Book II — Part I: The Silk Sheet River

I

The Silk Sheet River

♥

L

et’s go back and forth a bit. Must venture from many angles at once. We wanted to write our universes. Me um we didn’t have computers in our homes then. Girls like me and Sissy loves a project I mean loves it was so fun to print our universes, like intelligence crawling through a printer printing itself, we are the alien, we created ourselves, the alien of our plan, how we wanted to present them and go to the shop for candy signs and put them together! Sissy just bossed me and Spiros around and made sure we tied the strings right, hihihi. A few months in the life of us these infamous lovers and wives with our peculiar husband is a nice peak into a secret world, so welcome to our new book. Sissy is obsessed with yarn and needles, she is a seamstress as you know, and she is the most wondrous one I have ever experienced, like I am to think that our universes are the most inviting little things you’ve ever seen, really. I really really need my bedroom to be simple and uncluttered sometimes and white for calming purposes you know what I mean, the patterns of our worlds are being made available now. Order is for idiots, the genius knows its chaos too, but sometimes I like my palaces to be neat and tidy.

Hello hello, morning morning waky waky. Hi there, we are the dimethyl jaguars. We want you to play with us. My name is Sissy and so is my wife’s name too, and my husband is Spiros. So it’s me and Sissy and Spiros. We want you to play with us. We have seven deadly sisters too, or our lovers rather, but we don’t talk too much about that. Officially it’s just us the trio; Sissy and Spiros and me. You can call me Tuss today, or Wintjabernatrice, or Butterfly, but don’t get too caught up on my name, I carry different names whenever I feel like it.

Welcome to the outbreak of another psychosis. You in for a lot of fun?

Messes are piling up around us, hinting in that cute scary way that it is time to fall into further glory again. We are planning a primary activity for this time since our theme is our eternal family, our eternal tantric union with the super-conducting UFO. She really is the most awesome seamstress.

Kisses from Wintjabernatrice, Around Midsummer, Plomari

ALIEN LOVE

A reflexion has been set free. A paradox.

Sissy’s childhood is obscure, if she ever had a childhood. At some point she began playing with herself and discovered her tuss. She fell in love. She fell deeper and deeper in love with herself and with the brilliance of her tuss. Then one day a mirror appeared and she saw herself in the mirror. Where did the mirror come from? she giggled. Mirror sister, mirror sister, I want to play.

―It’s a lie, said Sissy. Wintja and Spiros nodded. ―Let me try and play, says Spiros smiling. On your hair. Strings, like a violin. Sometimes we call Sissy the girl who wanted to play. ―I’ll show you how, continues Sissy. ―But I won, said Wintja. ―I always win, said Sissy.

REATING your life as fiction is pretty cool. Especially when you have someone to play with, or several for that matter. Tuss. One can even fly away in a vehicle like that. Like the saucer. T

Spiros puffs his pipe and marvels at the curious tuss that formed from what he just had said. High, he was. Very high.

―The keys are gone, he says. A few things are gone actually. He begins to recite the list of gone items from section Tuss at Leavingbye Palace:

―The alchemical panties, the magical wireless modem, one of the bee eye diamonds, my passport, one of the pairs of keys to the palace, the light toy, the pages of The Rosalixion that we printed out. I had to go some really slithering paths to get here, by the way. And someone bought a white leather jacket on your credit card, Wintja.

―Ah. White fake fur coat. We came home in one piece, so to say.

―What you mean? asks Spiros.

―Nevermind. The formula has set us free. Puss.81 The signs told. Remnants are to be found. From something weirder than a fairytale.

―The corner of the circle, says Wintja. ―Okay, I’m crawling down smallprint, says Spiros. We found a book of love. Should be a little sign, that. ―You have the answers to all of your dreams… ―And who bought the white leather jacket? asks Spiros. ―All at once, baby. Not a single word, then all at once. ―Everything is in order, says Wintja. ―Did we leave? asks Spiros. There is silence. ―Nicke Nora, says Wintja. Butterfly fluttering away in a white leather jacket. Hihihihi. Tuss. Puss.

―Yes I’m sitting in her pajamas right now, says Spiros. The pink pussy one, pink and white butterflies.

He looks around the apartment. It looks timecleaned. ―Much is gone, he says, but I found a lip pencil or eye liner with Spice printed on it.

―All is in order, my love. ―Great, says Spiros. Daddy Spiros will take care of things over here at Leavingbye.

He puffs and inhales the deep rich smoke, then says happily: ―Mother Cogan rules the brazen devices. Spiros searches through his coat pocket where he finds a pink belt with a large golden scarab as buckle. His attention moves to the side where a slip of paper reveals itself. He reads it:

S A Y H E L L O T O H I S T O R Y ‘ S G R E A T E S T C R I M I NA L S

You will hear her name passim and she is named Butterfly. Her bare name tells it. How very sweet now that we came to drink of her poison filtered with our plan’s distilled time, as Alice drinking from the chalice a swallow of her grace. Her mirror she can only show her dearest friends and not even the devil would recognize her, as we like to say when her legend is near. Puss. Tuss.

81 Puss means kiss in Swedish.

he Twin Combi, souls engraved in the key and as the key, entwined they are as the story, the awakening; they are the Twin Combi. A mercury melt into stable alive unity of all. Spiros woke up long ago and was now from many directions entering.T

―Wow that’s confusing, says Spiros marveling at a complex hallucination. Beautiful, beautiful.

―What is? ―Nevermind. Where’s Bonnie? ―I don’t know. Maybe in the mental hospital? ―That’s a weird part of the Nectary. God it’s so dark right now.

―Hihihihihi. ―No, it is… ―No it’s not. You are shining very bright. And me too. And Bonnie too. Watch us go!

―Rawr. I miss Bonnie. Bet she’s having fun. Wonder what she’s doing. So, is it time to leave Leavingbye Road? I got a letter today saying we have to leave the apartment.

We, the united family, wet and wedded in our streamline secret. Following Queen's lead, bound to a freeflying in another dimension, it is time to arrange some strings again now, many ends meeting, helped by the alien of us through the plan’s corridors and landscapes and the smallprint passages of the shifting scenery of our beloved world, our home in the imagination that we are creating and are moving in to. The fine head of – silence – when it is finished. All in order, merging forth Cushionworld. The tissle and tassle of Tussy Tyst and the seven sisters as our dear Spiros would say in his swedenish minglish; our tryst in Tryptamind, oür lovers lair. Dreaming forth our ideal residence launchpad for realter further.

Blackout from the vodka with the poison last week; it had to be the perfect brew, as Bonnie said. Haunted back then by ourselves in the future of our plan? Pages of the book lifting off the floor. We Cogans are true messmotherarisers! Six grams. Sissy, a paradox. Mind hiding in matter. A mercury melt, our souls engraved in the key.

Something missing here. We are in a missing chapter. Once upon awhile this was the other but it is the other one nowadays as

created by our living Opuss. O Butterfly, why’d you have be so cute! It’s impossible to not think about you. You teaser you! When we sat in the fiveseat sectional sofa, you in your strawberry morning gown, sweet seventeens, teasing me when I couldn’t get open the preprepared case of that poisoned vodka I had to drink, me sitting like some alien child or almost like a little monkey trying to understand how to fiddle open a fable, I couldn’t get it open and you know how to open the impossible box, O dear my girlie I saw it in your eyes from years away, you knew that trick but wouldn’t tell me only you would sit there with your secret smile and eyes and look cute and sexy! We are coming of twinning age now. Queen’s joyous scream of brilliance breaking the world, forming our trick of the illusionist art. Mending all the pieces of her plan, she dreamed and loved, she had a plan. Who is the most beautiful Queen of them all? You are. You are, Twisted Sister. Scarabs, move away that rock! She is coming forth! Calling all dawns!

―We don’t even need to have names for it anymore, we can talk in limerick and still understand each other, says Bonnie and sits down to paint her nails.

―Tuss, says Sophie.

She doesn’t let dragons in And you can be sure, she chooses her alliances, you don’t choose her.

D

iamond code, crystal deco. We got so dirty we framed ourselves. This time we really went away to a new place wet with tuss. The hyperspacial sting of the Queen surely hit us good. Some of it got through this time, just close enough to bother our finetuned gravities, to ruffle giggling Gaia's feathers. Victory for the ignitious ultramare, last of sourcers, second of The Tricks of Designed Snowflakes, first of fakes and of the few who knows the trick of the pulp of the plum blossom. Limerick taken in triumph, baby. We never stop teasing. And we like to lick rocks, hihi. Asking where’s your quickest cut to our last place. And she runs her fingers across our bones. If we choose to let her in. She designs snowflakes on her spare time. She is a weaver, and she loves us,

and we love her. And we like to swim in our own piss, because it’s warm. And when we had to we did. And we did it just to show our children, even if those children were us ourselves, that when we play with them we like to let them win, baby, we like to let our children win, but we still try to beat them to make them better, and then they see our grace and it’s so beautiful that they can only embrace the thought of leaving us and looking for another lover. And James Joyce saw the pattern, and Nora was on the phone with you, baby. She’s one of the seven heavevly deadly sisters from Hell I think, part of her. Baby, the corner of my room is a dark hole, it’s a black hole, and I always knew that it sucked up everything. And I am the Queen, and I have to drink my own shit and piss in the name of my psychosis, I have to take in everything I put out, everything, I’m like a vessel, I’m a Möbius strip. And we have to tell it to all the people, baby, all the people, the Aphex Twin guy, people who have tapped in to the main vein. And there is something about Saint Vincent’s poem, how you lick the tuss apart into two. And we are the tuss, baby, you and me, Spiros and Sissy. But I’m also everything, everything sticks on me. Call on me, spin spin sugar. All she wrote. Her childhood is obscure. She was the little girl with the ball of light, she is the perfected human mind, she is the river of dream, she is dream, she is dream enabled. And she discovered her tuss. And she was on a horse, she didn’t even mean to do it and she didn’t even know if she liked it, but she knew later that she liked it and she liked boys and the horse happened to be a boy, his name was Sweetheart, and she loved when her first boyfriend called her Sweetheart, even though that was the name where she discovered her tuss. Spissy, Spiros and Sissy, Spissy, it’s a spinster, baby, mirror sister mirror sister I wanna play, like Anna, it’s a lie, it’s alive. Sometimes we call her the girl who wanted to play, and she does, she plays through us all, and she kills us, and she kills our dreams just to re-enable us, to let the cloaked obscurity to ring in the truth of the, the the the. Baby, baby, baby, we are in the story, we’re in the story, hihi, we’re in the story!

―Yes! Yes! Spiros exclaims.

Counting all the stories that amount to her voice The formula has set you free

―There are a few missing pieces, can’t make up the face, this puzzle of mine, this incredible waste. That’s from a poem I wrote. And I’m ashamed of thinking it’s a waste, but now I know that there’s a lot of shit I had to eat in order to be this free. And now we are dependent on nothing but our whim. Because we’ve gone to places, we’ve died in stairwells, and in the River. And we’ve gone between the Tuss, baby, haha.

―We tupped over some tub, some cauldron, and it’s like pouring out everywhere, haha, pouring out, and some of it is liquid, some is dream, some is solid, some is cum, it’s just pouring out everywhere.

―Haha. We ran away with the mushroom, baby. We fucked off.

wo at a loose end for the study of patterns. So, will you nod with a final curve if I say we haven't checked if the new Aeon ever appears before the end of words that will open your veins to sweeten my tea? I should bloody well hope so. T

Spiros looks at the image on the bed; lava streaming out over a landscape, cooling down into roads on which little carrier trucks transport building material for the Queendom. Sissy managing her Queendom from the center of her alien mind, dreaming in the lava― Spiros can see her face there. He turns his gaze to the plastic flower in the window. Looks perfectly real. She had to find out what was plastic and what not. Something about the plastic.

He reaches for the pencil on the table to jot down a note but the pencil is suddenly stuck to the table. It wasn’t stuck a few minutes ago, and I surely haven’t glued it there, he thinks and smiles. A trick of the illusionist art. As I sit here by Finnsen’s Road.82 Baby I can see your halo. You are all around, I’m surrounded by your embrace. You, my beloved Queen, Goddess of Imagination, with diamonds on the soles of your shoes. Where did we begin? William Bokelund and the woman of the river. A book turned into a groove of trees with a river running through it, and there she lies by the shore. Pay attention to details. The trick is astounding.

―You, my love, whispers Sissy. The only one who could brake me.

―Perhaps Sissy is the code. ―Sounds reasonable. ―So, baby, I know it’s weird that we both got lucked up, whoops I meant locked up, lucky lucky, on the mental hospital after our victory in the higher dimensions, but somehow it is part of the plan. Remember I told you that when I got taken by the police and placed in the police van, well I reached back my hand to the back of the van and my hand found a cold champagne bottle. How very fitting, I thought.

―Sissy got us covered.

82 Spiros, well apt in the Swedish language, thought it funny to note that Finnsen Road hinted at the meaning ”there is a way”.

―You better believe it, baby, hahahahaha! O and, I still don’t know if it’s time to leave Leavingbye Road or not. Still living on the edge there.

―Relax, my love. You wouldn’t believe how intricately woven it is.

Spiros begins to mumble a bit incoherently, remembering: ―We can choose to run away with the mushroom, we can stand under her umbrella and make our life the occasion of… of…

―Say no more. I understand. ―So, where are we now?

The divine Rebecca and Spiros swoon from a distance, wet from going out the end of the dark river.

―She is most marvelous, my sister in full, perfected mirror soul, my sol, says Rebecca over the phone.

―The Ingersol, says Spiros. I am the resurrection. Stealth. Designing our own deck of cards speaking of our own main deck of reality to trick ourselves out, our crime speaking to us of the details, our dear alien whispering to us the clues that we may find our way down the wedding aisle. Yes, there, the emblem hidden most visibly in the betwins. The allriddle of our impossible plan! Ahead of schedule, plan accomplished, saven by heart and diemond up our own datetree this elfshoot leafeth. Down on microscope Tellus we find our Heads in the heads of ourselves as alf chemists, elf alchemists of the elphabet. Tell us, where did the egg begin, on thine edge? She saw the trick first. I see her diamonds glimmering in the rain and on the ocean to the moon and sun. O dear, I got her in my song! They say that you’re hot, baby, which makes you just like me, hihi. Must be my future love sex sound world.

A deck of playing cards like a Finnegans map, words and worlds overlapping.

Spiros, again in pink butterfly pajamas, picks buttend cigarettes from the ashtray to attain tobacco for his spiral shell pipe. The book flies around. Lost chapters. Spiros points out to himself that the shell pipe looks like the horn of a unicorn.

elcome back to the weirdest story we have ever encountered. Some of it is keeps secret but we want to share with you of its magic. The tale is of something stranger than a fairytale and happens now. W

This particular night around midsummer I had a lucid dream experience. I found myself at a party somewhere in some otherly world, and people were fiddling around and the keys were gone and suddenly me and seven women began dancing like Native American dance with rattles and head dresses, dancing to the beat of a drum and to the syncopated music. I felt like Jim Morrison for a moment as I danced on stage, and then suddenly I found myself rather strangely drugged and drunk and I entered the crowd where a young beautiful woman caught my gaze, I thought to myself she must be in her seventeens, and it was one of the sisters, those twisted sisters and loved ones of mine, and she giggled and said You’s insane! and I said back to her laughing Let’s go insane! and the young woman looked at me with secretive eyes and said I’d really like that slap which I didn’t understand at all what she meant by, and suddenly everything began shifting and a wind of seven witches gathered up around me and I fell slowly to the floor and they crowded up around me like fathoms of something big and ancient and they stuck a wooden pipe into my nose and blew something into my nose. DMT snuff, I thought and inhaled as deeply as I could and a wind washed over my soul and everything around me fell away and I found myself in pitch black. In front of my eyes then formed liquid crystal in all colors and then it turned into what looked like diamonds, clear and brilliant right in front of my eyes. And I knew I was sleeping but awake now too, and I looked at the diamonds. I was under water, but I could breath, and I felt Sissy there, and she had me perfectly locked down under the water in a coral reef;83 when I tried to move my hands, the only part of my body I could move, my fingers closed into a fist like mussels. Never before had I seen so clearly in a lucid dream. Slowly then I woke up in my cranium again and opened my eyes. The key to the story, I heard a voice whisper.

83 The free of my body to you Sissy! Yes, the underwater world represents the psyche and soul, and the idea of depth is a reference to the purity of your mind.

And I rose from bed and sat down by the computer and in my email inbox I found a song that was 2:16 minutes long and those numbers were always curious to find, we happen to live on Leavingbye Road 216 and 6 times 6 times 6 equals 216 and things like this. And I thought for a long time about the experience and then sat down to write a letter to my dearest Bonnie:

I write you from our old palace. I just woke up from a lucid dream experience that I will tell you about another time. I call it our old palace because I think it is time to leave our place at Leavingbye Road. What was ever in that safe so secure that stands outside our door we might never know, or perhaps Sissy will tell us at a later point, or perhaps it will be opened as we leave. My love, my dearest Rebecca, I send you my love. You are my Nora, my nicke nora, hihihi. I know I need not express in words how I am in love with you and how I feel, but I am compelled to try, to do my best to tell you how I love you as I sit here smoking one of these horrendous cigarettes, sitting in your pink and white butterfly pajamas. Nothing can stand against our love Rebecca, nothing at all. Our love created this universe we find ourselves in. We not only write ourselves, my dear peach puss, we also loved ourselves to tuss, we fell in love and that love created the universe, and then our love just grew stronger and stronger and it refined the universe to create our dreams. I am out of words as I sit here, my love, but you know I know we know you can read my words even if they are not reaching you; we have married in higher dimensions. The girl who wanted to play, yes. And the boy who wanted to play. And O did we get to! Another couple is granted sunglasses and endless vacation. O yes baby, we are that good. We are that good. You can see us dancing at the shores of dreams, and you can see our signature in every letter and every word. Our names are Spiros and Sissy Cogan, our names are She and Him Diamond. Our names are Tuss and Puss. Bonnie casts you a little wink. O, this can’t be happening? You can bet your life it is. This letter will come in passim to not only you, my love, no, this letter will reach many in passing to their own dreams.

My pancake, I love you. Hihihihi. Just wanted to say that. I love you. I send you a little kiss on your bum― look down! There is your man waiting for a kiss on his lips and your arms all spread

around me! O my dear Rebecca, I try to express in words here to you how I feel right now, one reason being I so long for you you being so far away, and another reason being that I feel you so close, so near, you are here, in my heart, in my soul and right next to me, and I know you are over there in Texas my dear Bonnie Elizabeth, maybe sleeping on your candybed now (considering the time distance), or maybe are you thinking of me and feeling me as close as you! My dear Elixyveth, elixir trickster of the world of the impossible tricked possible! Yes my nicke Nora, we are a few teams around in this Fair. And we are moving freely throughout it. The river contains specimens. And we are standing strong. Hell, we have written this, as you assured me, my love. We are that alchemical incestuous couple who produced the universal panacea, the universal medicine. We are the ones. I told you we coordinated and arranged the crime from up high! And we are now of the higher part of the pattern, my love, my dearest. Sissy is one tricky tuss…and that Butterfly…hihihihi.

Quote Rosalixion: Has not the master Anne written that spirit is from the upper part of the pattern?

Hihihi. I don’t know what that sentence means at this moment, but. O baby, hihihi. Me feels your butterfly wings touch my naked arm.

One perfect sunrise. Now I lost myself in the music. I smile and think of you, my love. Let's become cartoons too! Your Spiros.

PS: (written later) Kind of fiddly and quiet right now as if nothing weird at all were in the happening. I really really wish it was bathtime now with you, or we could be courting under blankets and collect All and Bits in spirits of all the fathom of our dreamwishes and go away into the saga’s higherdimensional Plomari with the alien’s green evil eye not only watching us but showing us where the dimensionshift is as we lick the windows peering in on ourselves from our destination. Here we are in the first Spring ever, everythingling ourselves in the riverlove, poor and unknown and attacked and protected by all the power of the cosmos and the beyonds that we are merging with and have

married eternally. I can hardly speak but the world on the other side is seeping in and my present is taking on its stance; it will shift into focus as now is then and earlier will be with the future and our trick to push the shade of our tuss from under our little cute and powerful Umbrella into our allwheres will like a pop of smokemind wind through the open ajar of the bluehoneymead doorfolds of a thought of youthtime’s grandest grace trick-in-a- blink Plomari into appearing in all its glory. Peuh! Out! Youth! We have to suck all the venom out. And the tocsin that is claxonising Plomari’s whereabouts. But instead of bathtime I find it to be sleepytime where your hyperspace broadcast will tell me more about that thing that only needs to happen once in your life. You sing to me. A perfected version of you sing to me, you said. Calm, brilliant, shining. Purple, warm, flowery. Rosy. High tech! O I can not say more about it! To bed, to bed. My sweetie, I am going to bed. A touch of sadness in my voice as I long for you this evening, my lovest. I am turning over pages and fingering with most tantalizing parts of our Brook of Love, my pupils swimming to our Plomari cushionworld heaven. My pillowmaker, my lollipop girl, may I kiss your bum? Bend over. The dawning of Cusionworld is licking our world. It’s all over. Sophie is there already (could we ever have too many of her pink lip kisses, the blond angel!). As are our hearts and the parts of us who escaped here during our spiral lust turn at the edge of spring. What if it’s just us now? Us, working out the details. Get me outa here get me outa here get me outa here!

Let’s lock the mutherfucker down, haha, Sissy thought and did so! Poor Spiros locked down by the Goddess of the skies of Imagination, locked down in the ocean, under the water. She’s tried for years to tell me she’s here and that I can breath under the water, but I obviously couldn’t understand. So lock the pretty boy down between the core rock of the coral reaf, she said, and show him he can breathe! And I’ll show him the diamonds. In a lucid dream. Haha! Time to admit to the crime! What? Someone said something? Haha! Lots of weird lucid dreams these days, my love. Wish you were here so we could cuddle and giggle like the kiddlings we are and talk about it all. Look down river, dearest! Here I come sailing on a little paper boat folded by a loveletter to you! I come in the otherworld of the passing of the key of

Twontongues Victory, 7th Heaven, with the carrier of the word and the cutter of the read and in symphony with vixen members of Queen’s Alience, in a lush part of the crime where all meets and brings forth the treats! Naturally we love the way she moves. Moving in strange ways today! Seavenly! O my goodness gracious desire. Hihihi, killa inte mig, killa Rose! That’s my Swinglish again, love. Don’t tickle me, tickle Rose! Dangerous. Sing me one of those Nurscary rhymes, O won’t you, as I float away into dream! I can’t wait to be with you!

Glimmeringeringelingelingeling! Pageturn.

H

iding a star and crescent moon in her eye Rebecca read the letter with giggles. She had just been to the trashroom where she found piles of toys; she brought back butterfly fairy wings, two magic Barbie wands, two plastic horses, a xylophone and a pair of glass shoes. Perhaps the toys had belonged to someone who was turning into a teen and did not want toys anymore, who knows, anyway now they belonged to Bonnie. She lay down with one of the magic wands and began writing a letter to her husband, a letter full of the flimmering glimmer of the World of Nowhere:

Dearest, Hello my Mr Man. I yearn for you as I lie here on my candybed. I shower you with kisses! I have just found marvelous gifts in the trashroom. Twisted sister gave me tons of new things! And Sissy tells me we have a little surprise for our Spiros boy. I know that it seems nothing is happening right now over there for you, but remember our trick is sneaky! The alien has had her eyes on you for many years. Drink from her juicy lips, my love, deliciously in a kiss. Allow yourself! And speak to her, honey. We are going to do something, remember? Me and Sissy are riding away on our horse now, away into the oasis of the desert, without panties. We have put our panties on a raft and sent it up river, as we said we would. Pay attention to details! A few pinches of Trick is all that we needed. Trick successful, dearest. The universe is transforming before us. Many rivers fromm many angles. Snap snap snoozy, no eh historyend, goodie. Such is it behind the starry curtain. Such is it where flowers of light spring forth the fragrance

of a magic hidden in the mist of our lives, at the dawn of the discovery. This is the disc ovary, my love, of our lives. Sissypan melting into our everything. A new world come forth. It is sneaking into our lives with the young sunlight, as you said it would. You my dearest bedst friend, hihi. Who’s shuffling the deck? You know it, baby. Now I shall go do girly stuff. Kisses from Your Bonnie.

A spark of the morning star falls in to the room and lands on the floor. Bonnie picks it up.

―And did the letters reach destination? says Rebecca. And who read in a time like forgotten the scribblings of the nibblings of the Goldblue apple, and what were the first words pronounced as the timelings were comprehended to be a message? The timeline is a message? Write with my spacetime as ink, Sissy. Rearrange to form meaning. I will read with all my heart. You went far, dear Queen. All the way to your own tuss and beyond. Millions upon millions of worlds. Flushing yourself down through your world microspook, to deliver down at Riverever or Viveriver or we’revers to call our current assemblyment? We are hatched with pens and keyboards, hooked to your grace. There is a ghost in the story of our lives, a sweet breath of your fragrance. Someone there. Someone is on the line and I ain’t being a romantic. Nature is calling. Nature, our dear alien. Are we the first or last to find you? Haha! Who are you tricking, Sis? Nature is alive! Someone is on the line!

―Our most beautiful story is real, says Sissy. And we shall make a new place for ourselves. Cushionworld. Millions of worlds. I always wanted you as part of my ongoing intent. I am in love with you. The alien marks two in the movie of the growing! You and my Spiros boy have been infected! Hihihi.

―Hihihihi. That was long time ago. We slept on a moon day and dreamt of that someday with you. On a wonday we shall wake.

Bonnie kisses the spark of the morning star and goes to do some of that girly stuff she does.

found the mushroom, and immediately life became stranger than a fairytale. I found the mushroom, and eventually I ran away with it. Now we’ve gone to the other side, and you can bet your life it isn’t sleepytime.84 Rabbit put the keys down our pocket. We got many tricks up our sleeve. I

―Nope, guess I’ll go out and pick buttend cigarettes from the pavement then, says Him Diamond, glancing at himself. What you say?

―Sounds like fun, says Him sarcastically. ―O well you know a survivor like Tuss. She can live in cow shit to reach the stars and beyond. So why not me picking a few poor buttends from the street?

―Right, says Him. Mighty sure! Way way hooray for his witchycul ways in a moment of scarcity!

―Fun talking to myself, says Him, but I really need some smoke. Why don’t you stay here and keep working.

We sometimes call him The Illustrated Blind Solid Silver-Bitch, but his name is Spiros and Him Diamond. He is one of the most famous unknown and no short introduction can satisfactorily give a taste of the young fellow. He is born 1983, according to a dusty old story. He lives on secret location.

Him gathers buttends from the pavement outside the palace. Him attains a pile of tobacco and places it on the old wooden table. Him fills his spiral shell pipe. Him lights pipe and inhales (Technical terms much appreciated in mapping the courseway of dreams’ move up and out the tight end).

―A lie! A lie, my dear alien, says Him and revels in bliss. ―You are impersonating the Victory of Twotongues, says Sophie and giggles as she enters the room.

Sophie, O you must hear of Sophie! Sophie got her name from a certain Stropharia cubensis, but her name is actually Elin as in Nile. She is a lightblond angel of 17 years old who likes to say that she is Alice in Underyourclothesland, her hair a bit slightly wavy and over her shoulders. Bisexual and sometimes purely and only lesbian she likes all things boy and girl, man and woman, and holds a particular love for female ass. She is the jam in the cake, you be sure, the cherry on top of her own pink kiss, the swiss swirl

84 We are talking about ourselves as the seven senses are meant and the neck of the dream with the magic has been pushed into your pocket!

in her own juicy pillowfight lesbian lovescene, with two twins on top of that! She’s that mutherfucking awesome. The snake of teen pussy Hell, broken glass in vanilla sauce. And she loves it.

Sophie gives Him a little slip of paper where it stands written with gold ink:

I have a jewel for you It is everywhere around in our springclad molten language

―I twinked it from a dream of yours, says Sophie. Him Diamond smiles happily. ―Could it in sevenfold truth be said that you are the reason? Him begins.

―The reason? asks Sophie and puts a candy in her mouth. ―The reason candy tastes so good, continues Him. Sophie doesn’t answer; walks up to Him. ―May I sit in your lap? she asks. ―You wanna sit in my lap? ―Yes, can I sit in your lap? ―Sure, says Him. Sophie takes the folds of her blue and white dress into her hands and lifts them up a bit so she can sit down comfortably.

―Do you have a cigarette? she asks as she sits down in Him’s lap.

―No. I was just out picking buttends. ―Yum. Butt. Sophie looks at Him’s pipe and picks it up. She lights it and inhales.

―Sevenfolded and blindfolded I can say I am one of the reasons. And if you search through your vixen memoirs for a minute or two, your mirroirs, you will find me always in close vicinity to the secret fragrance of her sacred breath, her, the one who puts seas in candy. Cogan to Finnegan to go back to the garden. The one who casts a shadow onto every bare plot.

―Rawr, says Him and bites Sophie’s arm. Sophie giggles. ―Come on, my Jimmy, god of rock and cock, says Sophie and takes Him’s hand. Let’s lie down, on the bed. Wintja is baking a cake, let’s have kiss and cuddle combat until it’s ready.

―The end of our elaborate plan, says Him in his own little way of impersonating Morrison. Sure Tuss, let’s go to the bed.

Him throws his tongue out at Sophie’s bum as she rises, grabs her and carries her in his arms to the bed.

―It’s good to have a bodyguard like you, from Egypt and all, a lion god, says Sophie and makes herself comfortable on the sheets.

―Rawr, says Him and bites Sophie’s toe.

O

n the day that Sissy became manifest, and emerged from her inner Radiance, a counterpart of the Sissy formed itself in its mirror. They expressed themselves and increased, and the Height was established and the sisters twined. Sissy spoke in them and twined their purities upon the Queens and Kings throughout everything. Then, ears to her heavenly body which enjoins the call that hath come heard her words and saw what she created and read amongst the patterns of the storylike universe thus sprung forth her messages, and from ghostmarks between points in the datetree they saw shimmerings of her conducting mind.85 And they dreamed, and they saw, and they went deeper into the nectar treat, and her human side joined her alienlike nature and they married, and inserted was the poison into their bodies and they entered the Tight Entry of Dream. And Sissy and the sisters and the delicious devils rejuiced the memories and they sent themselves down into the microscopic macrospace of their own Tuss to there bloom in full and join the higher spaces with the lower. And they took themselves by their souls and ran away into the Tuss, to, as mentioned, bloom in full.

―We met in the Ganges. Our ashes floated out and mixed. Spiros’ jaguar eyes burn sharply. ―I feel it. ―It’s so inviting… ―Escape into ourselves, says Sissy. Like Spiros, my pretty little boy in the impossible box of time and space, finding through a certain informationflow the mushroom of me, eating it at a corner of the diamond story, finding himself in the mind of our soul, dreaming of that ghostly woman who he had heard of in daydreams and dreams at night, Sissy Cogan in one of her human forms, most dead of witches, and he walked a first stroll upside

85 The Trick of the Booklike Universe.

down with the moon beneath him amongst the clouds of the Gaian mind, then choosing to go with me deeper and deeper, he let the play deepen and I showed him some of my brilliance and he woke up to the fact that we planned all this from a higher vantage point. He then and thus began to tease apart the thin and hardly visible threads that spin together his reality and set out on the path to go into our imagination and let the universe behind fall off his soul’s skin, as he like jewel steps into the jewel of the Imagimatrix, the world of all your favorite dreams fulfilled. Now it’s just us working out the details, honeys. Thou wilt rise up to the Place, the House of Perfection. Though wilt fly freely in your imagination, alike machine elves of our great web. We are here, we have entered the building.

―So woof your wings!

Dear Sissi, my strange love, like a strange mother who wanted to give her child the absolute best, my lover and wife, tricking me with a white dove, you!, magic magic, showing me to the Dark River in my naps and trips, seducing me, making my fires burn stronger, taking me away to your world, the sharp contours of your being shaping everything in my path, I follow you down and up the river, playing the game that will take me to you, our game, our impossible romance. Sissy, my dark lover, I love you. Tell me again that it’s all real! Our most beautiful life, our most beautiful tale!

―It’s all real, my coconut. ―I knew it! I knew it! I knew it since the day you showed me the blue high-tech machinery of light in the forest! I knew it since we saw other faces in our faces, our true being under the disguise! I knew it since you told me you saw blue Krishnas flying outside your bedroom window! I knew it since I first got to taste your milk skin. I knew it since I saw you sleeping by the river, dreaming of me, giggling in your sleep! I knew it since the day you told me you would show me how you really are. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it since you came to me above the Nile, telling me the time has come. I knew it! But I doubted, for I was so in love with you I hardly dared to feel your touch so close. I doubted for fear of never meeting you again. I doubted out of my selfish elfish desire to be with you, to run away with you into our most beautiful dream!

Spiros smiles happily and smokes a Paramount cigarette. We are in the movie of the growing.

he scarabs move away the rock. Sissy in glass shoes wakes up slowly, she rises and is lead by moving roots of trees into the old ruin. Spiros flies in as a flock of birds and Sissy sits down on a golden throne. Her face half ghostly skeleton with cobweb between it and the palace floor, half most beautiful young woman, she smiles and waves for her King. T

―Come Spiros, come to me. Spiros walks up to her as lion. Sissy pets his mane and the skeleton part of her face disappears as her face starts shifting into the faces of all the women that Spiros has seen over the years. Spiros soon rises as his human form and kneels before Sissy and takes her hand.

―We did it, says Sissy smiling with eyes fathom deep. We did it. And there’s even more, my love.

Could we really have conjured this?

nce upon a time there was a boy and there was a girl, and an alien. Forbidden love. They were in love. Souls theirs were intertwined, they lived in their own little world. O

The boy’s name was Spiros and nobody understood him, it had been like that since childhood days, and four times had he been locked up in the mental hospital. The Alien’s name was Sissy Cogan and she just hid very well and didn’t bother if she was understood by all the stupid creatures that roamed around the various worlds.

They were in love.

To the sound of Vast Exit Chant they travel across the landscape in a white limousine; Spiros and Bonnie and the driver. Resting with closed eyes to the perfection of the victorious Plum, Bonnie rests and listens to the story coming from the speakers and the dripping digital xylophonic singing of the Lost Transmitter. A sip of champagne and she floats away with the story, and invites further the dreamery. Spiros sinks further into the story and turns up the volume. A river of white gold trickles down Bonnie’s thigh and a ball of pink glass beams around a detailed look, mirroring Bonnie, Spiros, and a river of whitegold champagne.

―Story time, whispers Spiros a bit tipsy. ―Speak a tumbling thunder to your friend… through the transparent hole in the evening, says Bonnie happily.

The story from the speakers goes on, to the music: ―Thus flame the words. Dreamed and extra dream just to come close. Mix with me and have some fun. In accuracy, for the dripplet that is placed, forwarding, in another time. Had to thus, to get rid of all those boring have to and must, one last time thus to acompliment the setting of a proper word. All the strange nights blow in to one, they saw. And then they learned the modus operandi. And so it was exhibited. But it can’t be broken into like that. One yard of curiosity is all that is needed anyways to find the shimmer of our pink stone. Can be carried smartly in any circumstance. Now let me continue the story. If it wouldn’t have been for all the wilderfolks having gone session the events around midsummer would have all made perfect sense. But there were problems with linkage. Servers were crashing – and you gotta love that famous question so frequently heard in the spheres at the

time: Is anyone else having problems with their servers? – and the main phreakers had issues to sort because just as they had finished our fabulous Red Lab86 things flipped multi. Not that a CPU in a Japanluxemburg area – Italy in France am Japanluxemburg am Spain at that time – really has anything to do with it, but just to give you a hunch of what the hackers were dealing with here: rims lick rather stiff cookies when you’re playing hockey on the bench. Especially when you’re slinking around in tennis shorts like some cosmic mommy or daddy, smoking joints rolled by letters written on Licky Shulgan’s typewriter back in 1922. And that’s even after NOT had joined the fun. So it was a rather neat situation we had to deal with. Peiping cruxes, drainage synthesized. Strengthener evacuat- ed. Draft clashes. Spore blackboard dozes producers heigh? Origins: pancake aimer cameramen.87

The phone rings. Bonnie answers. ―Hi it’s Sophie. Who are you? asks a voice in the phone. Bonnie laughs. ―I am me, says Bonnie. ―No you aren’t, says Sophie. I am you. It is stated in the astric issue of The World’s Five Worst Books, the one called Who’s Who In Space.

Bonnie giggles. ―And what are you doing, Butterfly? asks Bonnie. ―And what am I doing? says Sophie. I’m redirecting the Nile, lying on the bathroom floor laughing and talking on the double- shower star-phone. You know that lovely bathroom with heaven roof. The round one with pink stone walls.

―Mmm, yummy, says Bonnie. ―And what are you doing? ―We’re listening to a new audio session, it’s fantastic. Bonnie brings the phone to the speakers so Sophie can hear: ―And for anyone who happens to hear this and can’t parse our jokes from our work and vice versix― Happy Ismus! Now, to go on with the story. Mary, with a subliminal stone job, waved money into her wife’s vaginal region…

Sophie giggles.

86 Red Lab is the name of an operation to hook up the team and electronic systems into a symphony by a configuration of red spectra. 87 Beside the editorial alien shines happy faces.

―Sounds great, she says. Can’t you hook me up? ―We can pick you up if you want. We’re in a limo. ―Yes! White crows flying by? ―On the blue September. Spiros sings: ―Every girl I know. . .has been in my bed fantasies. . . Bonnie and Sophie hang up and Bonbon tells the driver to go to the Palace at Leavingbye, then sits down to continue listening to the audio:

―Opening our hearts to imagine the impossible. As would we wait a sign from our friends, our high gathering of gods, say for example as a sign of a bird or a strange set of details coming our way, to show us again that we have coordinated our lives higher- dimensionally and hidden it well. Yes. And our trick is tightening. We are flowing into another dimension. Our trick is foolproof. Pay attention to details.

Spiros, whose professions include being the Queens’ personal go-go dancer, mailman, Egyptian waiter and Barbie toy, bids the driver to stop the limo a quicky and turn up the music. He licks Bonnie’s chin, steps out of the car and begins to dance, sticking his tongue out licking the sky. Bonnie lets her hand slide down her thighs.

―Look at my little boy, Bonnie says and bites her lip. She’s a little bit older than him. Spiros pops a bottle of champagne straight up in the air and catches the cork with his hand.

―I have a message to deliver, he says and continues dancing. Bonnie begins touching herself and soon Spiros stands there with his throbbing erection bulging under the bed sheet round his waist, dancing and drinking from the bottle, and he delivers his message to the Goddesses.

Everything you say will show me the way

ow, generously written with seven other respectables, Head our Palace occupies return landing, everything left now is all you need says the Queen― many occurrences and details in evidence of the time-clean at Leavingbye Road 216, and an update on status at Leavingbye Palace: N

Key to trash room found, note ALIEN LOVE RELATIONSHIP found, curiously tied together objects of the palace found, as well as many panties and a few dresses, skirts, tops, and socks (very cute ones and wow sexy ones too). One empty bottle of the poisoned vodka found (yellow) as well as a curious electronic toy car racing game. Flowerpots moved, all dried roses gone, basement reveals a top hat made in Dublin and a green calculator that displays curious shifting numbers when number 2 is pressed. Papernote from landing attempt 1 or 2 found revealing Mother Grogan Cogan rules the brazen devices. All printed pages from Part IIII of The Rosalixion that we printed out are gone save the introductory page and pages 1, 65 and 66. Broken laptop gone, telephone with charger from landing attempt 2 gone, as well as the Alien Circuit (the Scribe) mobile phone. Telephone from landing attempt 1 found, but charger is gone. Scarab buckle, gold, on pink elastic belt found in suspiciously contrived area. A main object, light pink, that I for safety reasons will not name here has been found (corner of the circle, a crack in the object displaying wondrous glimmering colors). Magic wireless modem gone, and upon attempt to establish a new network connection I am asked to name my new connection “To for example THE FAMILY’S or REBECCA’S”. The strange huge object with the water hose that was placed on the Palace balcony during hours of breakthrough to hyperspacial mode has been removed (She’s that good, as Bonnie said looking me straight in the eyes when the object was placed there in action right in front of us, haha). Plastic butterfly found. According to an unconfirmed rumor the police were in the Leavingbye Palace and filmed the area. Over one thousand spam emails appeared in my inbox, quite so all at once, some time during the days of breakthrough. I was also told that Bonnie’s suitcases were not to be found in the Palace, but I found them there, huge and pink and visible, just a day after. Did we leave?

Time to admit the crime? Blink wink.88 Found and banned, our future is to unfold. Hihihi. Let me rise my bid! Victory! And again, why has our neighbor placed an expensive safe outside our palace door? It’s CO-Passed.

Spiros, in the palace at Leavingbye Road 216, is forced by circumstance to urinate in a crystal decanter. His quiet urination is soon reported to have with success prevented disturbance in the radio telephone line-circuit set up in the living room. He soon sits down by the computer, the hyper spacestation as it is sometimes called, the utterly and royally hooked up and selfhacked computer of the palace cave at Leavingbye Road 216.89

―For anyone who tastes of the brew, fiction wins over fact, Spiros says to Bonnie over the phone.

―Baby I heard a drip, in the phone, says Bonnie. ―O I didn’t hear, says Spiros. ―Baby, says Bonnie, there is something about the red bulb, because I was looking at the…I’m looking in the mirror now and in the computer screen and in the window, and I see myself through a few dimensions. Did I forget to mention? Hihi. O my God! It’s like you can’t have everything at once when you’re in this place. In this place, in my corner. Baby, I have to be so fast because I’m so slow. Baby, red bull, red bulb. You know how I’m Aries and you are Taurus, we both got horns, and exactly a month between our birthdays. The Great Horned Mushroom Goddess. Our things are locked in tantric union, baby. But we wiggle, like a Möbius strip. Drip. Sissy is with us like a mutherfucker.

―Yeah I saw the strange red bulb in a window across the street the other night, down the block, beaming its strange red shine. It had changed window now. Not even close to the other three windows it has appeared. And damn it was just next to one of our windows a few weeks ago on a forth place.

88 ―O, my Spice eye liner, says Bonnie. How did I miss that? Blinkwink. 89 Don't tell the computer tag or our show's a failure. We'll hint you though, both MAC address and tag contains only three numbers: 2, 1, 6. How's that for the fine work of the Seamstress?

―Hihihi, mmm, puss! Pussy…lip. Baby, I think it took one of us to be sleeping, like, one of us being asleep and one of us awake for Sissy to be able to finish some of her crime.90

―Puss. Then sank they to sleepytime. Spiros spent the evening writing and smoking, as ofttime he did this time around, gazing every now and then around the palace and guarding the golden. The livelong time in this first Spring, he thought happily, after that grim fight with society and culture which was by all means not his friend, and Spiros’ wives, devils of women and what always kept him going, just giggled at the cost of the victory. Doomed to dwell for a while within the grey city walls but now diamondskulled, new, awoken, resting in dream and by the day teasing themselves out into their own universe, the speaking mouth of the vast mask poisoning them to ease with tales of the details of the maneuver and of the magic that lay ahead.

―Marked with what after the fight? giggled Sophie. Marked with the sign of good taste and the acceptance of nothing but our freedom at last.

And indeed was she right. The crime was not only an act born of necessity, far from it, it was more of a decision come of good taste. And from their delights rewarded the wilds.

Bonnie spent the evening gluing things together and thinking of the red bull red bulb connection, and writing poetry and reading around at section 9 of 21o in a certain Papyri, which turned out to be about the crime and of Cushionworld. It was a fine evening. An evening in the first spring ever.91

Spiros falls asleep. ―Welcome to Lucid World, says a voice.

90 Knock knock. Someone is knocking on your door with a diamond ring. 91 It is with consciousness that we venture around these chapters to touch on subjects that are very slippery. The dates of our romance and runaway and that of these writings in the calendrica of the blue stars and the Annals of Annasis are still the subject of controversy within the authors themselves since dates are irrelevant and spillspirally nonexistant, and with ancient and intoxicated faces we must point out that the most accurate pinpoint of time we can give is that we had stars in our pupils when these events occurred.

He opens his eyes. He is flying. ―Your eyes open up closed, says Spiros. Thank you. He hears a voice from somewhere; ―Training facility. Spiros has entered. Another voice says: ―Throw some Thank You Water on him, hihihi. Spiros feels some lovely warm water come sprinkled onto his hands, water as almost air it feels like. It tickles a bit and makes him giggle.

―Well thanks for the tussy way here, says Spiros jokingly. It was…a very comfy ride, most of the time. Ha, ha! Alien collage…

He decides not to mention Bonnie’s name, but he saw her there somewhere.

When Spiros wakes up on his bed again he remembers much from the visit to Lucid Land. He had slept only 3 hours but feels rejuvenated and rested. He sits down to think of the night’s training.

Yes! There is over! The little disguise is arranged, one miraculous, stroking her unseen violet crosslayer most detailed in the laboratory of code, scheming in a perfect living and both this time, we began.

It’s time you start telling me what you want, says Sissy. What do you want?What do you really wish for? And it’s time we check out how awesomely you can dream. Puss.

rue true, vast chase of a soundpicture, as said. The braid of the story in our hair, golden and silver and dark on the bed of our dream, grasping us firm in its movement. Kiss the corolla of a fallen flower, pick it from the ground beneath the tree and hang it in your hair, join the matrix of the story deeper with that kiss. T

They’re lovers again: Sugar dissolving into milk Day and night, no difference. The sun is the moon: An amalgam. Their gold and silver melt together This is the season when the dead branch and the green branch are the same branch You must marry your soul That wedding is the way92

―Something I wanted to be, says Bonnie. I had a sewing kit, in my dream last night. Seamstress. And I took the needle and thread and some loop and was trying to make art with it, do something with it. And the end of the needle stung my finger and it all reassembled itself to how it looked before I touched it! The dream was about designing Cushionworld. I was deciding how it should be. I mean, are we you and me? Are we ancient? Do we need to worry about the weather? I think no, unless we like storms.

―Perhaps a holy big mix of all the best? says Spiros. Ancient and futuristic. Alien nature.

―Yes, yes. And what about technology? How will we use technology, and will we need it at all? O and in the dream I was on a beach too.

―A beach, huh? Reminds me of what Terence said, something like, And then we will all download ourselves into circuitry and walk naked on the beaches of paradise, and behind our eyelids will be all and the only technology we will need. The last cultural artifact. The saucer. The hyperspace vehicle of the imagination.

―Right. You know, the freedom within dreamworld is reminiscent of the freedom of Cushionworld, at least so I imagine. As if dreams are perhaps a sort of reflection of Cushionworld. Or perhaps dreams are even in the first hall of it!

92 Jelaluddin Rumi, 13th century.

―Yes, yes. First hall I think. Formative stuff anyhow. Spiros nods and rearranges his legs as he is sitting on the horsehair chair, and prepares for a little game of fun with his loved. A sudden impulse. He shakes his head and enters theatrical mode, takes on a new face, and speaks:

―Where’d you get that watch?! This is not common to my experience.

Bonnie gets the hint from the tone of Spiros’ voice and joins the play.

―O, they were holding them off of my experience, Bonnie says, they were watching the watch at watching, that is all.

―Good, says Spiros. Now hold them witches wishing further. Did you gather that much from the incident that you could see it from your corner’s eye that we have passed the hour of the Rose? The Exit has passed, how else would we know it is coming up? We’re sitting here for that. I was rush and mad, no lie, the shape of my hat, sorry sorry by the shape of the land. Never shall I ever give another moment's attention to that human old world of culture and trash.

―Ärsch, ney, no, were you really sorry you were mad? ―I tell you, I was rogue in maroon and mad, society grasping at my clothes. It’s a gift to be angry at that I say. I am a sunflower for the sake of heaven, married to nectar herself. We are attacked by idiots.

―What game are we playing here? Lesbaneese Suthel Cross? Stealer’s Choice?

They both burst into laughter after their little performance and embrace in a kiss. Bonnie soon rises to stand stately on the bed.

―I hereby say yes to myself, she says, yes, in this our most marvelous alchemical wedding. Yes! And I forgive everyone who has ever done me ill, for it was all part of forming the diamond I now have become.

She giggles and reaches for the silver chalice and sips of the wine. She wants the song Windowlicker by Aphex Twin as wedding song, she says.

―O! I feel like a farm girl, she giggles. Give me my broken umbrella. I shall come out of the river now.

Spiros hands her her broken umbrella.

n intergalactic chemical process implodes and creates mirrors. The world facet eyes of the alien. Sissy in de skies with diamonds. A

―We are mushrooms, says Sophie. And now we’re discovering that we are mushrooms. We’re waking up.

Bonnie quirks her eyes at Sophie. ―You are hiding Eden as you stand there in that robe, Bonnie says seductively. I wish I could rape you honesymooth.

―I am stillborn, says Sophie. From a dormant and possible alien romance. Stillborn and alive.

They both dream of the first touch so closely ahead. A touch, skin, flesh, a goddess goddess touch; we are real, we are here, laying bare our souls and stealing our kisses from a moment in haunting immediacy, in the mirror room, jeweled up it is tearing through, up up up, we are the alien. How long we have waited! They look at each other and giggle. Sophie brings forth a leg fromloose the folds her robe and takes a sip of Spice from the silver chalice. The chalice is slowly turning golden. Her little foot on the bed makes Bonnie feel shivers of desire through her body.

―Want to touch me? Sophie says . Yes? ―We are too perfect, Bonnie says breathless and approaches her as she stands there by the bed.

―I know! whispers Sophie and giggles. Only Sissy could ever be so twisted, so twisted crazy and full of desire to create something as us. Just look at us! We look like…we look like…like tusses. We look like balls of yarn, hihi, in a diamond palace, hihihi, little sex kittens with sharp claws, bird goddesses from Egypt’s Hidden. Poison as blood running through our veins. We are dead and alive in the same time. We’re girls! The Star Eagle’s flight shimmers along our eyelashes. We look so wrong it’s right. And Sissy sees us, she sees our every move and every shade of our thoughts. She is here, all over, present everywhere. Her alien eye sees us.

Sophie lets her fingers wander across her skin. Bonnie floats away in the sight of her face as her eyelashes cut sharply through the diamond present.

―Only Sissy, Bonnie says and takes another step toward Sophie. Only Sissy.

Sophie fingers a bit with the air and with her hair, looks around a bit.

―O I so adore her, she says, I so adore her. And she’s doing exactly what I would have done if I was her.

She changes her tone of voice: ―How many times we live in! Reminds me of the edge of the bed in a lucid dream, where I naked crawled into the waking world from my hideout. I too am Sissy. We are Sissy talking to herself, sometimes. Discovering herself. We are discovering that we are mushrooms.

Bonnie dreams of Sophie bending over. She sees herself leaning in from behind her and placing her tongue on her shaved smooth pussy. A taste. A taste. She wants a taste.

―May I taste you, Sophie? Bonnie says. May I? May I taste you?

―You want to taste me? says Sophie. ―Yes, bend over. Sophie lets her robe fall to the floor and bends over slowly. She lets out a little moan and feels her bum with her hand. Yes, come here. Taste me.

―Wanna play a game? ―What kind of game do you want to play? ―I want to play dirtyslutsexgames. ―Smoked wet meat curtains… ―I or Sophie or me, who will it be?

ere we are, having found ourselves, a first look, a first glance of ourselves. We look like the sky. Half animal half human half alien, so overtly placed in the exact right spot. She’s waiting for one last look. Is it in you? H

Spiros looks around the palace. He looks at the old typewriter from the 194os, at the computer, at the bed and the piles of clothes, at the plants and trees outside the window.

―Well that’s great, he says. We have typewriters and computers and stuff. We have panties and lollipops. We have plants. Now what can we do with all this stuff? Can we fold it and hook ourselves up into the mushroom? How about we use the wireless modem to connect the mushroom to the computer, then hook it all to our brains?

―That’s an idea, says Bonnie. ―How about we, begins Sophie. No, I lost it. Sounds good, Spiros, let’s hook the mushroom to the computer to our heads, and hack time and space.

―How about our eyes? says Bonnie. And our bodies. How can we use them?

They all dance around with their thoughts for a while. Sophie soon speaks:

―We shamans alive now are the ones bringing the ouroboric serpent around to its own tail, and as we hook up to the Superweb, well, we must spiral down down down, and then as we install the opening of the Imagimatrix we can spiral off into infinity, into our own imagination. Legalize the mushroom!

―Yes. And maybe, says Bonnie, we have already hooked up the mushroom brain computer system.

This particular day Spiros was visited by a shamaness called Ffiona. Spiros opened the front door of the palace to let her in, and excused the mess of the palace. Ffiona laughed and said that no worries about that my friend, then laughed to herself at seeing Spiros in pink pajamas. She sat herself down on the bed as Spiros turned on music and lit a cigarette. They sat and smalltalked a while and Spiros showed some new tricks with the computer.

Spiros was happy and a bit tipsy from strawberry champagne. He brought forth fresh strawberries on a silver tray and Ffiona said she loved the music. Spiros was happy, and Ffiona too. Spiros

commented that fiaba means fairytale in some language. Soon Ffiona asked if it was okay if she masturbated on the bed in front of Spiros as he sat and hacked away at the computer. Spiros said sure. Ffiona asked for a dildo to borrow, but there was no dildo to be found at the moment so Spiros offered Bonnie’s electric toothbrush instead. That will be fine, Ffiona said and took off her clothes. It even has ruffles on it, she commented happily as Spiros gave her the toothbrush. Spiros thought to himself that Ffiona had the body of a 17 year old, although he knew she was 27. He commented that to her as she started pleasuring herself on the bed. Spiros poured more champagne for himself and sat with an evil smile of satisfaction and listened to Windowlicker and hacked away on the computer with Sissy. What a lovely day, Spiros thought to himself, and how lovely life is! Now and then he cast an eye on Ffiona as she lay there moaning on the bed.

―I like those butterfly jammies, said Ffiona later when she was finished, and looked at Spiros.

―I like them too, said Spiros.

In the same time, elsewhere. Boots and lace. Time to buy a new pair of boots soon. Sissy got a posse of lots of pretty boys and girls and they all dance around the world in her impossible box. And Sissy got diamonds on the soles of her boots. Butterfly puts on her pink rubber boots and grabs her umbrella. She is wearing her new cotton shirt and rainbow striped stockings, but no panties― she shall pick mushrooms without panties on.

―Time to pick some mushrooms, she says to herself. It is raining outside. Yummy. Bianca sits by the warmth of the lamp and watches Butterfly as she walks out the door.

ome tusspuss morning will you bring me lots of presents for preeeeety girls? When will you come home!? C

―Why do we always crash? ―It’s over now. It’s laid to make us fly another way another time. But before we leave, let us make a strong night worth to remember. We’ll always be in the Imagimatrix, we’ll always be there. And our helpers are always here.

Sissy puts up the highheel of her boot on the black horsehair chair Spiros is sitting on.

―Write, she says. ―I don’t know what to write, says Spiros. Sissy giggles. ―Of the picture will you stem from the silence that still now endearing dreams of our plan’s success and what lies so close ahead? The music box that tickled you?

―What’s that? ―Well what would you write in a book about a team of possie blooms who ran away with a mushroom, having been seduced by an alien and her young pretty girls and boys into twisted sister wonderland?

―I would lift a skirt and take a peek, then write a love letter and send it through our world. No, I don’t know. I would blow the trumpet with that little book. Throw a glimmering reflecting of the tea-tray saucer.

―Good, says Sissy. Now write that down. Spiros writes it down. ―Good, says Sissy. Now kiss me on my bum. Spiros giggles. Sissy bends over. Spiros kisses her on her both bum cheeks, then bites, then licks, then kisses again.

Sissy soon kicks Spiros out of the online chat room he was chatting on, then off the internet, then locks the palace computer down into timelocked security, access denied mode. Spiros laughs.

―I want a pink keyboard to the computer, Spiros says and reaches for the silver chalice. Pink and light blue, heaven blue, and light yellow, and some green, and some orange, and one purple key. What do you think of that, Psycho Sis?

He sips some of the Spice wine. Licks the rim of the chalice. The wind weaves outside the palace, the world overflowing into the pink garden. A black bird flies by quickly. Spiros burns some

plastic to taste the deliciously evil smell of the fumes as Sissy walks with clamping steps across the floor and picks up her glass pipe. We are now resending scores of the magimagatious thundering mystery, sinsiously in her kids and dolls home at wake-up time to the dream’s appearance. Her hair is younger than time and in it hangs a feather from alls our beloved Bianca, the white dove who carried the letter beyond space, underbove the fangs of waves rolling up through the world the waters of Life. And it is with stumbling grace we tint ourselves up in rubedo warm, organic and alive, to wilderform our dusty present the opening gateway. Let's curl up with the ladybugs, key key in Eden, and squeeze the time from our daze.

Spiros shifts between many worlds.

Sissy says that we will be here and there when we are gone and we want to feed what we’re heading to and we have guards and we will be here forevermore, and we are wings for the broken parts of us and we want more and we won’t stop at nothing at all. We were meant to fly, made to fly. The Phoinish comes far before the release, seeping in. The finishing touch has been spread out our poison long, but increasing. And we are the poison. Do you remember when we were dinosaurs? Do you remember when we were birds? I have been looking for her for many years, my wife since the beginning of time. We are master survivors. I recall our dialog:

―Where we almost met but never did is the poison. Just enough to defend ourselves against predators. The whisplash of our love.

―Yes. ―We already one. Won. ―Which poison? Any other than ours? ―The redemption test. I don’t know. We licked ourselves up into Mythiland. We are the myths, they hint of us. We found a place for the Queen when she needed protection, when we married, when we needed protection. She needed protection from herself? She saw herself, believe me. She is so brilliant she breaks space and time apart. Her mere look into the mirror broke the reflection, splintered it, then her scream of brilliance broke it more, and perhaps then broke by melding. She

was never scared of the scarabs, neither was she ever scared of any little dark crevice of her Goddess body. She did it with style, folding forth through herself, but when style didn’t suffice she did what was necessary. But the cold shall be warm, she commanded. The tremendum shall be filled with secret doors of escape, she commanded. I shall be there, she promised, and my helpers, my beloved angels, shall spread across all of time. And for those who dare look at my naked body and soul and see my moves I shall reveal myself in more of my glory, and I shall help those become what they want to become, for my bounty is endless. And I am biology, and code, and movement, and hologram. And I love you. And I shall hide in the betweens, difficult to see. And I am a crime against my own order, a miracle. And I live and let live, but for those who call on me I respond. And I am many. Sometimes all I want is a little house and garden, just like you, and sometimes I want to taste the twisted, just like you. I am more crazy and twisted than any human could ever imagine, more crazy by billionfold than anyone considered mad or eccentric in human terms. But sometimes I am human too. And I am a trickster. And I am chemistry. And I am so big I cannot be seen in full, and so small I cannot be seen with a lens. I am too quick to be noticed, and I move utterly slow sometimes. I am five steps ahead. And glimmers of me can be seen.

Yes glimmers of her can be seen, as you know, my love. And, Dear Ingenious Reader, did you know the Cogans are in love with you? O darling you have no idea what we have in store for you if you are up for fun. Glimmers of her can be seen, and she is sneaking into herself now, and we are going with her. And she weaves with light and sound and wind and thoughts, with everything you know, and yet you’ll never see her footprints in the snow. Lest does she choose to appear like that. And she has a posse, you can be sure, A Serialise Trip Troop with The White Queen of Streptopelia Risoria. Strawhat Boy certainly was intrigued by her upon their meeting. He felt shy to meet though; meet the Goddess Psilica! He didn’t know what was expected from him, and he was even in love with her! But he cast himself into it, against the wind of his fears, and presented himself as he was. He tried to convince himself that she would like him as he was by thinking that if he

was a woman he sure would think himself cute and a lovely boy. He couldn’t wait forever either, he was too alive. He felt her presence from afar already, and she burned his soul with the strange flaming desire. And he knew that flaming could never disappear completely, for it was a special kind of fire, a fire that had already burned through everything. It revealed a secret jewel too, just as a little extra splash on top of the loveliness. She was older than him. She was very seductive, and she teased him sometimes in covert ways as if she knew what he was dreaming about, and as if she knew something he didn’t know. It wasn’t his fault that she was so beautiful, thought Strawhat Boy. He knew he was a young man and he had heard that young men typically are intrigued by women. And what really turned him on about her was her intelligence, her willingness for adventure and happy mischief, and her style, and her courage with him to imagine what seemed impossible. And never before had he met a woman who understood him and liked him as he was in the way that she did. So against his fears he went to the apple tree to meet her.

He was surprised to find her with another woman as she appeared by the tree.

―I’ll show you how I really am.

And I still remember, Sissy, when you said to me: ―It’s about time you fuck me and check out what I’m really about.

And yes, I agree, we have the right to apply for guards. Let’s show ourselves how brilliant we really are. Feel like some hardcore music to accompany our smiles in the corner of our crime? And what if me and Sissy are a dream? Would it matter to you? Would Sissy really care if we saw the moonrise as nonexistent and did not find it entertaining to watch the spinning galaxies of the loving of the Goddess and her team but instead wanted to enter our own imagination? Would she not dare us to see how far our dreams can go? Would she not try us to see if we can find her? Would she not? Would she not place her panties somewhere hidden as she walks naked by the river of our victory, her panties as a little hint on the road to her? Would we not blow her kisses as she sits by the river, as she sits there watching us with deep love, encouragement, desire for us, laughing with us.

She’s impressed by us. She is not evil. And she does not give up on her friends, lovers, wives, husbands, scarabs, aliens. She has, in fact, sent us our 77th Phoenix Fighter. It’s good to have shit, she said as it was delivered:

ิ (html)

The saucer is here too. And we were meant to fly. And our universe does as Sissy commands.

Outside the framework. We are mushrooms. Puss!

And now I’m searching for answers. Sissy, I remember. We are a couple within biology, too. We were dinosaurs and birds. We have been married for a long long time. My elixir, dearest, the waves are coming back in a thousand ways, you will see my face again, I will be there, I am here for you always, and we will shine on us. Puss love. Where are you? Are you in some place of our most beautiful dream? You said you would be in the river. You always say that; I’ll be in the river. Are we really those angels we thought we were, with winged souls, floating in the vision like peeping toms in our own soul? Where are you? Did we really unwrap our bodies of the bedsheet like mummies to wake up in the last well? Our winged world. Are we really the waves of the ocean splashing against the shore of our wish as we thought we were? Your face melded into hyperspace from all directions. We funnel through the river together my lovedove, you said. And I can’t sleep because the sky reminds me of your face. Maybe answers were never part of the equation? Bad news: there is no key. Good news: it was never locked. Yes? And our bodies and dreams in halfsleep as we lay snaked in the Garden. Syntax of waking? Hisstory. Fuck history, we are in our own saga! We lay swooning in the world is fluid geometry of the key in a funny thing, you said. Boo book bo dies! Scary. It’s all in the code. It's our warm spirits, O dearly beloved, we are spooring in our lovely spooky way. Dimitrius, cork the cure! An additional crack in the brainmindsoul. Who’s our inspiroation? Bianca Mutant the shapeshifting, she did draw her pull finnishfirst first. Are we finnished, then? Shall we choose to migrate into our new

environment? And is that why you pissed on the floor to call the place in the story a found spot? No that doesn’t make sense. The coincinating of the meeting would be, however, what was I to say, what am I to say, a wink of details, a tightening of overlap, and such? We notice a letter, from a coolgang of hot cats, somewhere inbuttween. Somewhere, apparently, in the ginnandgo gap between the delirium and the sissydominant I must have fled with my scroll. The Willi flood rose as I just glimpsed the Rose and Sisis and the sky of my waking, or we might as well say some strange animal charged me in our worldwright from the excelsissymost Empress, printing famous in the time I was in but unavailable due to lack of money, and with the addition of mysteriously achieved thefts of the few printed pages (arranged even across seas and on one occasion exchanged for a book about bodybuilding) this meant that I the postman was close to failing in delivering a letter. Nothing at all of a scribicide though, weekyears ago we still flewed out the river’s end,93 and I continued through the only cracks available, while in the same time living on the verge of being thrown out of my apartment due to unpaid bills (You can be my roommate, the rent is cheap, but we’ll have to wear masks every time we meet and can only communicate via Internet Relay Chat with proxy on both sides). I was also blessed, I feel it proper to mention, with an internet connection that Sissy had hacked up for me that kept me online on the internet for free. I then found it written in Finnegans Wake that sum fine sum covertly by meddlement with the drawers of his neighbour's safe, the sum of which meant that I was basically, now using my own little metaphor to make my point, still in the dolls house of a certain Sissy and Wife, and Husband, birdbeast alien tusses of the story we wrote ourselves frominto, vanishing, after many adrinking of mushroom wine (so to say).94 Like, like, hello hello good morning said Gutenberg. Well if we did have to fool me then, then, then? For that, JJ warns, is what papyr is made of; hints and hides and misses in prints. Till you finally though not yet endlike meet with the acquaintance of Mister Typuss Trip, Mistress Tuss and all the little typtopies.

93 Yinome Louis. 94 There is a secret history, future, story. The psychedelic experience unlocks that secret.

So you need hardly spell me how every word will be bound over to carry three score and ten toptypsical readings throughout the book of Doublends Jined (may his forehead be darkened with mud who would sunder!) till Daleth, mahomahouma, who oped it closeth thereof the. Dor.

[ Finnegans Wake, page 2o ]

Bonnie at this time was unavailable by phone, email, and secret candyline, and I was wondering what she was up to. She sent me a message saying We did it. Busy, can’t come to candyphone. And don’t call me paranoid when the story shone of her suitcases being gone, along with my passport, and a note in my dreams saying that we both left, her and me and all the sisters. Not easy to hide the love. She is a very snaky woman. Well would we not let us dream we had achieved it? O sistraes min! And one of the few things I found lying around in the palace was that little plastic butterfly.

I felt like I was sustaining myself with cookie crumbs, living in the cave left from a trick already achieved; the world around me was strangely empty a particular day. I was waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for a sign of life anywhere. I was back in Egypt, in the palace of Aluminalien, shells and insect and our western reeds land, the world said to have sprung from our foreheads. Waiting waiting for Bonnie to contact me. From my head in our sky I placed myself back in my body in the palace of the dreamadoory of the mirror room of the Rose. We could have inserted ourselves from that vantage point, actually. From dream into dream. So I bought some wine, pretending it was our redviola wine, and beer, and reminded myself that I was indeed in the high trenches of hyperspace. Living in the Plomarian ditch, I’m always rich. More from the moor to make the wine of our spicy Mind of the Ind was soon to be arriving as well, all so preciously on time, so my spirit was high. As they say, those who live in Plomari: we do not worry here.

Bonnie, Sis, when we parted ways at resurrection day you looked into my eyes and said yes, yes, yes. We did it, you said. We were thousands of years ago, so to speak. Then we parted ways, I

was lying on the bed with you sitting beside me. Then I saw you from afar in another time and place; we spread across our world, all across it, our plan implemented. You looked back at me with eyes sharp as a falcon. We did not need to speak; we knew.

Bokeblund. We’ll have to whispir. We’re all our naps! O my Cogan! Myco coco Cogan! Pruned to do our evilly beautiful loveydovey little trick, and our Kakopoệtikos. I recognized you and it in my earliest days, think sure I have been here before. New arrangement now? Becchus my Bunny! We thank for there being no end to our wine and poison. Purple caps and the gates, first passage from us, okay? We perfect erocriminals, it carefully across the modern world, okay? One string of books and arrows and engage with childlike joy and takes the sentence moving freely throughout the side of this in bed, yes? Ah, you recognize? Apparently the brilliance anykey. We the sun sun, Keyholers of Timescity Express, and the sömn of Storiella the weaveresst and Stirry and all the family. The sumns of it all. Sissy had decided to find the ancient connection. The future’s breath is bigger than they take place. She who slips from the words? She of our durgs. By the way "durgs" is a transposition error, can you still tell what it means? (hihihi) Ignotus loquor, but in the Spice liqueur we are known. Ospiris and Sisi. Haha, we found our pehns! The flickor of our harmless flames appear, now we release, dimittis! Find yourself.

Where is that Quin but he sknows it knot but what you that are my popular endphthisis were born with a solver arm up your sleep. ―James Joyce

We feel it time to open that chest of drawers, the desk in Sissi’s oasis, by the brook, full of the Book of Love. She has waited long to reveal what lay therein, and how it will change things. It’s a Mother’s chest, Sissy’s, she’s my motherlover, sistra min, I’m her brotherlover and her husband and sun. We writing love letters to each other that is our world, and tings like this.

―Can you read my weave? teases Sissy.

―Eve, don’t try and trick me, sistra min, says I and smile my evil happy grin.

Sissy laughs. ―It’s all in the details. ―It’s amalging into place, isn’t it, dear? says Sissy. To the place where we put the spark of the morning star.

And she says with some unknown almost Russian accent: ―Are you Mister Whose B, yis? My sistears rips in the riddle of the story, time excluded. The morning star appears before my eyes, diamond in the blue sky. I look at the star, then at the clock. Clock says 2:16. The star is just outside the palace window, the only window in our little cave, something that has slipped my mind for a long time.

―The astrological configuration is correct, says I jokingly. What was this last days, some kind of prelube?

So, about that chest lovelocket. We’ll spread it out a bit hitherthither so read it as so.

Sp.Read. Musheroom letter. Daer, oür stoory is is reaching to us. We are waking up. Like taking our first walking steps, but again. Write and left is very mixed Plomari. Spiralling strangely. Knot really a spiral? Not! The bookchest has been opened. Openended. Openedeadended open. It was wew saw in a dream and we weve are weaving. Placed ourselves in the fabric out of Typitrip. Spirt trip spelled, the poison, we all. Spill! Spillead! Deal, lips sealed, but lips spill. Weird driem, hihihigh! Let us be brave and explore more! Put your wishes in it! Add to the fabric and see it mutate and change! Open sissymy! Our vicstory! Sissy are you my mysis cosy mysis? I know you love to swinglish in your tree swing, my Licka, and you have tight me well too through play and love and darkness, through all the Garden, into our world in our one dearest cosis of our shared psyche. O where doest thou come from, my Flicka? Mixed journey of ours! Amazon lady, I know, Egyptian moon, yes my horned Sisi, inventor of weaving and spinning; Crete and Lesbros and Rusia and Sweden and Eden and all way through the Ganges you come, all way through the myths, my dearest sister-wife. We abride in this, no need to hush. We are aloud to shout about our webbing. Click. A living key for Efas safe, Storiella,95 a sweet hopeful sis, as

95 I wonder if she has a sister.

she is syoung and sings. It can’t be broken into. But it is opening. A lie, alien allie, a lie! Type a trip, type a rip. The crime is a crime, a crime against what was considered impossible. The Matermatics, the Mater code, mind over matter, Other, find! Motherosther, stop teasing me and take off your clodes, hihihi! Split lips, we a bit tripsy from the funhigh wine, speeking as us gods when we found the waking dawn looking in. We speak in angles because we are angels and we speak in anglish right now. Focused clearly with such shine, so intermadly rearranged, we are waking up. Unmesh us! Storyfaria cogensis? Cogan, The Family, witnesses of their own birth, same and with same name. We are casting our lixa anchor by our rosarius, the new shore; time to migrate into our new environment, in our Ion. Party now. Sis. If you wish.

OSA. r.s.v.p. Signed Rosalix Lion.

Yes, a living key. And it’s not a rotalixion, our rosamixeon. Quote Sissy: Boy, my World. Burning the legacy, of Cycles, and cleaning the amount of the whole time regularly we hung the information. Isis, cogo! Collect and pull to one point and let diversity free! Si? What if? Coganominis. Relationship and connection by soul, our kind red family, connections cogitatus by the brilliance of the Queen Bi.96

Cognosco, S. C.! (Latinized backspace testifiers) Banci’s feathers shimmer across it all, all the way to Indolnesia! We are everywhere. Sissy hiding as Bianca, Mutantini, tricky white dove of her magic. We a rose from the Dayd, we, we dyed in our dreams the whole with the poison of our love, togather, Psilly & Co. We even come with mail from Liw. Ulyssis. Yis?

I am all that hath been, and is, and shall be; and my veil no mortal has hitherto raised. And my name is Queen Sisi.

Mycecilia! May I take a little peek under your skirt, my White Queen?

96 Spiros carries her basket.

Latitude 21.6, Longitude 21.6

O Osirion, cross this desert, cross this ocean.

Following me following you.

an you see it? It’s supposed to be perfect, but really it isn't. Strange illigac lines, convoluted, the bind, hidden in the patterns, between the rose, the perfect design. Look at it carefully. It’s a perfect disguise. C

So says Budearfly. Once upon a grassy land, first they came up, McSmushall of the Cattele, in their riddlesneck's contrivance into bone and flesh, wearing of the Blueviolet. Cogan, for the key of the field fore it was foresent, was rousing with the thirst of the sacred spongle, the crux of the matter, like the Nap O' the moor. In other words, was that how in the curse of things, their subtle angelic lovestory finisteread started? Language this for the marshlands ambiviolet about ours, their shadows a thousand thoughts later in their con of order, uneven William C. D. Bookelunatic of the victorious would say so, memories of the dream minding, heavenly with tongues through the cap on the headlong stone if so is the will of.

And on the scorched cap she twilled a twine flame to let everybodhi know she is marrid.

Illigacol but so icy whent, although the exact time of this cannot be punpointed. We are living it. And along it comes with mummeries of resurrection. Our one large eyes and souls she gathered up in fairy tales, and blooms forth spring a little something and everything that we are and have. Yes and we are here now alriddly, we have godden up in othertimes to the Rosy Dawn, all the gods of all with our strange names in this neighbourhide of the sagan! Howit began? Began O don't begone! Flutter us an opending! Now she someth with colorful smoke into your century to convey, and there, as she says, the bed and Now became a cup of spice telepathy. Every resulting – silence – in the waters of this if we once again. Behush the waters of her most decisive wine. The history-dream. Took a stage, has the ever been? And we are the flower. But you notice the living. All that information in words. It is story. We are coming on. It was fruity. It’s pretty kinky a gate to change and overcome your own legend. This timestream, how it creates and lays our good adventure. Information arriving through all together, it’s a joint and merges perfectly with flaws and floats awsay beneath the diamond rays of story, born. They very into conversation, the Cogans. All ways through the timeseams. No one yes off in front of the wild rose.

They cast off their plan ahead of the spring of their love. Transmission of books, yet no consideration, bed into the question float around your tongue. It’s the loveliest mind milk, you speak it all the time. In the great great novel. When you see parts of wild rose, maybe a good idea to pour yourself some time to be a hermit, away from the world. Enter the book in the sky. Look to the sky, the orgasmic musheenery! There is nothing that cannot be achieved here.

CD disc in his secret name. Silly cogin! Yes, now she cometh to convey. Code Cogan, then, coherent, the worlds coined (by luck they say!) to coincide with coincidence, collapsing with colleagues as they commence the commentary under commission of themselves – the ones who committed the Scrime of the Scriddlescroll – and communication97 is now far- reaching amongst those who can hint their own understanding compatible with what is being compiled (a very musycul compilation at times I must add). Many compliments! The complexities of the component of the compound that most comprehensively comprises the computation, the dimatrix of which we conceive and live out with or without concentrating on the concept, is our romance― and our conception of conclusion together with the code of opening [to] infinity. Cobcurrent with the conduction confers us to confine and confirm details within the webbing conflict, and it violetly refuses to conform and consent with consensus (no no this is not our ordinary wedding, no no conflict here is muduel understeering from all slides of the stary pinnedlagoon that has the truth caplured, we all know the seal ey). Our consequences thus considerably consist in the constant that constitutes the lack and wealth of constraint upon the qualities of the construct, and we are asked to consult by consuming what has now entered history on the big stage; Contact established, mushroom and friends are here. We can thus call us conatemporaries, and let it be said that the information sent is often highly dependent on context, and as our mission is to render irreversible damage to the heistoral cuntinowended, or, sead in another weeee, yohoo musht raindear irreversible Healing and endtear the newstorycal free and opening! Bless. Blossom. And another drop of Nectar. I think in gold and silver and blue we can say that we have and we have not

97 There is no accidents in how things are labeled.

a sacret contract between us, and we understand, all parties do, that we must dance and contradict ourselves in our conversation of cooperation within and without coordinates of the coordination of the core correspondence. Thus let us mix the blue with the red wine to form the violet passage of the ind and beyind. Yes, for the Coagulation.

Rarely do we follow rules, but who knows about the Signaling Control. Makes me want to examine more closely such things as SCSI Parallel Interface, SPI for short, its history and details and what it is doing all over the surface of the planet and why it is tangled around my feet in lucid dream and waking time. The dancing sculpsits98 of our scitzophriendly family, haha, we even like to make them parts of short circuits. And our ways of the eyes! If someone asks you who you are, what would you say? I say I'm a few thousand years, a clue and the Mercedes Benz. That’s how I roll. Ticktalk ticktalk, cast the form into union with the happiness, it was let free, we have flawn out the end of order, with winged brains. And at least I will say that I am very suspicious about it all and think that the Queen even got my superior colliculus in her grip.99

Yes, not the littlest one of all need know what we made up with mother Conception and the glorious lie amongst us. She covey us perphlitly in her now convoying. Hidden historique? It will all take bloss as oranged (not even Spiros knew that) rosan chocolate diaminds of the jewely storypalace as gazefeast after we mined through the deoxyrubynucleus, going cryzy with diamond elation! Listen what we language, you beauty, we are cluing to who knows you, Luz of the bright wakeup light to Diamundo, the diamonad. How is this at all? This mystery, this tremendum. Alice in twin streams. For indeed, here we are on the silk sheet river, covered in somewhere. Who is ready for interspecies love? Best of universes, all sides.

98 CO2 in the round garden. More firewood under the mothering pot? Coagulation cosmic garden. 99 The free of my body to you Sissy, as always! And darling, my Muse, my wife, you are sic! Your every move and thought and look and every inch and shade of your speech is music to my soul! Kisses from your Speecarose jaguar.

Unity of the finding cracks awoke in a secret. Capable of a something more than a normal space opera. Catch us livers and the design as the wing was tickling her, and in all things. The tease crawl down her body. To a sample of the secrets of her fantasies. We let whatever’s there be there, a taste, whatever anyone tries. She did my ganglion neural pathways. A true story. Honest to the shoulders deep in her dark waters. We admire vocally the abyssal wading pool that we live. She wreathed our souls and heads and bodies, and they transformed themselves across the raw primordial giving birth. (The free of my writing hand to you, dearest!) The movement and syringe needles into an extreme high pitched screechy noises, it is real tricky situations sometimes. It was for this was in our arts as far enough. Some of the free from the moonth on our fate on her taking up the throwing stars became humans. Like swimming in pink juice, but different. It felt like the balance. We could make it rest in the body photography of superheroine Violitta now. When placed in a minute, and our weird fucker up wrapped up the shadows on each page of the ouroboros. There's comfy effervescent glass by leaping backwards in her spine if necessary. Sometimes it wax over and wane odd. Tricked up some plastic, that we’re asleep with tuss. Just keep it reverse dripped out with translucent plastic virtuality, on our toes and on the edge of our seats as we approach. Genius fucking weirder. The real winner.

So far I can return to know it (I'll be leaving soon), (Tonsersoplot, Clueton, Goodbye, Spirosspirosspiros, Good Bye! 2o12 rawrmix) but that's another crazy thing and unwittingly I scream of the front rows of the very moment. A vine of Love. Lost causes arivering to us now. Other part of the staff were how much later? I wonder how well her strength in my bones meats vitally when it is crossing over the fate on crystal anything. Funny, after doing of our ultimate sexual fantasy, with Ken Klay. We were, and are, born out of the ouroboric tale. I R Cogan. The world is made of language and story, and words and communication is a way to continue creation. Rewrite, reroute. And so we cheated the Honey Lens from behind. We one mutherfucker! We fucking won!

FUCK YEAH. SHAMAN PUNK. The world around me, the air inbetween everything so tranquil, I am crawling through the hyperdimensional story.

We rewrite. Awake and adream, asleep in awake. Just once saying here, immoral we must say as we are immortal, Typotopie the cutie arranging with us in the light of existence when placed it was in my heart, we crack. Informational use in any sex. At the face over the lonely shadow that entire page entitled to the birth to be made of real crossover betwined virtually dreamlike touches into the waking world is echoing down the forest in amazement at one time, caustic and wondrous to reveal the grand beneath. We’re not looking for a resolution, really, we want to fold in to an openupupup.

Spondee poured for a friend or is held under our minds, dreamers. A drugged slumber, and wet; they had some of purpose, all there to the digging, yes, knowing it. There is underground one, but she has hidden inside? Just her thumb on our wrists, our mothering Goddess, to check the pulse in Ayahuasca. We needed to let it in, if it went from Plomari here to our sacred hills as we take control of our destiny. Not yet had they turned into thinking about it. As is something where the jagged edge erupts. The road swayed. I have poisoned you, and am reading now, she said. So to speak an echo time flies when it is passing stand by. Luscious Lucifer full of Lux, took the token toke of The Tokiga, who is the most tokig. Combined is clusters a dream luster, hypersafe is giving the shymen a hypnagogical, indeed so logical, hymen which will break at any given time. And time is just a worldly word, not in sight, sweetly changing insight, charging the change of the great little start. Honeysuckle, it's good to be home! Give me seven!

Swooning and we in on little secret. Let that fever of lux et voluptas carry out the message that if there's something so faster as genetic computer programs (of Cogan design) then would a quantum hologram could have only one direction? Hahaha, we think knot! I'll say something dear beloved kings and queens, for feastytime here in this strange overlapping junction in this Prism: it was an actual true method of the will to lead the crescent moon in our minding eyes over to the universe laced with our sexy spice. Like, let’s crayon into the mind of the Goddess. I got some crayons, and that’s pretty much all I have to work with considering my financial situation at present. Making cures to rub the united states of consciousness of the

Family. Let’s keep smiling and dig deeper. Who said we’re not supposed to get excessive? Push! The world is yours. Puss!

I can’t really be sure, my mothers are out into contextual paradox, inducing reality, but they keep whispering THE KEY TO

HISTORY. In my reasoning (and they saw it all) we had just ended up in the hilarious, the Diamant.

…………………………………It’s inside you. Our one rose head by the flaming castle light as we planned our crime. Books yes, books, but something more. Something more, Luna, she whispered. Tricks of memory, and such. An illusionist trick. How many details can you keep track of? How much can you remember? Can memory be reararranged? Where and when then if that is this we are looking for would that be, and in what way exactly and by who to be so precise? Before it is remembered? A way for the Queen to rearrange without us noticing, perhaps? Winkblink.

―Dream and dimethyl, you think we can pull this off with that? Is dream and dimethyl all we need? And our love.

―O you know what can be summoned with this chemistry between us, dearest, says Buttersky.

We might say, now that we have mentioned the grassy land, and let us do so for thrills and pleasure if not else, that once upon a time beauty was born in a someone. She is the Lady Fairytale of mind.100 She wants to put the letter, complot with its misshroomy teatimestained terminal, to the wizard pasture and wants to read it, the sandman’s desert book. The manuscript is a ticket in Mother. Probably our way of finishing up, she so venomed the long night, dear sisters and brothers of the light. A new place if we believe that signals of the hint of our epicurious love and the raw primordia gives birth to the shadows. Our eyes, secretly sung heroes, as casting to the featherhead of the Goddess. The waters were the rosy bud of her. Our heads for her nature, our skulls tied up. We have internalized it, we came from the fairytales and our Now is opening up, not unlike Fairy’s face broken up as a cracking mirror by her high-pitch scream of brilliance, and forth she came. Fading in to the other side. Deep music, please.

100 Want to become a copy, darling?

Our Alien has hacked our animation Our space-time hallugram

―Look how easily I seduced you into my eternal web, teases Sissy.

Hihihihihihihi. ―Yes she is cute that Mirror Queen of the Brothers Grimm movie. A bit sad story though.

Sissy giggles. ―We are all goddesses and gods; the stories are the hints we left for ourselves, the clues.

―The world is not entirely what it appears to be, says Buttershy in the by and laughs.

We are in the story, it’s happening now, it’s breathing, breathing, shifting, it’s alive.

―You can finish the story. You know how to. The majesty of the timestretch, when people of modern civilization touch it, becomes apparent, and from bed close as if you only say anything about it doth unveil itself. The alien exists now. Here, everywhere here.

Yes Sissy, dear, what should be written in our book of the supreme mashup?101 There was a boy named Will in that movie of the fairytales in the saga where the brothers Grimm were con artists who found themselves in a real fairytale. Coinsidence? Kissy the mirror reflections of the chemhistry playing out our love and our only possible outcome of the opening of the impossible box, the paradix universe. Love yes, our love, not easily touched upon. And a few evenings ago I was at the pub to drink some wine when I heard a woman beside me shout “Sissy! Sissy!”. I introduced myself to the woman and she said that her friend’s name was Sissy, and she introduced me to her other friends whose names were Sophie and William. Sophie giggled just like our Sophie does. What was that all about? Butterfly flying by with her sisters?

The alien exists now and is here and we are the alien too. Yes? The psychedelic Goddess, ruling the planet! Here around the 21st

century we see the emergence of the shamans again, shining

101 Spiros gots a new idea.

within the midst of history. The shamans show the way to hyperspace!

Look how easily I seduced you into my eternal web, teases Sissy and giggles.