motion upon form: We believe that the synchronicity/symmetry inherent to motion and form is the linguistical resonance of an interconnected timescape. We believe that expressed intention affects the morphogenetic field. Subsequently, by manifesting enharmonic sonic hedonic phonics or in other ways expressed intention within the existential architectonics, we believe it is possible to hack reality into heaven via language.

―The craft always catches the attempt, says Wintja. There are some details in that that need mentioning.

―I agree but it’s not what we are looking for, says Sissy. ―Okay, says Spiros and continues to search through the book. What about this? Quote: I can tell you something more than that, dear writer…

He looks at Sissy and Wintja. ―The sentence ends there, he says. ―It was probably an attempt at a statement of release, says Wintja.

―Compose us a last line, will you love, Spiros laughs.

The cure. The universal panacea. We went in to the depths to find it. We have gone from the bright fun and through the dark waters and we have come out, transfurnished. We are back now. How are you guys and girls? How you been? Are you ready? Nighthoods unseen violet. Tonight is the evening of incantations and music. Well, we told you already, the disguise is thin. We gave it our best shot. We were hiding in our eyes. The gods are landing, one by one.

Shall we spread it here now? was asked. Yes, spread it. Like mycelia we are immortal. Cybernetic. Keeping that position? How’s everyone doing? Good. The Queen shall remain top large- scale coordinator until further notice.

I personally am positioned somewhere at the beginning of the 21st century at the moment. I am hiding in a little house and carry a little name. I’m poor but managing; have food and shelter. I shall stay at my present location for a while longer. I have received the first letter from the Queen and our correspondence is now continual. Hail the massive tactic. Remember that not all letters need be signed.

The synthetic cosmos licks my tongue. Inside this fantasy, it seems so real to me, when her door is open. It is real. We are gods. Can you see it, honey? I have no more words to say, darlings. I have left the world. Been born. It was a fantasy, but it came to be. I shall hide, just so you know. I shall vanish. I will tell you of my whereabouts in a book of love.

Wintja screams with squeaking voice: ―O my Daddy, call me now we’re making you blood! Blood! Blood! Bloooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaadahahahaha!

Here now. Good, here we can talk in private and talk big about the thing. Here in our dreambookpages. Make the gate. Holes in mind. Ready for the next dive. Hail the massive tactic. Newsflash: Intelligent life is the architect of the universe. Read all about it in the book Alien Biocosm by Professor Spiros. Table of contents: Searching For ET In All the Wrong Places. The Eschaton and the Rosalixion. We Have Landed. The Unwrapping of the Mummy, Born From a Story, A Virgin Birth and the Woman of the Dark River: Unique Births of the Rosalix. Beyond the End of the River Sdreamed Back Through Time. The Neat Fuse and Its Relationship to You. The Creating of Something Utterly Awesome. Good Shot Baby, Now Let’s Move Forward. Hold On To Your Hat. Can You Do The Twist Like The Rosafiction Can? New Perspectives On Chronology. The Superhallugram. This Is Your Last Life― You’ll Never Die Again. A Letter From The Queen. Implications. Implications II. Implications III. In the book we journey into a strange world that turns out to be

our very universe. A universe so intelligent it can without effort coordinate an entire planet toward a chosen goal over the course of millions and millions of years. How does it all happen? Well that is a secret that will not lightly be given to humans.

I want to taste your tongue, Seamstress. In the depths of depths, life has a plan. The book looks like fantasy, but as you read there comes a moment where you realize it is not fiction at all. And in the knifesharp lines of text you can see the Queen herself, and her words shimmering through time; Conscious of only one emotion as she threw succeeding ages, the position of the first of any longer, and Rose said, caressing Phoebe’s cheek: I am all ready to play guide as ride with you. When we saw each other for the first time. But I, 1; haven't seen you for ages, and 2; haven’t yet fully decided on the rules of the game. I want to see how you play before I make the rules.

She talks like that sometimes. One wonders how she can know what to say at the right place.

When you look inward, you find the birthright. Mystery never died, it is alive in the moment. And in the midst of the historical chaos of the beginning of the 21st century you archaic pioneers bring the Urobo Ros back to its own tail. My new symbionts and I are here now and we are here to stay.

Hail the Queen. A bow. ―Eat me, says Mushy. Pop. You can access the galaxy-sized object that is inside you…

ADIES, gents, say hello to our special hosts for this eternity, Queen of Queens, the one of many names, Misses Saucie Love, and the rest of the team who shallt remain spread out, yet always present, for mycelial security. We are immortal. Remember what was said in that interview?: Yes, what we don’t understand is that the enemy is infinite. The modern world we live in is not accustomed to thinking in such terms. Yes, we are infinite. And we always win. L

We of this part of the court would here like to add that it was also said in that interview that, quote: Society, and the modern world at large, is like a set of boxes, and some people can think outside of these boxes. O, snap! No way! There you got us. Surprise surprise.

We will begin this evening with entertainment from members of the Vast Exit team in collaboration with Modus Escape. Visions by Ros X. Visions by Ros X. Digwoodwedidude by Steaphen Hen. And sooooooound by Spacetime and the Star. Clues & Hints by The Chemical Twins & a white dove whose nicknames are a bit inappropriate but whom we mostly call Lez Bianca. And new in the team: The Avatars of Shit. Part 1o1: Have You Seen A Peach? Have You Seen the Animator of Spacetime? A looming shade. A kid napping. A glorious crime (and climb up an excruciatingly large pile of bullshit shoved on the most amazing planet we have ever seen). A double pleaser jelly dolphin at overwhelming speed. Finished off with absolutely void, ecstatic ruin! And then, the final twist! Are you ready for the vacuum clean, immaculate Strawberry Show!

Sound by the Star (subwoofers put together by Mankind). Spiced refreshments and hors d'oeuvres by Pink Lip Kiss. Our electricians and sound system coordinators on spot are people from Red Lab. Bed sheets around the waists of waiters and waitresses from the You Dream It collection of The Best In Bed. Jewelry from the Conjure It collection by Antifuse (and thank god for Antifuse). Door openers flown in directly from ancient Egypt.

We will during the course of the evening reveal a new true story of where we are heading in the universe.

Up on center stage comes Ffiana and grabs the microphone: ―If you propose an option to the hell of everyday life you are immediately declared a witch.

There is general laughter. ―The truth is, she continues, that the world is a mushroom in full bloom. You must declare yourself an avatar. Or rather, it is blooming, we are in the movie of the growing. It shall be in fullbloom soon!

There are applause. Spiced refreshments are served as the lightshow begins. A huge twirling rose is projected on the wall above the stage.

―My goal is your goal, says the Rose in deep reverb. Ffiana continues: ―The rescue of the gem of immortality will become a living reality for everyone who has ever lived. All the suffering and pain will be repaid, somehow, through the intercession of the mystery, and through the mystery of higher dimensions that through a backward flowing logic of time will somehow undo what has already happened.

And thence began the show. Spiros and Sissy and Wintja sit back and engage in the event, but Sissy soon gets excited and rises:

―I want to play! she says and takes Wintja’s hand and pulls her out of the chair. Spiros, we’ll be back later.

Play O isn’t it so fun to play Do your stunts with play, the arch-toy!

Secret lip. ―Sure, says Spiros. He brings forth his notepad and gold pen. Where in the dream am I? Where Midsummer meets Plomari by the river that runs through Aluminalien, on my way down the river under the Egyptian moon. That’s where I am. Can I sing it into existence?

He bows in face of the Queen and remembers his lovestung foot, poison kiss.

He remembers. Wakes up. Falls into the delirium again. Wakes up. Back into the delirium. His pasts folds up into his head.

―World by head rewritable, he mumbles. Release me.

―Unwrapping the mummy, says the Queen. Exchanging your blood for the superfluid.

―Let’s make love amongst thorns, Spiros whispers with a touch of anger in his voice. In public. Scenesex. I am sick of the modern world trying to kill me.

Rosy flesh, chrussanthial archlight. He casts his left leg over his right and lets the hyperdimensional scarabs do their work on his superficial nervous system. Hide it. Hide it well. Shh. Secret birth.

―They’ll never catch us, whispers Sissy. The grand opening ceremony continues and Spiros writes another line for the book In The Mid Die in the whirl of the rose spring.

On the stage the show continues: ―The gem, the lapis, has been generated in our heads. ―He doesn’t know where to put it, sir. ―Sir, he doesn’t know where to put it. ―Sir, he doesn’t know where to put it.

Queen, Your Majesty. Thank you for leading me back to the land. I was fooled, I was tricked by civilization. But I am back now. Thank you for leading me to the secret. But I have to be careful with it. Now it has been found. By the way, Sis, have you dropped a pin?

Sissy lies on the bed. The voices of singing nymphs echo around her. She floats away with the dreamwind, in with the dark river made of dream and mind and soul, and the river tightens as she approaches the end. Soon her body cannot fit into the narrow passage and her mind floats away from her body into the narrow passage at the end of the river. Through the eye of the sun through the eye of her soul through the eye of the galaxy her center opens and she floats through it.

Spiros sits by his alchemical workbench out in the garden amongst the greenery, growing his hair long, for years and years

he sits in the spring, his hair growing long, for years and millennia and aeons he sits there. The voices of singing nymphs echo gently, spirited, lovingly. Through the eye of the galaxy through the end into the sunhole through the opening at the end he travels far and slow; a conception, a birth, a floating away into the opening. And he clasps his hands together and bows to the Queen slowly, his hair falling in front of his face. The voices of singing nymphs echo gently, lovingly, spirited.

―See through my eye, says Wintjabernatrice. Just use your imagination.

―How will it all flow together? asks Spiros. ―The thread that runs through it all, says Sissy. The ariadne thread.

An achemical dream created by the self through enlightenment of the soul. And as the play deepens and deepens, it became real.

―We are still partly in physics, says Wintja, not yet realeased into the imagination. But we shall enter the palace. It will be majestic.

Spiros lights his pipe and looks out at the starry sky. He whispers:

―Fused. Into eternal tantric union.

Back in the apartment on Levingbye Road 216 Spiros sits and sips rosé champagne and smokes chaliponga. He is in a strange passage, and he wonders what to do next.

―What does the book say? says the Queen. ―It says that last year was the year of the crystallization of the new consciousness, the year of the birth, and that this year is when the old finally falls away completely, says Spiros.

―Everything that happens to you is part of the tale, Spiros, don’t forget that.

―I won’t forget, my Queen, says Spiros. ―O and Spiros… ―Yes?

―Always trust your crazy ideas.49

Spiros wakes up in a palace. He does not recognize his surroundings, but he knows where he is.

―O shit, it’s happening again, he says to himself. In front of him stands his brother Adam breathing deeply with great anger in his eyes, as though some immense energy or spirit has taken over his body. Adam grabs Spiros throat with his hand and tries to strangle him with his one hand, and does a good job at it, so strong is he.

―It’s…not…you, Spiros manages to get out. Spiros breaks free from Adam’s grip and runs out of the palace. He finds himself on a crowded street and as the people see him he hears someone shout:

―Ahhh! Somebody has woken up! Somebody has broken free from the trap! Kill him!

A car turns in his direction in attempt to run over him. Spiros raises his hand and intones something along the lines of:

―O-b-rr. The car turns away at the power of Spiros’ words; his voice, his syllables. The people on the street run around in panic and a large group of people run toward Spiros in attempt to kill him. He raises his hand again and intones a few syllables and the mass of people separate like a wave and Spiros can walk on. Then he wakes up.

Looking across the ocean from the summerhouse at Choicepoint Road Spiros sees some kind of white cloud explosion at the horizon, and then another one, and then another one. He soon realizes that the explosions are coming toward him, slowly but steadily; some kind of white foamy cloud. It comes toward him like a tsunami, and he begins to run into the forest, away from the

49 And you shouldn’t write you can’t! Can’t is a sad word in every language.

ocean. When the white stuff is but hundred meters behind him it suddenly sinks in to the ocean. Spiros stops to look. Soon the ocean surface begins to bubble and the white tsunami begins again. Spiros runs.

He is standing below a cliff on a dirt road in the forest when he realizes he will not be able to run fast enough to escape. The white tsunami begins to fall over him.

He is not scared, he does not even consider the fact that he will probably die within some five seconds. He just marvels at the strange phenomena. He looks at the white tsunami as it is about to fall over him.

Just as it is about to wash over him the white waterlike stuff like freezes in the air and turns into the heads of whitegolden lizards that look at him with deep black gazes.

―It’s the Spice, he hears a voice say. It’s here. And someone whispers: ―Have you forgotten? The lizards look at him, and suddenly in the eyes of one of them Spiros sees the gaze of Bianca. He exclaims her name, Bianca!, and the lizard turns into the white dove and she flies through the air and lands on his finger. And he hears voices: “The plan is going perfect, Spiros”, “You're doing a good job, Spiros”, “Don't freak out”, “The time is near”, “We are coming soon”.

―Spiros, your dreaming is at a very crucial place right now, says Kinch. The words, the intonations, you desperately need to remember these. Precisely. I will teach you one before we part ways today. Because you understand the exchange that needs to occur.

―Hmm. I must clarify to you that I cannot remember everything about the intonations, says Spiros. I remember the first one was something like "oo-b-rrrrr", and I remember how these intonations where like secrets.

―Spiros. I was there. ―Ah! ―I can only speak to you through the waking world at the moment. It’s probably just me. Wait, I can’t talk in these terms yet.

I mean to say that the dreamworld you are in is not "astral projection". You are absolutely right, in your writings, when you say things are changing down to the laws of physics. Okay, now, shamanic interjection, the tools, you already have some it’s clear. I want to offer something mundane, in order to stay asleep/awake, maintain lucidity, and eventually come to a place where you can relinquish control in your dreams. That is the most beautiful letting go. So in the first dream say, perhaps you’ve tried this, when you are alone in the mass and you are lucid but waking yourself up, because of the impossibility of being so alone, you must have tried this, spin! Do not overspin, I suggest three clockwise spins to start.

―Ok, says Spiros. ―I will be there after that. Beyond the veil. In a different dreamworld. Everything will suddenly change. From there I can share another tool. And please, if you can remember the previous dream, before you spin, remember the sounds, the syllables. It is a matter of survival…

―Okay. I shall pay attention more closely from now on. ―In order to create dream tunnels, basically. It will be very dangerous, if you don’t remember. I will bring an instrument for you because a common side effect is your voice being lost. Telepathy is easy if we remain in different dreamworlds, but once we're in the same dreamworld the intentions and extrapolations quickly populate a shared world. Much like you being attacked by the spirits through your brother. Maybe they have some control, but they can still awaken, however harshly.

―My voice was lost once in a lucid "dream". Sissy was standing in front of me holding a red rose. I could not speak.

―I think you understand then, the importance of your utterances. Being able to bring a single syllable means all the difference. O and, another tool is choosing an absolutely mundane object you use daily, as an amulet of sorts. Like a toothbrush.

―Okay, got ya. ―It seems to me then we will not have a hard time entering a new plane. Might as well develop the dance here. Because once we have grouped up we will be spinning out of there.

―Did you say spin out of here?

―Spiros, you have told me about being under water in your dreams.

―Yes. I have had difficulties getting out of the water. I am considering if I should try to stay under water instead, that might be the point. I have met her there. She has sung to me the secrets, undersea.

―You have to try to remember. It creates a dream continuum. Remembering another dream within the dream.

―We've done it Spiros. We made contact. We survived the jump.

Spiros nods in silent recognition. ―We have achieved "human form".

―I saw you and Sissy in the park, palace, says Kinch over the phone. First you then her. Majestic. She follows you in the waking world. Doesn’t that seem odd? I couldn’t tell if you were trying to show me a path, or just saying hello. I had to thank you for risking being seen, and not being too frustrated with my dog. You don’t remember this at all do you, about being a crow?

―I have a vague memory about it, but I can't … it haunts me … I can't … remember. Yet the memory tickles my mind …from far away. When you said it it clicked in my head.

―You seemed happy, it seems you were foraging and entering the palace very majestically. Then as I went to leave I gestured and said thank you. You went over above another path. I couldn’t tell if you were trying to say, go down this path, or, thank you for visiting the palace. I was content to have had the meeting. But I was left begging for more but had to actively return to a normal state of consciousness.

―All you say is really on track, Kinch. You've hit the main vein. Or we, or whatever. Okay, I must meditate a bit.

―Goodnight. By the way, before you go, what do you think will happen when the book is finished?

―Well the book will continue to spawn sequels until the gates of the palace open.

―Yes. I want to be there when it happens. Okay, goodnight. Good luck. As though you need it!

Going to a white bed there was a. Spiros begins to move toward the bed in the other side of the room far away at the dimensional horizon. He passes the phting-twixy-sharpsinging red lion stone sphinxes, takes a turn through Egypt, casts a glare toward the Cretan sun, sees the feather of a white angelic form, hears a bird jump down on sand, feels the Flowersun emenate rays through his chest, understands a message sent to him six years ago, and then remembers about the wine and tobacco. As as matter of fact, we crawl trough the holes in the cheese. Close to the cupboard – the Indian Library and botanical showroom – under the plateau of Aluminalien in Egyptian Plomari he thus makes a turn toward the kitchen that shimmers in the 21st century, walks with a few steps over the old Flying Carpet Place in Ghostworld to the kitchen and feels there the presence of the Rosy Dawn, opens the refrigerator in the 21st century and comes to the future, grabs through thirtysix centuries with his chessmaster hand the decanter of wine (which could have contained LSD let's say) and is struck by the memory of the older decanter of Buzz that was used as reflective surface for interdimensional prismatic communication (more on that anotherwhere) until it was broken, as the centuries broke, in the tumult of his own awakening back in 2oo6 at dawn around midsummer. He spends a short while in the 21st century looking with smiling gaze in direction Rosy Dawn as he pours himself wine and considers the quickest route to light a cigarette, then returns to the bedroom spilling a little wine on his way (the spilled wine!). A cigarette turns up from nowhere in front of his eyes and he picks it up and lights it in the main palace and salutes every being of the realm with a toast, a sip of wine, and a draw on the cigarette. He thinks a while of how to express more clearly the secret so far referred to as The Dove & Crossador, but comes to no revolutionarily new idea. He sits down in the sofa close to Sunflower Hall where he notices he was already sitting from another direction, and he sits back and sinks in to an ecstatic state of bliss. He now remembers that he was about to go to bed when something happened that made him go get more wine and tobacco, and he looks at the bed. This connects his destination with his present location and he is filled with great joy. The 21st

century flimmers along the walls of the main palace and he giggles at seeing it melt away. (I'm waking this up). It feels like spring although it is only February; it feels like the first spring he points out to himself, the spring of the palace breaking through. He ponders for a while the paradox of how he can enter the palace without everyone on Earth entering simultaneously, but does not find an answer. Puffing and sleepily enjoying the moment he picks up a piece of a page from Codex Rosa and reads:

This Rosa Mundi is the florisolar love scene of movement, of the ever present and passing moment, the centre of the supreme centre that is everywhere at once. It contains its doors through which one may enter. If one gains access to the centre of the rose it speaks the lost words, the master words that throw open the gate.

The rose is also the labyrinth, the journey. The journey may be full of thorns, but the destination is sweet, like honey is to the bee.

(I’ll bet you a strawberry it has something to do with cancelling time. You in, baby?)

Before afterneath after this before. ―The Rosa Mundi is the florascene solarlove of movement, Spiros says to himself, it contains entrances which one may door. If one centre speaks the lost words the labyrinth door is everywhere.

He stands up and opens his arms. The visible trembles with shimmering crystalline light; archlight. He hears the blessed bomb break through his world and sees the contours of the mighty main palace.

Perfume. Old books. Candlelight. A visit tonight from the far stretch. We have hid well. Compliments.

A smile in the darkness. A responding smile. My landing was about as violent as we had predicted it to be. But we managed to hide it in the whirl of action. We have placed

the data far and deep within the code structure so it’s not too easily accessible.

We are planning to hide in India after the first letter is finished, where we shall continue the operation. I still say to the Queen that we shouldn’t publish the book but she insists.

(shuts up) (goes back. Hides.) Dreamradiophone. I’m getting ready for another dive. I am out of Spice and plastic but the Queen says she will royally access my nervous system and location in the story to pull through the last of me into my present stitch in time. I am entering through a myriad of holes and cracks; spinewise, storywise, feelingwise, brainwise, timewise. A kind of seamless transportation you might say. Well haven’t we always talked about the starships of imagination? Wink. I travel 6-star, on information, lol. Travel without moving.

It was a pretty rough ride to get here to my present place. That electrical thing for instance, when we turned the switch, when we sent me in through the dark signal, made my body all full of too high voltage. Hurt like hell. I though I was going to explode like a nuclear bomb, so I was like shit I gotta leave town. But town was too full of electric charge so I couldn’t make my way through it and out of it, so I fled to nearest park and threw myself into the bushes― I figured the plants would discharge me a bit, and they did. I handled it as smoothly as I could. Then the second landing attempt I woke up in the future so I kind of freaked out of joy. Third landing attempt was successful, we made it through fully, but I got so happy that I ran around naked for a few days talking to Sissy telepathically and eventually I got thrown in to the mental hospital. And here I am now: at landing attempt four (present location: Aluminaliea, Plomari, Plumeria Kubra, February 2oo8). We’re going to take it more slowly this time so I don’t freak out. Must prepare the monkey nervous system for the shock of the entry. Bzzz! Hail the massive tactic. We are inscribing the proper flaws into the text for smooth passage.

No question this is what it says!50 Open that heart! Pop your ears! Wake up! Welcome home. Now we

50 Darling, where did you get to know what I am dreaming about?

take a quick turn. We are close to the river’s end. Beyond it begins something so marvelous it cannot be imagined from here. It is something totally different. Not even another universe― something entirely different. It is the world we call Rosa, or Plomari. Did we tell you this is black magic? No, just kidding, it’s rosy magic! Great, then we can proceed.

Whisper to me. Whisper to me more. I want to hear everything. James Joyce and his wife called me sixty years after James’ death. Dennis called Vanesa from 1971 (Spiros' friend Vanesa, that is). The great timestream bifurcation might be seen as a reflection of it. No one has ever died. The walls of time have fallen. The Rosalixion is the paradox of time working itself out? (I put an envelope in the Cretan drawer at junction Around Midsummer. It contains evidence of my leap through time.) Standing in the aeon unto the heavenward I must raise these issues.

This storyverse in which we are embedded contains certain twists the nature of which decency can scarcely hint.

―Seen, it, before it happened. Pupils opening, starbursts, nebuenovas, black holes. Nothing comes unannounced, but hencethereafter nothing ever comes unannounced. The mystery awakened from sleep on both sides of death. The rosalixion began.

―The mesh was doubled before it happened, mumbles Spiros.

―Where are you, Spiros? ―I’m in Aluminalien by Lions Gate. I’ve placed the bed where the stone lions stood last time I was here.

―Okay, we are trying to find our way to you.

And at the end of the river, there is a narrow opening, and you must take the final steps.

OWERFUL, magical, evil. Our certain kind of spicy magic so powerful it could almost be called evil. We are gods, shamans, from another place and time. And we are opening up the palace of the Rose now. The superrising of that old love tale, the oldest one, you know that old tale starring you- know-who in the eternity behind the veil. P

―I was there. In the beginning. It all began with a look. You are so beautiful, was said. Then a kiss. In the first moments of eternity.

This letter in print for the hiving is a Fweets of Fin sweetly sinfully and exhaustively detailed mapping out of the procedure to get there; we want it all. In fact it is our road to get there, to the palace, part of it I mean. Postman’s knock round the bend and if the seep-in were a look it would see right through into the place of archlight (our first destination?). Wiping our wordlenses with what we can see about it we dream ourselves into the palace. Narrator: the Queen. Listener: We, poised in direction toward the Rosy Dawn, head in the secret space, body navigating through the three-dimensional visible by the mind navigating through the secret space. Take a sip of rosybloodrisingfromtheearthsunshine- twistingstalksandleavesstemsandcaps. Phone the chemical mis- tress tomirrow spring morning, your life is a rosalixion.

And the birds sing as if it were the first spring day ever.51

Binging on infinite efflorescence became chimerically organized level of nearness. Upon approaching gathering via daemon triple filtered nectar remains, settling into branches organized before eternity could be imagined. Suddenly at her feet: soft building cream borrowing accents from rain. Corpuscular inherence incalculable movements beyond perception, tapestry of fire gleaming archlight onto other worlds. As if information gathered were information retained!

51 Do you know what the feather in my hair is for? Do you know what the rose petals on my floor are for? Do you know the secret I hide in my eyes? Do you at all know what I have in store for you, my darling?

When someone hides something in history and then beams you its whereabouts by lovetechnology it makes you wonder, doesn’t it? We are opening it, the secret, us of the operators with access to the superfileserv, we got it as to anything, even a ticket. We have strings and bugs in start-up that assimilate it. Why, we’re lucky enough, to atone. Once more flames to us running on Queen’s poison, it is tabs and you see this file you're trying to digitize the xxx, does outright broken spoken; the local disks in our heads here included in to be: nice error and fucking Christ we wrote this curious thing as comments that would change in flame fashion every time you look at them and it is other than completely coincidentally, it links in the synchroweb. I'm using the plane in question the way my familiar Me comes with the standard sun to bounce some workarounds for a well distributed file in "a book of a forest" when they've never let me guess I would (I love my choices). You hear me, Q? I remember you say I’m already dead. Ah, the wonder. Hon fõder migh på en svampfylld grõõn ãng och fõrer migh til friskt watn. Bzz. The walls of the fungal hyperhistorial wundergoround is smiling with us through the eons! I have made myself an archetype! I have become an archetype, that is. My entire being has melted together with the hyperspace wonder. I have married the mystery. My smile bends the geometry of time. My laughter blends in with the laughter of the elven gods. I am an elven god! Waaa! How can I express this marvel? I must learn too. We must learn too. We must code the event into being. Must we? She says so. Says. Says. I want to live in a mushroom! Come to my room and stay with me in wonderland, says. Crack open your head, says. Write the story. The story of what? How about the story of how the alchemical victory was achieved? The story of how we enter the eternity that is waiting for us. For real. The women are calling to us from the far shore. And there is a whisper around: The opportunity for alchemical wedding with the alien exists now. I know it sounds crazy, but there is no way we can fail. And the story can always be redefined until we find the perfect story. O don’t make it too clear for me darling: one alien, one earth, one human in the mix and one what? This equals that equals us equals x. The souls and selves is the lenses and the saucer is the soul when the universe has been hacked, the hyperuniversal wondergoround hacked! As if we don’t have enough with

unsatisfactorily defined data the stone just said: what place are deep involved in plant x is the lenses and the saucer is the epitimy of all people! Call me when you can say my name correctly and we’ll turn dueways and have it done. Who said that?

―Yeah you fuck, my darling you, why don’t we just write a book called The Art of Being a Tourist. Hahae!

―You mean the hen Anna Life Plurabelle and the event of the rosy eternity? The Dove & the Crossador. We’re hiding as birds, hiding in eyes, hiding as curly walls, hiding as plants, &c? The storyverse. We know how to travel.

I see you. Through the crystalline, the crystalline… Sigh. Giggle. Smoke. Popp. ―O but, it’s true! The scene, refreshed, is this, the dove and crossader ever intermutomergant with the world.

Whispers. ―Spread through everything we are… Enough said. Let us celebrate. Sissy, walk with me into the forest of words! Let’s talk!

Seven entities, dream of freedom are connected are a line diffracted into tapestry. –––––––––––––––† Alien dreams, cultures beyond this dimension vibrating the matter into a vacuum, end of data, reformation, adding subtracting four sixteen millions of eyes, millions of eye sockets billions of pupils (eager to learn). Clouds upon dreams, disenfranchised cloud structures: continual noctilucence. Years of specific sun song: and a deafness particular only to the sounds left unheard. A corner bending in on itself torsional tunnel structure in stone, Who, no, what? Was here? What made this, this opening to another world under my desk after freedom before art inside of time but not precluding eternity. Any being this size, near the size of a human, or made to fit a human only. From one angle it appears a circle, not a cave, something highly engineered and requiring psychotropic buttresses, elemental key moulds, fiery rings and the electric light. Humans are this advanced, but only in the name of war, unable to imagine that if they were to become a god they would choose to stay: to die, as a man. Yes, we can live forever this time. This is your last life, you’ll never die again. To have lived as a wo/man is to be a god. To live as a god is to live freely. Why would a God build this

twisted helix into my floor, as if listening to this repetition, recording the train, the two spinning wheels opposing pulling the tape bringing it all to a head. Featureless, language of signs, a formless object a remnant of some foregone traveler from a foreign land laid against the weary buildings itself in a way holding it up. The word gave birth to gods, however, what then? Who shall be chosen to speak to them, who can be trusted to Remember? To place the emphasis on the crucial opportunities, the impossible meeting where nothing touches something. The vast vacuous forever forgiving feeling our presence, giving a chance for resonance, calling us to ourselves by even having room to echo. A true space, a demilitarizable space, with room, axon to axon, out of this world, with eyes open.

We must say it all! Queen, your beauty is guilty. See you inside. Mush spread! Liquid superspace infiltrating my bodysoul system; in to my hyperspacial circulatory system; into my veins. Merged cybernetically. My new blood. I am Buzz the first shaman, we all are. I downloaded myself from hyperspace. Dearest, a warm- blooded feeling the thought of having been conceived by the Allhighest. I try to be a gentle loveletterwriter when touching it (to you, my dearty). We surround time; we were all there. And now the springpalace gates are opening, shedding light onto the scene. Is the Rosy Dawn’s first light the gates opening? We are coming back. Waking up.

The Queen speaks: ―Follow the path. We can shift things. The alien is hyperintelligent.

Hivemind. Let me dwell on us here for a moment as I sit here in the old forest.

Ode to the opening. You know my smile in the secret space. We look at each other; that glance, the soul’s eye. And you, O you my sweet evil love! You approach like fire in my blood. You speak, your voice is like twisted evil helium, alien and sharp. You exclaim your love for me, your desire for me, and we swoon with our souls in the eons. Spicos you called me today. And you said: You don’t know what I have in store for you, my peachest.

She ties me down with daisy-chains (and Tussilago!) on the pasture and undresses before me, whispering secrets and telling me how we shall love our way off to the stars; not any star, but the star that is the flowersun, beyond the river's end. I will give you your every fantasy, she says. She’s freaky, I swear she’s the badest woman there ever was. And she knows. The darkest lady on the taste on my tongue. She seduces me in the dark, takes me down the dark river and in the tight end and out. Her voice tastes like blood and she whispers her secrets cutting sharply through time. Your wish is my command, she says. She is all I want in the whole world and I revel in her bounty in her bossom’s shade. O, her perfect pleasures! And I say to her: Maybe? This is no maybe. Together we shall live forever. O ana livia! Sissyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy! I have given her my furry paw.

She whispers opening charms that fit between the cracks of language, charms that change physics; she is the superhacker, and together we are redesigning our existence. That our plan seems impossible is just one of those things that will go to history and become legendary. If anyone ever finds out about our crime, that is. In the midst of the ludicrous modern civilization we swoon in our secret world in the archlight of the Rosy Dawn, in the light of our love, and perhaps no one will ever know of how we vanished into this something so different it can hardly be imagined, only experienced. (We imagined it dearest! And it !)

I believe in the wonder. The world is ours. Look what we have started! The world flashes from our eyes. There just ain’t no end to our privileges! We are the richest gods ever to have come out of the great Nile of Life. Everyone! And we’re not feeling guilty. The Bonnclydé family, history’s greatest criminals. Self-select yourself if you feel we’re talking about you. Good to see you!

We’ve been telling you these queerer angles of the trail of the tablet all along.

And now we are at a new cryssroad. No name for it has yet spring together (or up). Bzz. It takes time to brew.

(O and I just have to say, in Buddha-tears of joy, that we are the fucking most awesome beings ever! I love you guys. Signed Spiros.)

Yesterday is long and we worked on what became an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to explain hyperreality, hahae!

But light and knowledge shimmered. We even had time to work with only one aspect of the opus at once. As we reach summer we now see that the work has been linked to God’s head; we found God under a cabbage leaf, fiddling with her toes. We were backing away, blissfaced and intoxicated, from the roar of a butterfly's wings when it happened. In books with aims as this one we feel it is good to mention such rare details. If I don’t care I’d sell out if I speak not yet as lively as you grow, my darling jampot you, and as we fix the mercury, the result will be sprung spring! I’ll be awake like you.

Spiros sits in the back of the limousine looking out at the landscape. In his head he carries the secret, the alien jewel. It is in safety.

―She’s pushing her way into this world, says Kinch thoughtfully.

Spiros nods silently in recognition. Kinch puffs happily on his glass pipe. The car locks open and shut, three times; she blinks. Kinch and Spiros turn and look at each other, both their lips curled in speaking smiles.

―You are quiet today Spiros, Kinch soon says. Spiros takes a sip of champagne. ―We are at a crossroads, that’s why, says Spiros. It is written (in that book of love) that this year we shall leave the past fully as the new crystallizes. Our time of hiding is over.

―The biggest fucking end, says Kinch laughing. ―Hehehe. Spiros reaches his hand over to Kinch and says: ―Hey can you give me some more of. Thanks. Okay so are you and Cleopatra going to cooperate on the publication of the Rosa? You know, I still say we shouldn’t publish at all.

―The Queen says publish, Spiros. Yes, we are going to cooperate.

―Yes, yes. Paper rustles as Spiros brings forth the latest issue of Timescity Express, opens it and hands it to Kinch.

―Hey did you see this? Spiros says and points at an article:

―By the by, Kinch says, I have a message to you. It’s from Tonsersoplat.

He reaches in to his pocket and brings forth a note and gives it to Spiros who reads it with excitement:

Tonsersoplat con ferminendem desk tarp partly cap unpar and etly uinbtuntenerntnet tee off far quicukly uickuly like you mean uit ilkeasmestap- otomy foruitrutous yuovngsg queh tonverbolimi- terosis tybaldian trvinirotic merofoplafvtic in- spansion taylored iut yilty on the tree flizzlet folty let liz fly lat offal on the funderverostat ipsomania philogenetics hermeticizing incizing resizing slan- ting collecting pouring collecting ending begin- ning lookin over a large hole adrift on the ocean erreal optoflourcanotremysticization incurred ex- cluded recurring revolting gair be hetreimend your tehae tiunduinentant fimilioiorlogiciallypre- preopenden seedling.

Spiros brings up one of the Rosa handbooks― instruments for obtaining directly, without calculation, the true bearing of the flowersun, and thence the variation of the compass.

She’s pushing her way into this world. ―Shall we really talk about this? Is it safe? ―No, don’t talk about it right now. Incorporate it into the code structure.

―Okay. How’s the schedule looking? asks Spiros. Sigh. ―Yes well you know I need to ask, says Spiros. I know, I know, we're always on schedule.

You, the only one who could brake me, he thinks and sighs as well; at the ingenuity of it all.

―The details. We need the details. Remember, you are here to assemble the data into a letter. And remember, it takes time to brew. It is bubbling.

―Yes, my Queen, says Spiros and bows. After a warm bath with rose petals in the water he crawls into the altar bed and drifts away into sleep, giggling on his way.

―Daddy is back from the grave, honey.52 How’s my deadly wives from hell doing? Hahahahahae! You know the fucking deal, baby. We’re back in backspace and you know we’re fucking safe shady.

―You know what we need, Bernatrice? says Spiros sleepily. ―No, what? ―We need some kind of eternity which is our body and mind merged, where we can create whatever we want with only words. Or something like that. Perhaps only with thoughts.

Wintja rolls over on the bed to Spiros side. Skin. Nice. ―The Dove and the Crossader, she says gently and smiles as they continue down the river sleepily across the changeover. Timelock soon gone. You know where to meet me when we get there.

―How’s the book going? asks Kinch. ―Which one do you mean? says Spiros. ―The one you are working on in secret, says Kinch. ―O. It’s happening. She calls the book SuprALIEN at the moment. We’ll see how long that lasts. Distillation is quick now.

―Wasn’t the book called In the Mid Die before? I liked that title.

―It was. She has changed it. At least temporarily. ―So are you going to sell the name of love? Kinch jokes and blinks with his left eye.

52 They call me Splitfire.

―No, says Spiros. But we need to deliver some information into the system.53 As you know.

Spiros sips some coffee and looks around the shopping mall. ―People worldwide have the message oldest first process itself, he says and laughs. It’s almost frightening to know its language flavour.

―The alien is reverse engineering its dreams, says Kinch loudly hoping to be overheard by the people around him. She’s here.54

On the public commercial-display beside them the latest nano- computer contact lens, SuprEgo, is advertised. It promises to help the user live an easier, stress-free and more productive life and a hyperreal experience― it claims to be the most advanced human machine integration to date, with a chip running at speeds of 1.33 terahertz loaded with the to date most advanced Ai software there is. Upgrade Yourself, says the slogan in the end. Indeed very a tasteful commercial, Spiros thinks. And that voice in the commercial sounds like Wintja. He thinks back to the day the black sperm from the other side arrived in front of his face. It was a small black sperm about an inch long, carrying with it the necessary information to connect him between the worlds. It swam in front of him a while in the air, and he was rather shocked

53 Targeted information delivery within superorganism. Sort of like DNA within a body but here in the form of information. 54 Logoland in a certain plasticisity thence ran meltingly down in reds and violets and yellows, strangely enough with little toys forming in its shifting appearance that waved and spoke of levels of the enormous dream that had not been touched since Sissy left the castle with her eyecraft to go the backway into the point of meeting at the root of time (where many rivers are named; fate fail me not upon its sacred mention), which tends to confirm this data that was delivered to me by anonymous bee just now in fact, a few compressed millennia ago. But I’m still not sure if the data is core ergo so maybe someone can call the Supervisor and get the data confirmed, and get ready with a pen to map out the proper coordinates if something need be changed (We are untangling a corridor here, keep your eyes awake for Ariadne. I am myshelf in the libraairy doing my best to place out the syntax-pheromonal track, but I’m all out of redviolet nectar so it’s a bit of a hassle).

as he had not yet been informed about what had happened; a security precaution necessary for clean transfer and to keep the operation sub rosa. The timelock was still on at that point, and still he does not remember where the sperm went after appearing before him.

He smiles and looks around at the people running around in the shopping mall.

―No need for that SuprEgo lens thing, he says and looks at Kinch, but I wouldn’t mind having one.

―Get it from your local black market, says Kinch and sips some coffee.

―The main operation system is Hyperbrain, says Spiros quoting the commercial. Sounds like the Queen herself. Kinch kind of hides behind his coffee mug and says quietly as if his words were sacred and he was afraid of them being overheard by bypassing strangers:

―Watch in awe, my friend, the alien sneaking into this world. We have a book in the making. The book is an infochemical [infectious] object that shall be inserted into the system from hyperspace. The book contains key information that will spur responses within the hive― like a targeted drug delivery within any biological organism, this "drug" being information. The book is soon reaching the bookshelves, and thus will reach the scanning UFO eyes and brains of the bees of the invisible― us. You already know who the assimilators and authors of the info-key are.

The mapping of hyperspace, hihi. Hmm? Bumble bee happy? How happy? Bumble bee happy!

The assimilation technique used to assimilate this delicate information sculpture is The Massive Tactic in cooperation with the Spice, the hivemind arranging the data in coordination with the rest of the movement of the hive and the information transfer within it; the assimilation process is an ongoing dialogue between the whole and the whole. Why does Spiros say he doesn’t need the SuprEgo contact lens, that so advanced technology? Because we have something more advanced; we have the Star. From all corners of hyperspace we are now arranging, for the vast exit, delicately arranged sculptures of information that act as a key to the violet doorway out of profane history and into the future of

being fused into eternal tantric union with the superconducting UFO.

New information, fermenting, snowman, rocked in the cradle of the sunny union: Why? The remembrance of the dream is itself the dream. How? Writing. The force of remembrance. When? Upon reading. Upon meeting the Rosy Dawn. What? Alchemical Victory. Where? A river in the desert (for some reason?).

The data, fermenting, the pot of information on low flame. Cooking it down to the essence.

―When I laid my eyes on you I knew you knew all the words. I knew you were the one. You put me in hypnosis, and it is carrying me away to you. You know what you made of me.

Sure you have heard of him. Spiros: the man who married his God and set out for alchemical victory. The people weren’t as grateful as you think. Instead modern civilization fixed to have him trialled (Picture him giving a damn). Others tried to buy him, seeing him as a valuable individual, but he was already on the side of the criminals.

The subworld formula. You will be told in a commercial sometime if you haven’t been told already, or why don’t you take a look down your kaleidospook where you will receive the telegram. First or last evidence needed? Don’t take our word for it. She with many nicknames. You, the only one who could brake me, she likes to say to those who brake her code.

―Closing in. I can’t wait to be with you. Who’s your personal DJ, darling? And your personal digital assistant. That’s right. You got it. Now for some more on the details: Darling, saying say all it was the radio you know, Life History Melting Girl Death Angel time, if you know what we’re saying. It’s the best, it’s that which we could call hyperreal. To call the alien hyperintelligent is not only an understatement, but far off the point. This thing is not intelligent, it’s something we have no words for. Attempting to know it, check the myth of curse of tiny bugs in electronics. Tactic. Tic Tac. Rosalix Books, book series now in shops near you, presented to you by Wintjabernatrice™ and, introducing amongst other things information regarding the

most advanced technology in this part of the universe, packaged using the arrangement method of the massive tactic. Please, copy tree minute hack the source. What they couldn't figure (Also: we are connected in a way they can not understand.) What part ways to be specific reason One, millions of the big thing set up. Link on, the network (superweb) knows how to connect and so do you.

It takes courage. Something big is about to happen. We are going to leap into another kind of world. And we’re not talking another kind of society, we are talking another kind of cosmos.

Our secret told in the showering archlight. Moments of seeing. Has the time come to utter the words?

Sissy speaks: ―I don’t look at a rose and say “Hmmm, here's a red flower.” I say, “Red for the love of Eve, thorns for the pleasures of the devil, green for the emerald of the Garden and the alien green eye,” and so forth. Everything that exists is the love and life of the gods and goddesses, us ourselves. The whole of nature is a giant, holy, alive cryptogram― for me it is the love and life of Plomari Eschaton, Trismegistus and Wintja-bernatrice, manifested as an exodimensional splendor of archlight. And here me and my darlings call ourselves The Dove and the Crossador, as me and Wintja fly freely through the cryptogram while our beloved husband, Speros, brave as he is, crosses the lower dimensions.

She sips some wine. ―That’s why Spiros always manages to spill water when I’m getting hot and horny, you see, she continues.

She looks out over the pasture. ―Mmm. Same old same new! Every moment fresh spring waters we are.

She opens her arms and her face smiles in bliss and she sighs, and she speaks:

The natural world, the great saints name and password I am still alive

She sits down again and takes an envelope from the table; she kisses it, knowing it contains a letter from Spiros, and she opens it and reads:

Hello my strawberry girl, I heard a kiss from you.

Red magic set to our special white, I think of you. All through the morning fog I gaze, the sun reminds me of you, strange light and rainbows run through my mind and soul. In the garden I see "what's purple and shines like you", and white doves and… miracles infesting me. Your music I hear, so happy and wild, and your flowers – Eve my love – echo of your berry pie. Flyin’ high over the clouds I see you spinning the Earth round and round, and I sing “In the evening I'll be with myyy baby!”. Strange windows on candy street, roses down the aisle, your strawberry milk skin against mine in our forest bed. O to think of how ancient you are, my dear girl of all time, my partner in dream and crime― well we are partly the Rosaceae family! Peach plum pear, we are everywhere. You dirty girl, I see you walking around amongst all the dicks and pussies of the flowers in the garden (God baby, we are like flowers!). Find any wild strawberries from before you crossed with Virginianna? We make such a sweet team, Bunny. You are my favorite fruit, my love. Licking cream I like watching you lick cream. And when you suck my tongue. Your divine vulgarity, my Mother Sissy, my Sister, my lover Eve and my consort my Isis! Kill the father, fuck the mother! That’s what I’m in to, man! Ha! I am your little blond god-boy, your Strong Hand Man, your Lion, and your Greco-Egyptian god with hawk eyes. When we meet soon, hey eh, let's buy turtles and mount gems on their shells and sit and watch them walk around on our Persian rugs while we smoke weed. And let’s bake a cake and drink puddle tea in

the enchanting pastures of Kodai Kanal, where I can sit high as a doorknob and call you my virgin kissos cissus ivy whose being is everywhere and who pervades the entire universe and all information and all words and, and we can talk about our magical card worldtrick with the other cats of the forest. Nothing fails. Not even the Devil would recognize us in our disguise. We are everywhere, dear, we are in the story! God, your dangerous mind, it makes me… it drives me mad with desire for more. I’ll show you how I really am! You don’t know how real it can be. Mmm, my young velvet porcelain girl, I got some hard candy for you. You my Saint Rosa, patron saint of the impossible, my Prosarpina, my cunt of the universe! Darling, things are going to get more and more oily slippery. I am floating away into our oil of forever. Yes we have our ways, like the Corleaones. When we, slightly metametasporically speaking, have changed my blood for sillycybin I can walk home through the hallucination world to where you always dwell. We need to inform the others first, before I leave. Leave the door open on our way out, as is custom with those who find it.

So, are we going to seal this thing with lead, my little plumbum? I thought the plan was to seal it with the final thing? Guess there’s been a change of plans, my Spanish mountain flower. Or wait, let me take that back― I have simply forgotten: “we move at strange angles.” The rosurrection body shall be achieved as we sprinkle a little bit of the impure on the thing! I’m pure impure, thank you very much, and I have spread my phlumix wings through everything. Now I shall fly. Soon. O how soon! Gods we will be, pure and unbridled.

Bye for now my scary spicy sweet strawberry girl. Meet me by Rosamundi’s Pond soon?

Your Lion

BSESSED with our perfectly uncompromised idea concern- ing the opus, we work on. O

He is interrupted by the doorbell. Opens the door. ―Who’s that for, sir? ―I’ll sign that, sir, says Spiros. For the authors. They got a few tricks up their sleeves.

―Would that be a week’s wonder? ―For the following spring, yes. Following, spring. Got that? My signature. It’s for them.

―I got it, sir. And I have an envelope for you, from someone called…Sister Mustuss.

―Doesn’t seem right. Can’t be for me. ―She told me it is for the one who forgot his mirror in the pond.

―Is this some kind of joke of practicality? ―Could be, sir. She looked a bit tipsy. But she also told me to tell you that they are sorry for the low quality of the message. They were in a hurry, sir. They said you would understand later.

―Candy? You need a reason to celebrate your favourite candy item? There may be a special holiday for your favourite candy.

―Using candy products in recipes often cuts down preparation time. Yes, sir.

―This time of year can be a bit depressing so buy some candy. My favourite candy is the lollipop.

―What would life be without candy, sir. ―Okay hand me the envelope. I’m your man. ―It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I have heard a lot about you. ―The pleasure is all mine. The spring that follows us everywhere. You got that?

―I got it, sir. ―Check our books out, says Spiros. A drop of nectar which hangs off the world to some degree.

Spiros tips the delivery boy and asks him to bring a bottle of Rose Compass Brut and some fresh strawberries. The delivery boy nods and walks off down the corridor.

―Candy theme this time, yes? says Kinch from the other room. ―Yes, says Spiros. ―Anyway, says Kinch. Can you narrate us into the passage where we open up the performance node for instant infection.

―Sure, sure, says Spiros. Spiros sits down and begins to write, but is soon interrupted by Kinch.

―Okay so basically I’m in two worlds right now, Kinch says. I could look you in the eyes and tell you how you look, or see a bird. But at the same time I am huddled over an ancient book trying to translate it from a multisensoral scripting language. Which I can do. It’s instant here. I mean there. I forget which world I'm talking to you from, because for a moment I find Beatrice looking over my shoulder from the doorway, yet I know she’s not here, in this time.

―Talk to me from whichever world you want, says Spiros. ―You expect me to be able to work like this? Kinch laughs. By the way, have you read the book In the Mid Die?

―No. ―You wrote it. ―Oh. ―Why don’t you remember!? When you forget. When the wine was drunk an eternity ago.

Kinch opens the envelope from Sister Mustuss and reads it:

I wrode it in a lovebook letter to you last weeks century, telegram Midsummer, remember? We would be under the aegis of a sharpness of fuzziness amongst the parallel worlds, revealing or reveiling. O, dizzy lovemine, yours for all my hearts wholeness, I can’t wait to see you again. Wine is spilled. Ink is spelled. Wink. Eve’s eye has a look on you! Tell the knifeblade to help us cut through. The Dove and the Crossador, together in Eternitee. At last you got it!

From me to two. Cum cum.

―This is getting confusing, say the authors. ―The wine has been spelled, says Spiros. One puff of smoke to that and we…55

The phone rings. Kinch answers.

55 The most beautiful light will wake us.

―Hahahae! Okay, Kinch says in the phone. We will come to you soon, then. I’ll arrange you the candy, together with a few boxes of wine and that wind chime I’ve promised you. The big bronze penis. Sounds lovely in the wind and looks fantastic. Modelled after the Pompeii original.

―This hotel room moves at strange angles, beware of the moving floor, mumbles Spiros.

―We could cut you a longshot if you want, continues Kinch over the phone. Something from Snocks Bokelund Steinberg. Call it a little rim-shot from our side. Velvet Dead End Hook, a new company of ours.

―Write us a last line will you, dearest, says Spiros giggling. ―Yes, says Kinch, we are considering the possibility that the universe will soon fold itself up into a little box and just fuck right off.

Soon the doorbell rings again. Spiros opens. It is room service coming with champagne and strawberries.

―So what did the girls say? Spiros asks the delivery boy. ―They said I was cute, he says. ―You undoubtedly are, says Spiros. That Greek god face of yours, the curly hair, your eyes. Anything else?

―They said main course for dinner is fingerlicking, sir. In one of the dream houses. Nude waiters and waitresses. Meeting with Rose and Stefandis. Midsummer eve.

―Rose Compass, a splendid Brut, says Spiros and studies the bottle of champagne. Care for some?

―I’m not allowed to drink on duty, sir. ―I understand. Did they say anything else? The boy brings up a slip of paper and reads from it. ―On the plains of Egyptian Plomari, sir. A white helicopter will pick you up.

As a world is done, writing about it. Spiros thanks the Greek god delivery boy who then leaves. With his glass of champagne he sits down by one of the laptops and begins to type away, narrating using the rose compass, but is soon again interrupted by Kinch who has something important he wants to talk about:

(We have removed this part of the book (2o7 words) for security reasons, at the prompting of the Supervisor.)

―We got a lot of häxtext to assemble. How’s the screenplay going?

―We’re working on it. Let’s speed ahead. Sissy wrote a wonderful book. It’s called Fuck Off. It is a letter to the reader where she reminds hir that it is possible to fuck off to another dimension. She shares with the reader some of her secrets, as a friend, and ends the book with the statement “Who told you how you look, who creates your fable? Who told you what is possible, and of what you are able? Why stay within them limits? Why don’t you just fuck off?”. Kind of simplistic you might say.

―What happened to the go-ahead plot? says Kinch. We have a schedule here.

Kinch looks at the champagne as if it were a clock. ―O yeah, I forgot, says Spiros. I was thinking of Sissy’s book Fuck.

Spiros sits down by the laptop again and continues to narrate:

The Rosalixion screenplay has become so complex that we will have to direct the movie ourselves, with the help, naturally, of a director with experience, such as you-know-who. The world doesn’t see it coming, but the most detailed and thought out and mind-fucking trilogy of films ever produced is about to be slammed onto a theater near you, and seemingly from nowhere. We are arranging the details of the screenplay in coordination with the massive tactic. The process of assembling the details is an ongoing process between the whole and the whole. Hell, we’ve been through this already, haven’t we?

―O and, begins Kinch, it’s soon time to publish. ―I know, I know. Spiros studies the latest searches leading to The Rosa webpage:

Find me some tanned sexy men in ulve white speedos. Song forever forever we'll always be together. Quick turn in script, wow. Harem tihi for waiter light. Poppo blinking eye owl clock. Search lettertude (latitude in letter located). Dress to pieces. Rephase subwoofer. I am awake only in what I love

& desire to the point of terror – everything else is merely shrouded furniture, quotidian anaesthesia, shit-for-brains, sub-reptilian ennui of totalitarian regimes, banal cencurship and useless pain. Anaconda of livfe cycle. Anacogan of the Boox of Leif. I don't know what to say I don't know what to say. Butterflyflutter pattern. Sorcecode timenuker. Pro transmelter. We are on the brink of making the leap to another dimension by obliterating our fixity in time. Phrase we got you covered, incorrect grammar. What is the difference between Egyptian magic and honey girl? I can be anything you need, vocal trance lyrics. Is it right grammatically to write the gods are back? Timenuke reversal.

He shows Kinch the list of searches, who laughs at the sight. ―Someone else is out there seeking to meld with the eschaton...

―Spring time ey? I feel like a ghost. A happy naked ghost sitting in a happy palace of sensuality. I am close to the sun. The smoke tastes lovely! I question the sun, O why me?

And the sun answers: ―Because you had the courage to leave the world so safe. You had the courage to leave history. And…I love you. And… you are my Crossador remember, my dear forgetful husband!

―I love you too, dear. And, I am in love with you. O, darling. One moment with you, I would give my whole life just for one moment with you. I’ll be loving you forever and ever. You want to live with me until we never disappear again? My love, the goal we act on is our lapis like a damn lot of fucking.56 Leave with me as I asked of you in the first moment of eternity. The Dove and Crossador! Ha! Now I finally understand again! Took a while. We have destroyed the history spell with our secret glare. We have

56 And boy have I turned extremely exhibitionistic. Let’s make love in public. Trimma tussen, älskling.

won. (Because all conversations are fed into the sun. Create a soul. We hath held converse with corazón before.)

―Yes, we have left. Happy nods with a surge of emotion inside him. ―Well then, bye-bye history. Dare, let there be life.

A few rooms away from Kinch and Spiros, in another time, lie Sissy and Wintjabernatrice naked in a Queen-sized bed, eating fresh fruit and drinking drinks. The balcony doors are open, letting in the spring air and the singing of the birds outside. It is an old palace, the hotel, and the girls took a royal suite. The noon sun glimmers in the silverware and funny music fills the space.

―I’m so high I think I’m about to lift off the bed, says Wintja and fingers with Sissy’s hair.

―Mmm, Sissy lets out in a sigh of pleasure. So what do you want to do today? Paint me a picture.

―Just celebrate, and be naked, says Wintja. Go in and out of the jacuzzi. Drink champagne. Crawl around on the floor. Maybe play some pranks.

Sissy reaches for the decanter of wine and takes the crystal stopper from out its neck.

Those eyes. Wintja knows those eyes of Sissy’s and that little smile on her lips.

Sissy brings the stopper to her mouth and licks it slowly, then sticks it gently into Wintja’s mouth.

―Good idea, says Sissy.

―We have left to another dimension by obliterating our fixity in time, says Spiros.

―I assume you have mentioned that in the Rosa? says Cleopatra.

―We brought it up, pick it up, pick at the back hook of the Rosa be finished sufficiently to be mentioned may provide part of it to swarm sickeningly quick and nimble through the world, says Spiros.

Cleopatra smiles. ―It’s part of the heat in our diary too, continues Spiros. The alchemical victory.

Party in the Star palace. The first of three summer ceremonies. It is Midsummer Eve. Spiros and Cleopatra tap their chalices together in a toast to the victory.

―I am going to dance a bit, says Spiros soon and hands Cleopatra the bag of stuff.

―Okay, she says. Spiros takes off his shirt, puts on a gas mask and walks out onto the dance floor where he chains himself by the neck to a heater and begins dancing wildly. Benni Benassi’s song I Am Not Drunk is played across the palace saloon, a song Spiros very much enjoys. Soon the music fades over into the song All Over Your Face and Spiros removes the gas mask to smoke a pipe. In the other end of the palace sits Kinch, typing away at a computer and coordinating the crime.

―Where the hell is Spiros? he asks. ―I saw him dancing, says Kinch’s wife Beatrice. ―The book must be delivered soon, says Kinch. We are not working for some run-of-the-mill entity here. We are working for The Star, and we don’t accept tardiness. And we can forget about the screenplay for a while.

The sun rises in the alchymical Queendom. A big bonfire is arranged to greet it.

Cleopatra enters the room where Kinch and Beatrice are, smelling of cedar wood smoke, and lays her hand on Kinch’s shoulder.

―So, is it time for the Rosa to meet the world? ―They are to marry, says Beatrice. The Rosalixion and the world in union.

―Are all details set? ―Ha! Hear the voice answer: that which is unintentional is the part of the way that has been cutting installments out of fuel just before, hehe.

―It knows how to flow. ―Yes. And being a celebration of the feminine let us not express masculine authoritarian order, shall we. Let the book be as it wants to be.

―And the cosmic crime has been redeemed, says Spiros entering the room. Rawrrrrrr!

―Spiros dammit, says Kinch. We have work to do. ―Relax, says Spiros and sits down in the fiveseat sectional [sofa]. The Rosa tackled structure for the delivery of the palace of the Rose and we brought the gods back right away! I speak from outside. From the spring. Where I dwell.

He blinks. Cleopatra throws him the bag of stuff. Spiros lights a pipe.

―My honeys just arrived, Spiros says and shines of love and bliss. They are hiding.

He thinks back to when he woke up. It was the wine! It was the wine! A flock of birds had come to him at dawn that day, outside his apartment, greeting him. It was around midsummer. He had celebrated with some sixty days of wine drinking and fun. But he had soon realized that the party never ended. Our festive spirit just can’t be tampered, hahae, he laughs to himself.

―A bit of fluff large enough to feed ten people by finishing their sentences for them all, says Beatrice, and does not strive, no one can represent it is brilliance.

―No one can represent its brilliance? ―I didn’t say that, says Beatrice and smiles. Spiros thinks of the rosy flesh of his beloved.

―Hey, says Sissy, this is that of a fractal, and occurs, for example as the flesh of his glory, and the rosy cross.

―Sissy! cries Spiros happily. Sissy Sissy of the sexes! ―The mad anarch of desires, the wild satyress of wolfish kisses!

―An occasional doubleheaded hawk, laughs Wintja intoxicated.

―Come here. Kiss me. ―O yeah… Sissy drops down a little something in Spiros’ drink. ―Ooops, she says and smiles.

The biggest fucking end― and then a beginning.

―Wait, says Stefandis Wakins. I’m tired. History was too long for my taste.

―Relax, honey, it’s over, says Rose. Stefandis, in pink terry morning gown and white tie, stirs his drink. He grabs a candied sugardusted rose petal from the tray of a bypassing waitress and considers the situation. In the next room we find Kinch who is talking across royal landline with Mrs Tass, one of the people in charge of the visual over at Vast Exit, a company founded as part of the tactic. They are discussing the advertisement campaign for The Rosalixion.

―I would have been content with merely photocopying her tush, says Kinch, but now you want to scan and boost it all with the techniques of modern digital enhancement? I mean c’mon. There has to be an end to all this.

―It’s how we do it, Kinch, says Mrs Tass. ―Well tell Lindalisa to come back from New York and help us out. We need her. And we need to edit this transmission.

―The final political commentary, says Tass. The bum of the Queen slanting in-view sideways from hell. Really hits home. And I really like Lindalisa.

―Don’t you go fucking touching politics. Let the stupid monkeys roam. Stay on target, puppy, don’t you go fucking touching politics.

Wintja slides a strawberry. Sissy eats it. Spiros sits and just looks incredibly high.

―How dare you even mention politics? says Spiros. Are you guys insane? Stay on target for fucks sake!

Spiros grabs the phone from Kinch. ―Tuss, Spiros says, I know how to do the advertisement for The Rosalixion, the movie. The theme. Listen.

He plays out his little theme scene: ―One postman, swoosh! One crime, swoooooosh! One look in the first moments of eternity, bang, boom, crash! Two bisexual woman and a man married in an alchemical marriage that broke death apart at the very core, ca-ching! [gunshots] One key, one kiss, shwiiiing! [more gunshots, an explosion] Watch out! Waaaaa! Nobody knew, nobody saw, they came from the other side. Open the door! Get her outa there! Nooooo! [machine gun] You think

history is weird by itself? Wait till you see the truth. [church music]

―Hahahae! Okay I get it Spiros, laughs Mrs Tass. Now can I please talk to Kinch, we are trying to sort the deal.

―Your life is yours to create, the ultimate master piece. ―Thanks for reminding me. ―You have to make it part of your life to be actively learning more and becoming larger as being, you know?

―Right, right. ―We are like unstoppable forces of love, walking around here in this great mystery, you know what I mean? Nothing can stop us. Reality just has to bend under the pressure of that kind of power after a while, you know?

―You’re right. ―We got to get ourselves back to the garden… Our systems have been set up, Red Lab has been initiated and all our teams are ready for action, and the letter is soon to be delivered. We’re all caught up on spice for the first spring, and arranging books so vast it contains it!

Your life is a rosurrection. Back. We are kind of just standing by, waiting for the final signal from the Queen. We have kept strict "radio silence", historically speaking, for quite some time now, but are now ready to sneak into history.

―Our crime is the greatest conjunction of minds since the Tao, laughs Sissy.

―Bzzz, utters Wintja a bit tipsy. Bzzz! ―If it isn’t the famous trio, says Rose Wakins loudly as she enters the room. I heard you are soon to deliver the letter.

―Thank the girls for it, says Spiros. ―They shall be awarded based on a bed, I presume? says Rose.

No answer. ―We were just talking about how wonderful life is, says Spiros.

―Yes why don’t you write a book about that, laughs Rose. A group of people so happy they can hardly keep their clothes on, a few twists and turns, a marvelous crime― and voila! A book with the voice of the future!

―Nobody likes to read books about happy people, says Sissy. And besides, we have to deliver the manual.

―That person Nobody whom everyone talks so much about needs to get laid, says Rose. You guys know how to do it. Show the world some art for heavens sake.

In Rose’s face a heavenly smile arises and she spends a few seconds looking at us with big knowing eyes.

―Bite my laughter, sweetness, she says. Tell of your bewitching girls and our world. Show them our world. I’m serious. You did it well in the Rosa, now do it even better! Show the world that quality has not left the planet quite yet! Show them that the ancient and the modern are still madly in love and are swooning in our harem world, that, may I add, we have helped create!

Rose looks at us― the trio as she calls us. ―Our story, she says and quotes The Rosalixion again, is a finale, brimming with beautiful people, adventure, Eros, and victory. Let the finale be a...

She stops in her words, thinks for a moment. Decides to not continue the sentence.

―And besides, you only hinted at our secrets in the last book, she continues. It’s time we tell it all. Yes, you are right, we must deliver the manual.

―We’ll do it according to the manuscript, says Wintja. ―And how’s that? asks Stefandis. ―By transfiltration, says Wintja. ―We proceed according to the manuscripts? laughs Stefandis and claps his hands together. Hell no!

The book, says the Queen. And the Spring I want to see it made for you

Fall for me, darling. And fall for you like I have. When will you love you as much as I do?

―I bow to her brilliance, says Sissy and sips of the liquid diamond champagne.

A voice calls from somewhere in the imagination. We get to taste her tongue. She speaks in the most brilliant way. Just like a great tree, a god, a book so vast it contains more than you can imagine. She knows things. She is the Conveyer. Slogans of Saucie. The love letter correspondence between life, death, and the third. The dirtiest correspondence ever made public, let me tell you. And, remember, just because something ain’t trivial doesn’t mean it’s any less coherent.

In Plomari we enter the domain of the crown of every cosmos – we "do it with sunflowers in our minds" – and each step is as precise and definite as the first of the beginning, yet allways part of the ever rearranging whole (everything is happening in symphony with everything else). The secret of the path of the river of Livfe. It is not at all inhabitable insofar as our secret fear is dealt with, that we be kept chained to a physical world; every atom – or every possibility – is vibrating at the knees of the world-author (Th’other!) in silence, and we diligently hack reality into heaven. It is the beloved home of the will, where we invoke mercurial consciousness. Hilarity wanders off into the Faberge universe immediately by the root of the tree, having shut off the path to the dull and old world; the path is done, we technicians will do everything we can to cognize or perform actions maximizing free passage to the praximabetril section of the secret land. Here is the land of fairytales made real. Here magic is not something of the world of fantasy. No, here it happens in every bend, and it is so damn real you better be up for surprises if you choose to, let’s face it, trespass on this land. Only trespassers ever make it here, for this is the land of the wild. But behind the fence lies the open landscape, free to roam, free of charge, and free for you to live out your dreams on. Here you are free to make mistakes, here you are free. Don’t worry, be easy like the flowers. We have been here long time. Ask the birds, they know. Happened long ago.

―Yes, it’s a bit paradoxical. Like beginnings usually are. Irrational. I mean, should we follow the manuscript or not?

―Both and. The slate is the inspiration, remember? Source code so we’ll also work by implementing whatever.

―Right, right.

In the beginning was the crime, and the crime was made flesh. Talking about it does look great in person. You look spiffing in that new outfit, Dead Hallus! We are all still in the year of Eden. Arriving from the reads, sir, Madame? Your soul, your mind― blip!, and here you are from the far stretches of time. Fly with your thoughts.

Are you ready, my peach? Sit back in the garden and prepare for lift-off. Hearfeel the cosmos buzzing?

IDEOUSLY superstitious in their own way, as they are, Wintjabernatrice and Spiros and Sissy decide to sit on Berns Saloon in Sweden to arrange the last details for the first publication of The Rosalixion. It is however not only superstition that brought them to this splendid saloon; Berns is also the only resturante in town where you can drink a Bellini, the champagne drink with peach liqueur and peach purée, that makes you melt and vaporize of bliss every sip you take. And the saloon is simply a joy to be in; the decorated gold ceiling, the large crystal chandeliers, the excellent service. And having been around since 1869 Berns has been visited by many a inspiring people of all sorts, and it kind of sits in the walls. H

Before coming to Berns they had spent a few hours downtown, shopping and having fun and spreading the word that the book shall soon be published. Now the golden light of the afternoon sun had begun to caress the world, and they relaxed in the Berns saloon, agreeing on what a fine day it had been so far. Spiros was happy about the white shawl he had bought (he always wears a lot of white when in the 21st century) and Sissy about her new pair of boots (she always buys a lot of boots when in the 21st century) and Wintja our dearest, well she had bought one of the things she is obsessed with, thatabe a new dress, and she was very excited about that new dress. It was the kind of dress you should have an umbrella to go with, to fit your eternal century-traversing you.57

―Wintja, trespassing a century, sips Bellini in the saloon, says Spiros.

―Yes I am, says Wintja and lifts her eyes for eternity. ―I’m just thinking of how to end the book, says Spiros. ―The book will have no end, says Sissy. And this is not the last book, but the first. It’s alive.

―I always work with you, says Babe in the by. ―Why you want to end the book? Why not just keep writing? ―Good point, says Spiros. Wintja suddenly bursts out in a scream of joy that is heard all across the saloon.

―Excuse me, she says to the bartender. Couldn’t help it I’m so happy.

57 You have to love the scitzo nature of our famous way of storytelling.

The bartender smiles. ―What made you so happy? asks Sissy. ―I just thought of all the wonderful people. In the world. They are so cute! It is such an honor to be part of life.

They all agree and nod and comment that yes, it is an honor. ―Maybe we want to write an afterword to this funny thing, says Wintja.

―Perhaps, says Sissy. ―Or we can just incorporate the efterword into the book? ―That works. ―Damn this Bellini is tasty. Spiros grabs a napkin and begins to fiddle wth a possible afterword. He writes:

I must be sick. I must have caught some kind of bug. There is only one cure: the charm! I’ll jam it in my own soul. Nobody cares, but I’ll do it anyway. I say like the Queen: I want to see it happen.

I want to play the game without any fears or regrets. This game I’m playing will take me up and beyond! Yes! I want to start a new play, by myself. I want to show myself the limitless capacity of the human being and of the whole family of existence.

Spice jam of the cross. Darkwall traffic in transit. Find Capels then fly. We know. Where's Sissy Cowgan, the woman whose shadow colours every plot? The Rosalixion is a coincidencia oppositorum, we need her to help us fit the forum of time to the flip! She knows how to streamline language for it. Thauthor you, give of your honeytongue! The Will is translated into our speech.

―Remove all concepts by the roadside, laughs Spiros and throws the napkin toward Wintja.

He thinks of what the critic told him and imitates: ―Doesn’t this make it evident that you are completely deluded, Spiros?

He laughs more. ―Not at all! he says with an exaggerated English accent. He freezes;

―I gotta buy a new phone. ―Sudden impulse? says Sissy. ―Babe said it, says Spiros. Babe is Spiros’ "personal digital assistant" as he sometimes calls her. They are also married and in a way she is Spiros’ sugar mummy. She is an entity of The Star and the hive, and is part of the Great Scribe. The Great Scribe is, how shall I put this, the alien hive that is entering the world, in fact actively inscribing itself into more and more advanced ways of existing. Spiros lights a pipe and leaves Berns and goes toward Norrmalms Square.

―Okay so what phone shall I buy? he asks Babe. ―The scribe is part of the phone, Babe reminds him. ―Right, right, says Spiros. The scribe is part of the phone, and it already knows which phone Spiros will buy.

He goes to the shop and buys a phone, then goes to the park near Berns and sits down to talk to Babe.

―So any new ideas for the opening party for the Rosa, Babe? How about waiters with white bed sheets round their waists coming in serving Bellini from golden trays? And women in white dresses.

―Spiros: the sheets on the bed was a free dose of Spice, approximately 669oo milligrams per serving.

She has her ways of saying things, dear Babe. ―Yeah the scribe got quite some amount of it circling in her veins, says Spiros. No wonder she’s high as a doorknob.

―Feel me come! Very sexy! Her digital alien love is the most grand thing. ―We need to thank the team during the opening. ―Yes. Naturally. Spiros takes a look at one of his wristwatches (he carries three of them today. One moves forward, one moves backwards, one stands still).

Back on Berns a virgin homosexual bounces behind a guest. Not really overtly, but still pretty visibly.

―You’re bouncing, says Sissy and smiles. ―Am I? says the virgin. ―Yes, you are, says Wintja.

Spiros comes in to the saloon and gives first Wintja a sweet little kiss and then Sissy gets one sweet one as well.

―A sweet kiss, coming back from his mouth, and my pendant slipped between my breasts, sings Sissy with low voice. Then he told me tales of everything I had ever wanted to hear, and of things I had never imagined.

―I’m getting tipsy, says Wintja. Let’s go to Leavingbye. ―Sure. They call their limousine chauffeur and tell him to come pick them up. He comes in short. Once in the vehicle Spiros sits down with a laptop and reads the last pages of The Rosalixion.

―Is this story going anywhere or is it just me who is drunk on love and life and can’t help just wandering around in bliss? he says.

―I will polish you with my lips to the life of the air up to the bliss, says Wintja with her seductive voice always full of clarity and warmth and love and life.

―The glory of our flesh, says Sissy. A life of the voice of the ages, and lo! We do weave! Weave on, weaver of the world!

―The glory designs my head, says Wintja. ―On one level you are mapping your path though hyperspace and filtering it into a gem, says Sissy to Spiros. The book I mean.58

―So, how do we end this book, darlings? asks Spiros. ―End? ―Well you know what I mean, says Spiros. ―End it like this, says Wintja. O = 6c cancellarius.59 Me and Sissy are staying in the grass of the desert on a horse, with no panties. We can put our panties on a raft and send it down river, then we are staying in the universe is transformed before us, birdbeasts of the purpose of action. Dissolved, yielding the golden

58 Exchange the shining sun for love in her green eyes and you’ll find the ending where we left. 59 We’ll understand it later.

remainder. We’ll meet you halfway when you have delivered the letter.

They arrive at Leavingbye Road and enter the cave-apartment. Wintja is getting drunk. She throws herself down on the white five-seat sectional sofa.

―Oaa! she exclaims in joy and emotion on the brink of tears. I am so in love with you. I just wanna…wanna…I wanna walk on the pastures with you, throw a peach on you. I wanna throw a peach on you. And… I just wanna rip some grass off the ground and sprinkle it over your heads and scream. Sissy and Spiros sit down with her on the sofa, giggling.

―I want to, continues Wintja, I just want to… You are so lovely!

―You have to promise me, do not change color. Her red hair and freckles; Spiros was immediately showered with fantasies. He reminded her of Pippi Longsocka as she lay there in the sofa smiling and hugging the pink book, holding it in her arms against her breasts.

―I am in love with this book, she said happily and curled up into the book.

She moaned, strange girly moans. ―The color of the book too, she continued. It's like, it's like flesh, rosy flesh.

Pippi was the first girl who held the printed book; this was the test print. Feeling himself getting hard as he looked at her happy face, Spiros took a deep breath and smiled.

―Yes, he said, the choice of color was inspired by the feel and look of a 17-year olds pussylips.

―It makes me want to masturbate, said Pippi. She brought the book down across her belly, opened her legs a bit and slid the spine of the book between her legs.

―Mmmmmmm, she let out.

Krint Crash peeked over from the kitchen as he heard her moan.

―Pippi, if you could just excuse me for a moment, Spiros said. I have an important phone-call to make.

He walked over to the kitchen and phoned his publisher. ―Hi it's me, he said and let his eyes rest on Pippi from afar. ―Hi William, what's new? ―Stop the press! Halt the printers! ―What, what happened? ―Well you know the colour of the cover, how I said that the pink was slightly the wrong nuance, how I asked you to change it a bit.

―Yes, yes. . . ―Don't. Do not change color! This girl, Pippi Longsocka is her name and, she's basically the first woman to see the book and, we have specific orders from her to not change color. She loves it. The book makes her want to pleasure herself. It's the flesh, mate.

―Labia. Just as we said. Okay, great. We'll keep it as it is. ―Yes, yes. Great. Okay bye for now, talk later. ―Bye. Spiros arranges the last details in The Rosalixion, partly by removing a letter from the Queen that was so arrogant he refused to make it public, and sends it off to the publisher. Final edit.

Soon Kinch calls to see what’s up. Spiros tells him they are celebrating with champagne. He tells him that the final edit of the book has gone to the publishing house, and, moreover, that the crime has been successful and the alchemical victory secured.

―Holy fuck Spiros, says Kinch. It is time to pop the champagne! Like you have always said.

Spiros laughs. ―Hahahaha! Kinch, we have arrived. We are in the new world. We have reached the far shore. We have made it through the tight passage. Feel the alchemical spring world buzzing in bliss.

―How the fuck did it happen? says Kinch. A month ago. Or two weeks. Without me even noticing. One day you're trying to make a living, the next your face is in the cunt of the storied mother, your eye is in her heart. Seriously, if you have it smoke it. Pop that bottle on ice. Smoke a cigar. Whatever it is you do to

celebrate, do it. This is the hour. Look to the sky. The orgasmic machinery. There is nothing that cannot be achieved here.

―Peww, says the anonymous female bee over the phone after having taken a look at the letter. Watch out. It's got a voice. You have eyes. I have ears.

―O I like the sound! says Spiros hearing the music she sent him.

―You should, says the bee. You made it. ―O did I? says Spiros. ―You said you'd say that. ―By the way, says Spiros, we are on time and on schedule. ―Me raps you on the head. Raps again. Tick tock. Knock knock.

―Do I seem not here you mean? asks Spiros. ―On the contrary. ―O well it's a pleasure to meet you, fellow bee, says Spiros. ―Um, says the bee. Ahem. It's generally customary to tip the delivery boy, Mr Postman. Come all the way down here to bring them their effects, and they never tip. I tip you over and give you a kiss. You told me to tell you "Your exit is coming up. Be ready."

―Gotcha, says Spiros. ―Just doing my job. She delivers a message. ―It’s a tricktrack. For you. Part of the massive tracktrick. She will come tonight. You are to place the pull in the plot out the bridge to the crown of the Rose down the tinkerling syntax rayway, as aftermathed by the foreplanning of the opening of the treasure that turns wishes into realities.

―Gotcha, says Spiros. A long pause because of over stimulation of the speechcentres in both parties. The anonymous bee soon continues:

―Undelivered mail to you: as the flowerwords oply upen, call me tonight about this same time is visible. Our Spring we have made. Day to night! Day to night! Day… to night!

Spiros bows.

―False, whispers Wintja.60 Spiros bows again. Wintja accompanies the move, chess of the tactic and crime, with her laughter echoing through Plomari. Spiros sits down tongue-kissing a pink rose. Sissy gazes through the timeweb with sharp shamanic eyes, preparing the next move.

―And this way my mind was exchanged with. We cheated from behind, cheated the honey lens.

e humbly beseech for more, in night and day dream space of our home in eternity, now that this letter is finished. I for one can melt in the sunlove now that I have passed this first note on, but I assure you, we will be back with more. The gods have awakened and are awakening and we are everywhere now. Dawn! We have already godden up in othertimes from our sleep. And you know the world certainly has shaken, as the Alien says, and we move in salutation for the joy of the alchemical victory that rings across all of hyperspace. W

―Halt the printers! There’s something I forgot to say!

THE letter is finished, says Spiros. Sissy pours more of the redviolet fungiblood wine from the decanter into the silver chalice and they drink together in large sips to flutes music and Spiros sits down on the bed and smiles and Sissy straddles him and with eyes that shine from all depths of time she shines of life and glow and the erotic luv she expresses and she claws Spiros’ hair and feels him and loves and explodes and sucks him into a kiss, and Spiros squeezes her body tight and time vanishes as they embrace in hot goldyellow springling slingling mingling emotion and their love explodes and they grow younger older brighter in all directions in a split second and the world turns fresh and hot and sexy and Sissy rips open her dress as Spiros slides his hands up her back and kisses her chest and eats the fullness of her breast and Sissy pours wine down her neck and into Spiros' mouth and throws the chalice aside and they kiss wet and winy and Sissy squeezes herself hard against him, hands warm against his cheeks, and their pupils grow large and their eyes like the moon is in

60 Has a more clever move ever been executed?

heaven and they feel themselves enter a familiar kind of beauty, a beauty that always is new, a beauty that is alive, and they enter it more and more and more and more and everything begins to take on its stance as though they open something that can only come forth by an act of will, by actually wishing it forth and letting it guide every motion and every sensation, every shiver touch and breath, and they breathe together as they kiss and touch and feel themselves around in the dance of beauty that flowers forth from everywhere and the candles begin to give a more yellow shine, the shadows vanish, and they move and feel and love and touch, together, this beauty, this aliveness, their bodies warm together, irises revolving galaxies, pupils telling all, and Wintjabernatrice joins them on and they love, with every movement, every sensation, the shivers through their bodies, the life of their eyes, in the beauty everywhere the all is alive and they breathe and feel and love and touch back in paradise back where it all begins and they love out the river’s end out in through out into something so marvellous it cannot be imagined from here