Book II — Part II: The Twin Combi

II

The Twin Combi

onfusion ensued when they began to surface as the Twin Combi, when all the many river timelines began to dissolve into love as deep as the seas of the Seamstress. C

―Sissy’s titty is so awesome, says Spiros. It’s like a sacred cow titty in a way. But like a really hot cow, a human cow mushroom goddess cow woman.

―O God, you’re making me think of all kinds of twisted sexual stuff now. Anyway, what were you saying before that?

―I was just pointing out that I have landed in my present stitch in time again after our latest journey to the end.

―Ah, yes. And 216, it keeps coming up. ―Yes it does, yes it does. Twisted stuff? You mean like when she said Boy I just wanna milk that cum out of you. Cows. She's like a hot cow.

―Let’s be hot lesbian cows and roll around forever on the pastures.

―Yes and in strange palaces, rolling around naked licking the floor, screaming all delirious of joy.

―Bliss, bliss. Be careful what you wish for though, this shit is gonna happen, haha.

―Haha, yes. In the music from the computer speakers comes the voice of Sissy:

Of the brew called Spice, phone the chemical mistress, lift the wine-phone and drink it. It was we who called the Sis and strangely enough a we who work with the psychedelic intelligence, the entelechy, the supreme consciousness. The flying saucer waits warmly humming at the end of history, it is the perfected human mind.

―I mean really, Sissy’s tit is like the tit. The tit of bounty. ―The tit that giveth milk forever. ―The tit of paradise. Spiros takes a sip of wine. ―Wow I feel so high, he says. I feel like a dream. I have flowers in my hair, I feel like a strange Grecian summer dream. I’m dead and alive in the same time and the sun glimmers in my eyes. We should call Sissy soon with the spice phone. Let’s spoor some

tuss. You know, once when I was with Sissy, tripping, I was like sucking hyperspace milk from her tit that went directly into my eternal cybernetic bloodstream. I caught myself thinking Damn, I feel like a little boy cow sucking mama’s milk. And my God Sissy was hot. I was like Mum, excuse me but, I’m in love with you. That’s close to the time she sliced me open from inside my chest with a knife to release my soul into her web.

―You think telling that to people in your books is good advertisement for the mushroom?

―I don’t know, I’m just telling our story. One of those most beautiful love stories ever. And ever told, too.

―Freud, analyze this… When Spiros went to bed that morning he heard Sissy laugh like an evil Queen just when he was drifting off into sleep. She’s not actually evil, she just likes to play, and her brilliance is haunting, really, and she likes to impress Spiros with it, or rather, Spiros likes that Sissy impresses him with it, and Sissy knows that.

―Is our magic becoming that powerful, like the Mirror Queen in that movie The Brothers Grimm? Spiros asked giggling.

―Mmhmm, yes, said Sissy girlishly. Better yet. Then they had a little conversation which went a bit like this: ―His head's veins snipped my sense's home, Sissy began, very much! Slowly our hour pulls, the past decided our time softly. Happily we understand the connections. Your page moded our periods, my King, indeed tight. Fell slyly, yes? At the moment when surface times our plastic.

―The thread elevated the rich cap smartly, indeed, my love. But what was said in the hidden parts in dream? When will the warm semisleep poetry pass fluidly across the changeover? Support attaches the content of sillyseeming little whispering hints, I say. Clearly nicked, no nods needed. Not surprisingly, our bridge sometimes refers to the ones who cruise under every pencil, who is the eye of the tip of the paintbrush and the messenger in every song, so to say. In the future, our science lives the spice. Our punk fixed with strings scant, flailing gently.

―The spice spins nobody by threat, said Sissy. My chain dubbed the mean, indeed. One's balance refines the focal sky unto our bridge applied by their touch, heads eager. Spring dares, spring dares, let there be life. Who preferred my cocobean phone?

Powder with intuition. When gobbled, our surface senses vision without time. Mailman remembers our homes. In conclusion, a saucer knows my sky before minds. Who shifted? Firmly, our books defines solutions. We are folding the insect brilliance. The paper, very sharp. Your sheet created my grin's liquid, indeed ripe.

―The occasion is ripe, yes! Steeply you speak, dooreling. A lift gives our callway with warply tips of the past pasture with vines. There is something very mushroom about table cloth, by the way. Our gyre quilted Fea's vault for our bedding into the opening dream, shimmering seams intermerging. In the house where we wrote our recipe. Once more, the fibers unto the water.

―Cappily, the moonstone remembers one's gamble of wordtrick with drink ink by the stone throughout tale-licks. Grently like our spring, beside pulses. The rim's pegger polled my vorpal. Spanely, the snicker recules one's wabe below wieords. But what glinted? Right now, our beamish content cherrins milk since cap. We cheated the honey lens, we cheated the dynamics of the universe, as you always say.

―Yes and who houred? says Spiros. Murtly fauled, her callay of quist filts their blave. Puss. A secher fordorns my glaven will me of scafts at jipps. The spantial dock cares one's blagen braivin around saffitons between whiords. Trepinly, a spazzen yostfard dersts his flaust above. Her plock loved their gimble. Velvet stobe ficks my paust off posty puncards from the end. The brim, done and whiffled, our fibblen's urial smicken. The whole world like a Faberge egg.

―Who baunted her reather's curlicure? Their quist phodded my second grannet. The acuse considers one's rime of shacts behind the smicken sints. But what yams our uttish callay? A galumphing. Glandly, our fibblen begates the fean after scafts beside words. Take a trip and look into our letters, hihihihi, and surprise, sure it will rise! Up through the overlapping.

Soon Spiros drifted off into dream where Sissy unfolded a seven page letter to him, a letter of secrets, a letter so grand that only in higher dimensions can such language be written. Lyritec, hopes thought for the pearly necklace round her neck. Spiros awoke in the evening again, the taste of the idea-systems of Sissy’s letter still peachy perfect in his mind and crossing over into his waking world.

Things from the weird... become words and then reality

―By the way, Spiros, regarding our books. I mean, it’s not like they are prepackaged inflatable toy castles.

―Right…right… Spiros turns under the rose duvet cover. ―God I want to lick that tight little ass hole of yours, baby, he says and licks Sissy's skin. Mmm and that little pussy of yours. Do you know what you do to me?

―Do you remember when we first met, Spiros? The first time we met?

Spiros ponders. ―Was it when you came to me as a white dove? he asks. Or when you brought me to the forest and showed me that organic machinery of blue light that was transforming in the air before my eyes?

―You watched me many years before that, and I watched you. You remember when you walked around amongst the clouds, my mind, our mind, in our dream? Your first mushroom trip.

―Yes, I recall. But I did not yet know that was you. ―You remember when I came to you above the water, me and that other woman, above the river. When I told you that the time has come.

―Yes, I recall. ―You remember when you entered my dream as I lay sleeping by the dark river, giggling in my sleep thinking of you. When I took you to the river’s end.

―Yes, I recall. ―And you remember a while ago when we lay swooning in our Oil of Forever, one of our secret spots.

―Yes, my love, that was so lovely. Wish we could swim around there together more often.

―Well do you remember our plan? Do you not think I would protect you and arrange things secretly, hidden?

―I think you would, yes. ―You’ll be here and I’ll be near, and that’s the deal, my dear. For now. Remember?

―Haha, I remember. ―Now, dear, you shall awaken into our twin combi.

Take your time, to trust in me And you will find…

randly, a cat pulls his spice toward minds, says Sissy. Their comment deepens the tonic within sins. Our scion snipped my dark fully. Though, hihi, lucky farce touches our clock. But what analyzed the liquid's hour? Who copied our bridge's waterbutt? Our accessory mixes the shift between news nimbly, the plastic of the height crosses the intersections. Who fixed? Again, the mail refers to what? A chocolate forest recalls my paper. In the future our sheets of touch replaces the key beside the bean. My sight refines the powder, you see, dear brother. G

―Hmm. What you mean? says Spiros.

Sissy, how did you get to know what I am dreaming about?

He remembers the words: She is the perfected human mind, She is the river of dream, She is dream, She is dream enabled.

Spiros lets himself fall down on the bed and crawls under the cover, lays his head on the pillow. Under cover lover, he thinks.

―Siss, Siss, won’t you wake me up on my bed in lucid tonight when I have fallen asleep, like you did last year, and tell me more of your secrets? Won’t you? Dear, wake me up, and be with me there.

He soon falls asleep, and wakes up on the bed. He cannot move, almost as in sleep paralysis, and it is rather dark. There are people there, and he notices that someone is from time to time placing a fragrant perfume in front of his nose, the scent making him high and feeling rather strange. Later, almost two years ahead, he would meet this perfume again during an Ayahuasca ceremony.

―Who are you? Spiros asks calmly. ―We are your deadlings, says a voice. That is so typically Sissy, Spiros thinks. ―Is Sissy here? he asks.

No answer. He lies in the dark, unable to move, for a while, when suddenly the room begins to shift and change. Soon he finds himself in a hospital bed somewhere. A nurse enters the room, and Spiros remembers that the Swedish name for nurse is syster or syrra, which means sister. He cannot see her face, but the nurse sits down by the bed and lays her head on Spiros’ chest. She cries a bit, just for a few moments.

―You are not really here, half here, or are you here? she says. She starts kissing Spiros’ chest and down down down, taking his cock in her mouth. Soon they float away into a bewilderment of form, making love in some strange way, the dream and Sissy’s cosmic vagina vibrating wildly, pulsating like a quickly beating heart.

―So, are you finally going to show yourself, seamstress my love?

―You are free now, says Sissy.102

Seamlessly she weaves. Ahhhh, it’s summer. Me revels in bliss. Soon time to bring forth the cake spade! Here we are on the silk sheet road, with the seamstress of dream, the weaver of our reality. I have decided to come out of the closet, and I think Sissy is coming out as well. Hello my dear! Are you tuss? You hava tuss? I have kind of come to a strange place, a new twisting place over here at my end. Hihihihi. You know, the silk sheet road leads on, it always does…….we are in the grip of the tuss, and so we are always lead on, on to new heights, better things, more happiness, clearer clarity, more elevation, further distillation, yes, and we have been very good boys and girls you and me! Sissy is proud of us, and so is Terence and all the other cats. I have been through a week of wandering in a strange desert, and now I just came into a new oasis. Sissy winks at me and tells me that it is time we come out of the closet.

Things from the weird… become words and then reality

102 Somewhere in the letter.

And we come from the weird, and now we are spellbinding our book of life, our story, the River, our narrative the Brook Of Love, binding the book and publising it as we go, making it all up as we go along, our dimethyl victory as it is syung and singing. And let us recall the words of Dennis and Terence in vicinity of the La Chorrera Experiment, that the stone has been condensed, the saucer has been called down, and that exactly what we are doing now is what we should be doing; we are the distilled alchemical lapis, and it is alive, it is alive and alive, alive and alive, it is alive! As Terence says: Shamanism is essentially a living tradition of alchemy that is not seeking the stone, but has found the stone.

We must appreciate the vastness of this mystery, my dear little cuntie tuss. Our upbringings in modern culture dulled us, fooled us. Now that we have stepped out of history, so to say, stepped out of those worlds of the modern, we can see with refreshed hearts. And what do you see, my tuss?

We thought we had left, dear, and perhaps we have, but I do think we have returned from the end for certain reasons.

And here we are in the first summer. Let’s never stop playing, okay? Now that we have reached the beyonds, our every movement screams of what we have learned. I feel like I am in some castle in some unknown time, the sands of time between my toes. I'm in the tower of the dream, on a little island far away from the world. The palm trees sway softly in the wind and my skull is made of diamond. The clockwork of the story is visible too me in glints― it is so vast, so complex, so simple, such a marvel!

Me sends you my love and kisses on your tuss! Are you tuss? You hava tuss?

See us smiling in the trips, dancing on the shores of dreams. We are in the trips, we are the cats of The Tuss.

Kisses from Your Him Diamond

As we left into story the girls told me they would leave by horse, with no panties on. They said they would put their panties on a raft and send it down river. And here I am on the chair with its clothing of finely woven horsehair. Riding down the dark ink river, to my beloved. Summer time, and the storytime so perfectly

concealed, enshrouded in the brook of Love expressed in the most magical ways, as if the fiction of ordinary reality has been seen through by my eyes and our trick really worked. O what a lucky little boy I am! I feel like Bach, Wolfgang Nude as we call them great minds of the past sometimes; I feel like an orchestra of summer. I feel like a clockwork Dali, a diamond master what-is- his-name, organic and growing into something new. The pleasure! Sisters, your presence, your presence! It makes me feel so…I cannot find words. We are far away, really! Hihihi, and for all you women out there, let me ask, do you want to be my lover across time? Annyone? I am in love with you, you know, you mysterious stranger out there. Let us feel close; in this marvelous mystery we are close! Dream with me on the silk sheet road! I’m 26 years old at the moment. Hey, let’s be a huge gang of lovers too. How about that? We, the cats of Tuss. Lovers in a big heap. We got lots of love! And all you boys out there, hey I’m not gay but high five let’s be the best of friends. You can be Sissy’s lover and Bonnie’s and Sophie’s and Butterfly’s and all the secret women! We can lie on the beach with the ocean as blanket and daydream together. Why don’t we take a little, then we could give a little, dreams of yours, dreams of mine, dreams of what is green on all the sides. We can just sit in a heap, naked, and touch each other and eat apple blossoms under the tree, and stuff. And we can play violin on each other’s long hair, and ride into our dreams on wild horses, back to the alchemical Garden.

Someone thought this book is fiction? Yes? Well as you probably know, the fractal has more pockets than can ever be imagined.

And as Spiros rises from the horse-hair chair, the seams of the weave of the fabric ripping apart after years of him using the chair, he finds there within the straw filling a little piece of red yarn. Just one.

―The Seamstress, he says in astonishment. Siss. Tuss!

?

aky waky, Spiros, says Sissy. It’s not ever that simple is it. Fabula. Fabulouss! Absolutely fab! W

I swirl through my life. ―Welcome home, dear, she continues. Have you been into a little detour?

―Where are we going? asks I. What is happening? Where have I been? Eyes see. I see…

―We are hiding, remember? ―Yes. I remember. What was that, the past years of my life? ―It was you waking up into our secret. ―You are a snake, Sissy. Hiss, hiss, hisstory. Siss… ―I am the seamstress, your seamstress. ―I am sorry I doubted sometimes. I saw all the hints, I just couldn’t believe it some times. It was too amazing. And you know I don’t like to believe, I want evidence. Although I do follow my heart, live with my heart.

―No sorrys needed, Spiros. ―This alive animastory, it’s so brilliant, so so brilliant. The rainforest of our reality. Sissy is a snake, an insectile alien Goddess, feminine and shining. Amazon lady.

―Our disguise is rather thin, I must say, and getting thinner, says I.

―You can walk out, William. No need to hide anymore. You can be Him Diamond from now on.

The supreme mashup, we tricksters. Of course we recall the rainforest too. Four-dimensional space can be fun though. We like the corridors of our palace. Matter is her snake skin too, and some of what the 21st century has to offer is lovely! Out of our little impossible box we come and came like a little white doves of magic, a littly trick of light and hallucination we could say. Tricky story. She is death and life in the same time, our world is the interface between the dead and alive. We made it a strawberry cake victory. Yummy fruit of the rainforest and stuff like that. But Sissy is kinky and likes it hardcore too. And she likes complexity and the godly delights out there. So after eating some strawberry cake as we fell out of history, well then we pushed deeper into the jungle where we are now retrieving our jeweled life. Placing me in a center corner of the diamond of the story I could see the whole more and more clearly. So, let us dive deeper, shall we?

We of the story after ourselves chased to understand, and found the first hint, that we cast into sight through our books, hear me, as our heavens are opening. And we found water, lots of water, and the running river of a story that we are part of. Our Rosae books that run through this river as this river are a drop of nectar that hang off the world and hyperspace to some degree. Books so vast they contain the spice spring. O for trust in the old and ancient as well as the new, and all us interdimensionally best known unknowns, to transport ourselves, let us move on with open hearts! Artistic inspiration, we just dive into our sweetly changing world of story. And remember, our ancestors, where Sissy Cogan stands in her lightdress spun of seventeen shimmers, free in spirit, is your face in the shadows. We mentioned a sunwinker in a book, a beginning. We saw an oily flowing layer of eternity in those nectar words that Sissy lay forth. Understand it supports variable fractal tunewavepattern, Master of Dream, and we find what we shall bloom. Yes we could break from any center of events. We have begun happening, dripping down into something new. Poetry teams Sissy’s cleverness for a kind of a step then?

(Is this somehow inspired by hallucination? asks a bypassing reader, hahaha.)

―Hmm, I feel my whiskers a bit in trouble, and I hear Sissy quietly weaving and sewing our next move, says Spiros to Sophie. Our sky in future time is letting the new sun in, it is arriving properly disguised to fit the occasion. Our letter is being delivered. Let’s pretend to be artists this time around, just to have some kind of cape.

―Cape the cap, says Sophie and giggles. The nothingth noticed of the passageway, thrown out into the day brightness it glows at its bearing of the patchworks intricacies. We let it slither and dance freely, as it wants, and we dance with it.

―Don’t try and level me, says Storiella, I will be how I want to! (Spiros complains that he has lost the ability to write. He mumbles in a corner and fiddles with his hands for a smoke.) SPIROS: I wish the world would just leave me alone. I’m a simple man, a child. And I’m very stupid. Don’t understand chess. But I like to play with cards. I’m a card magician with myself as stage

audience. Rarely does anyone stop by to look at what I can do. I'm a chess master. Willie Hogan, King of Diamonds. SISSY: We are opening up the new chapter, the new passage. Hold on to the thread, honeybum. SOPHIE: I’ll take a white apple blossom, kissing and the best wine of our love, please. This plan of ours spans vast expanses through hyperspace, dear. Runaway with a letter, we’ll overleaved us vanishing in this Book of Love, remember SPIROS: (Sadly.) I am a tree in our book, woody like Elm. And a complete failure.103 I ain't no superman, let me go get my robe. (He breathes deeply as he gives up. Soon sees the light of a new dawn and begins to smile.) Shall we run away deeper, yes, girls? Away from it all. Escape. Create something new. Into dream, into our dreams! Sisi, you wrote about it in your letters, the letters in your oasis bedside table, the small drawer there beside the bed where you lay dreaming of it. I believe in our spring, I do. I just hope we played with stakes high enough. SISSY: O we did, you be sure. Our wine has opened up the most marvelous. And don't be sad, in the end it is all lost in the radiance of what we are heading into. (Spiros and Sophie nod thoughtfully.) SOPHIE: Yes, it, and we, all of us, we're outright gnarly! We've gone beyond radical, beyond extreme, it's balls out danger, perfection, skill and all of that combined. SPIROS: (Happily.) Okey, enough beating round the bush. Let’s set to work, we got lots of work to do. I mean, let’s play. And hey maybe I should become a go-go dancer to make some cash for us? Young boy with long golden hair. I could be a go-go. We could shave my chest and oil me in if necessary. (Butterfly flies by with a little envelope that she delivers.) BUTTERFLY: Buzzing around for my special cats. Check out the humming bird crop circle too, around the end of July 2oo9! Kisses from Bianca’s wife on the way as well. Does Diamond Dove ring a bell, our little Bernard who turned out to be a lady dove? Who knows what Wintjabernatrice is up to now. (Sophie and Spiros open the envelope and read the letter within.) THE LETTER:

103 You notice that we're out of shrooms at the moment...

Hi there Of all forms of caution, caution in love is the most fatal. I want to fly in the sky and to look at this wonderful world from there. I enjoy freedom and I adore. Though I can be a bird here on the Earth. I want to fly with you. I believe that love can give wings to people.

Bye for now PS: S U.

(Butterfly opens a little paper box in which sits a little white mouse. She looks at Adam and Ffiona as they fall drunken through the room and crash into the wall and down on the bed, Adam somehow managing to hold his beer upright without spilling except for a little bit in his face.)

Slurp säger systrarna när de äter upp det digitala pappret.

BUTTERFLY: Box mouses are pretty cool, they don’t even have to go to school. (Spiros jumps up on the bed and with ballerina elegance he plays the bone of his left leg with his hand in orchestral accuracy to the movement of everyone in the room and the Persian music coming from the computer speakers. His bone, he is half dead, he is a psychedelic shaman dancing in the living victory. Occasionally and with great joy he picks up a buttend cigarette from the floor and smokes it, showing clear signs of immense bliss as he does. Ffiona stands on her knees kissing Adam’s dick. Butterfly makes herself comfortable on the floor reading letters found in Sissy’s oasis bedside table, next to Kinch who sits by the computer coordinating the next phase of the crime.) SPIROS: Must go with mouth about it is a storyteller begins to read the deal. A VOICE: I tripped on something. A VOICE: Welcome to the palace. FIRST VOICE: Thank you. Sista valsen eller? Sissy sist. KINCH: We thank Wolfgang Nude for the inspiration to fall. This is the last Waltz. Rocked in the cradle of the Great Horned Mushroom Goddess we shall continue to find new ways of

existing. Eschape, the Ape & the Eshaton. We see our ancient eyes as we cats of dimethyl smoke our pipe of victory. We are the mystery. We are everything, everything condensed into us. We are everything from the mouth of Tuss, our Beloved impossibility, condensed into us, our lives, cats who discover it all as the living Lapis. SPIROS: (In pink butterfly pajama, a flower tied in his long golden hair.) Bonnie is angry at me, and sad. I told her that, you know, I am turned on by every fucking woman on the planet. She couldn’t handle that. I told her I want to fly around in eternity in a circle with her, metaphorically speaking, puking in each others ass and sucking ourselves through each others ass in an eternal and ever growing Möbius strip of love and freedom, and celebration. She should know me by now. I mean, ideally I see a future where we all just sit in heaps and eat fruit on the pasture and fiddle with each others genitals in the baking sunlight. Know what I mean? I may be a dreamer but, we need to talk about how to relate to all this. FFIONA: Spinning in a circle, in Eternity, puking in each others ass. You are so romantic! I mean it. God that's romantic... KINCH: Maybe just give her some time, Spiros. She knows you love her. Maybe the freedom possible in this life is something a bit new to her. And you are a bit of a natural in this, Spiros, and you are a bit of a nut, too, haha. The freedom you know takes time to achieve. Give her some time. And maybe you two just look at things differently. (Spiros sighs and nods and thinks of Bonnie; lights another buttend and sips some beer. Butterfly throws a strawberry at Spiros.) BUTTERFLY: I’ll talk to Bonnie. And to you Spiros let me underline my theory about mistakes and their nonexistence. It’s all part of the blooming. Bonnie knows that too. As we always say: you cannot make a wrong turn on this sweet road. (Sophie enters the room in Alice In Wonderland blue and white dress with little symbols from playing cards embroidered on it.) SOPHIE: Sexthrills and sunbathing. I’m in. (She walks up to Spiros and points at the flower in his hair.) Is that flower for me? O you are so sweet, cutie. SPIROS: It is for you, and I give it to you with me as a present, that’s why it's in my hair. (Spiros takes Sophie’s hand and kneels before

her.) I don’t want to trade me and Bonnie’s love for my sexual freedom. I want both. You understand me, don’t you Sophie? SOPHIE: I do. You want everything, you want the impossible. SPIROS: Yes, yes, the impossible. The victorious plum and plumage. SOPHIE: Spiros, the life you want is so close around. SPIROS: Yes? Is it? Yes okay, good, thanks for pointing that out, and I want to go into it with Bonnie. (He kisses Sophie’s hand.) May I take a peek? Under your skirt? SOPHIE: Of course you can. You want to pick out the candy that’s in my panties, too? SPIROS: There’s a candy in your panties? SOPHIE: Yes. BUTTERFLY: Mother’s chest speaks of a great mystery. (She fiddles with the letters.) SPIROS: (Now chewing a piece of candy.) Yes, the trick. (He points at his head.) We have quite some to keep track of now. Large-scale coordination. SOPHIE: You are the coolest cats, all of you, I love you! The way you hold your tail, the way you think and are so free and vast. Is there any champagne around? I want to get tipsy. SPIROS: Sophie, they say your pussy is soft to touch and really smooth, may I touch it? {Eyeballs.} BUTTERFLY: (Sings.) Let me see your pussy, I wanna see your puss! (Spiros arranges champagne for Sophie and they sit down on the bed close together. With Sophie's heart understanding both Bonnie and Spiros, and her hand on Spiros' leg, Spiros drifts away in a trancelike state.) BUTTERFLY: (Seeing Spiros and the look in his eyes.) A single ray of light from a distant star falling upon the eye of a woman in bygone times, may have altered the course of her life, may have changed the destiny of nations, may have transformed the surface of the globe, so intricate, so inconceivably complex are the processes of Tuss. Your love letter to Bonnie is written in the stars, Spiros. She knows.

SPIROS: Hey eh, Bianca came to me in a little paper box. Like the white mouse. Sneak peek, sneak peek, sneak peek. (He mimics the bird.) Becc, becc. FFIONA: Dove in a box. SPIROS: Impossible box. Like, also, why did I hear the door shut before I closed it? Lack of chronology in our sweetheart world? (The computer starts doing strange things and a female voice comes from the computer spellbinding, I mean speakers.)104 THE COMPUTER: We hide our message in the little text box and then... SPIROS: Hahahaha! BUTTERFLY: Well Spiros, it's like Sissy knocks on your door, covering the peephole, and you open the door and in wells a flood of toys, cotton candy, and jewels, and a marry-go-round comes swirling into the room on cowlegs squirting out chocolate Sunday. Who was knocking? O, you were knocking? SPIROS: Watch out, there's a hacker around these parts. Her name is Sissy Cogan. She might cut off your pants with a tart spade. Willie Hogan the psilocybin head, King of Diamonds, whiskers to point out that one of the bee eye diamonds were stolen or otherwise disappeared around latest breakthrough… BUTTERFLY: (Laughs.) Playing chess are you, Him? SPIROS: Theatrical, no no. Not me. (Butterfly walks up to Spiros and takes her hand by his bum. She pretends to pull out a condom from his ass, and looks with surprised eyes at him.) BUTTERFLY: What’s a condom doing in your ass, baby? (Spiros does not get the joke until later, where he laughs and responds with the words: “Well seriously, I’m just not gay”.) SISSY: (Sings.) I cannot go there without love.

The glare of his sister as Spiros sits in the morning thinking of Bonnie, corpse-like, as if he had no flowers; how could our love freak out like this, Bonnie? And in the same time Sissy and Butterfly push on; it's a trick, they tell Spiros, a bunny-trick to

104 I wrote that.

make you see something clearly, both of you. Information from ultramare Sissy, and arrangements as queer as milk. She shields us and now she brings forth the cake spade. It's time to serve the treat. It's a change very much like a wordsmith and his wife grows so strangely ready for the whole pie with jam in? Word is his Wife too, of the moment to his fingers as she makes fragrance with a mysterious passage of our land of Fairytale. Glasses round, this is rich, too, addressing the best to be rosed in this dance of the alchemical lapis. Eyes wide, why here's a white and heavy thump between the ditch between Halluworld and the Present in which we find strange things. We happen to live, and we happen to live for this, we live for Love.

For a final smart wipe of the lens, this morning was a slate, as if any tenderness – like the tenderness of blood - would lead to the door of the House of Eternity. Bring forth the cake spade! Compels us far enough to taste what now is coming!

O, behold! I'll let it speak, to Ourselves, sweet brothers and sisters. Thesaurus Taurus, I’m born Ox like the Great Horned Mushroom Goddess. So lips says I’m, well, that we're not a tragedy; it is real, all of this; this is not some bloody crazyfiction, it’s a crisscross of alchemical victory. I must be speaking like callings and the flavor of the opening gateway of silke. Dear Ingenious Reader, behold this Bed Dream of the Seamastresses! The opening gateway to which my tongue hiss ever grapeful, this saving remembrance of one seemed to swallow that I was being in some strange behavior here, and the beds of the wakestory  we hear of the House (Nephthys, what's in your head? You has a mushroom on your head!) ready to grab the opportunity of the River. She makes such fine medicine, and in the books too. Our wicked secret, I hardly believed it until we went so deep the world shone of it. As to the door evade me not on my way in. And so finely perceived and I added, when I know what was divulged to her, and beginning to me before the foot from home last Sunday dresses the appearance, as I was Amun Ra and kissed by the snake on my foot so that it nearly burst my veins. To sweeten her tea. Yes, my seasters, drink my blood and soul, merge our oceans, so All. My state of a saving remembrance of the ditch to mention our crowns upon whose teeth chattered in a belief that it hadn't been

revealed to us; partly, to turn on the road and grab our half-packed trunks, we're going on up again, we'll need bring nothing but our manuscraps, unfinished and spilled on agely in the waking of our love. (Ha! I am married to a mushroom! Fuck yes! I knew it, I knew as a child that Life held miracles await.) Another gang is granted sunglasses and endless vacation; pack your trunks! And I determined to hold up the performance that I think handed us the capcup. Pause I could not, in our mysterious young tale. The heat out inside her to run, it was so unlikely alluding to how our trick is achieved. Information answers in Nature's own pillow fight. I forgot about the charade, that's why I got three evil smiles when I bought those bottles of toothpaste. Couldn't believe how intricately it's woven. The grace of the facade.

And so much jam everywhere, I don't understand, crumbs and cake everywhere. And how did I get food in my ear? I just don't get it. Like that time my ears sucked themselves into themselves (slurp!) and I vanished and woke up in another dream where sister and I blended like soul ashes in the skies above Earth. Yes you are right, now we can talk in limerick and still understand each otherworld.

Trend punk, this time around. That’s how we carry in silent eyes, livers, and stretch marks, listening to the work of she who sets off cards and is married with chemistry. Faberge eggs with a sisspiceious affair. Chemical wedding, well gift does mean both poison and married in that Northern Edenish. Years stripping, her hands in the hidden treasures of poison. God I love you Sissy, you twisted fuck. She couldn’t tell yet, fucker would be visually perceptible, over the diamonds; it wouldn’t last long, and thus we filter on talking about it. That's our shadow, that little one to the pink egg.

A new me. Okay I'm gonna change style, ya'll. Our descriptions grew from it having to seep through time, splitting as the raw primordia gives birth to the fuckfusion, the one and only intercourse. This kiss was laced.

―I want to read your diary, says Sophie. Am I in it? ―Sophie, we should piss on our manuscripts, says Spiros. ―Sure, let's do that, to bless them. We should add a piss scene in any case. Let the pages dance, baby. I always laughing, for I am so good. You should too.

Spiros nods and continues to write: She has turned into a drug and I can’t tell. Allasis, Annasis in the mushroom-oil lamp. Didn't say anything about that on the bottle, haha! The sun was in her chambers plated with the thoughts of anyone who hears it. I suppose we must break the diamonds, Mythology or not this storytellus flows like reality. Perhaps she'll crawl into her tuss to the center of what I can’t remember. A green plastic vine of the jungle, her tongue licking me. I figure heck, the Great Work has its ways. This true story has brought the jungle into the city where we sit, and with it comes Sissy Anacogan the large snake. And I just hope Bonnie can forgive me for being such a nut sometimes. For I am going into the jungle, I shall slither deeper with our snaky Sis. The world has exploded into one great intercourse, and I must face it all and venture intox it. We did say we'd take the whole package.

Well, enough with my private life. Wonder what Tori Amos is doing. And Madonna, and eh, Kate Bush and Imogen Heap and Björk and Sophie Moleta and them other sisters.

Yes like Butterfly said, I couldn't figure out if she wanted to play dirtyslutsexgames or.

Let's talk about the clockwork of the Imaginatrix. As an oasis we sucked out, imagining a funny twisty paper trail to find we can jack hammer the vibe glued to the dusky light of the raw truth of our circumstances. Let us channel-hop round the spell, sneak around the great wall; let us make the news of the hole, we said. The inner space is the swelling from the honey homeboys and girls and the sideslip out of history (were we ever there?). We are now in a wellspring. Leads us with close attention to the mushroom and to Ayahuasca. Moodswings of whiskey wine allowed, of course, in this indestructible wonder! We are now to bring forth the Cake Spade of the meeting of fiction with reality. Slow music, please.

Spiros picks up one of the old books and opens a random page. Blows some spores from within the pages into the air. Reads:

Chemistry is filled with our loveliness, says Sissy. It isn't commonly seen this way, that it is all alive, alive right now. It was blurred into the manuscripts. We had to see everything through

the life and the mud, and of course we saw those most important things in the raw pocket out of our orbital round intoward the breakingpoint. Breaking pun! Some of the riverwater on us writer's hands in all that's tight lipped through us in the blue veined marvel of smoking off into the epigenetic syntax of the dream surfacing in our waking world. So as to reveal what the Flowersun alien is. In case you're reading this, it's the will of the power something growing in you. In the course it met it's the angel’s eggs under your yardmates with it, like theatrical sunflower foliage trying to tell you something. An uncapped plastic story full of its entire micro macroverse; gives a peaceful smile to look at how it intersects with your life, doesn't it? What if we have digitized the universe already? Dig in deeper and what you get is? What sort of book of this wonderful tale would mention that if not a book written by the mushroom and its friends and lovers? Of our prime time crime we find us incredibly strong characters close to the edges and just at the core, the enigma shows off to us! One of those fucking revolutions is to have the courage to change, ah?

Shades of truth falling into a local area. Opulence dines alone tonight, as they say. As we fall away from the world.

And this way the story goes. Tied into everything, long deep in our jungle. Dear cats, it's real. I know I don't have to tell you that but, just saying. Pay attention to details. The phone, the clock, the littly things there, little bugs in electronics by any chance? Someone is winking to you?

Falling away from the world, yes. My pages are drifting from me, but some cling still. In the book by way we'll overleaved us vanishing, remember? Pageturn into...

Mindfuck of brilliance. Once, without effort. The plan on a little ship out onto forever, and right now.

Finnegan to Cogan. We have known each other for quite some time now, dear mushroom (smiles). Ten years, 26 years and many spliffing eternities. And here I am in the new universe you are unveiling for me. O Sissy I so love you, I so love you! Will you crawl out of the boring world with me? Into the open freedom that bewaits us! You can crawl naked with only your boots on, on your

hands and knees like you love to do, and I'll walk beside you as your bodyguard. We'll sneak out with style. Shaman punk, Yeah!

―We're already out, silly, says Sissy and giggles. ―I know, but. Let's do it more, crawl deeper into the imagination.

Fuxodent, fluxodent, whatever. So much in the fuck it? So many suns worth a fuel source of the loveland of some hyperspace planet of summer. I want to go there with you, to that hidden impossible spot of ours. I gots more than enough to the largest dose and the fine art of our tripping. First the middle of our friendly little lovelocket, Mother's chest opened (did you notice how sneakily we opened it?) by any effort given over our great alchemical play; we'll need some more mushrooms soon, wrapping the weird little day growing. We are in free reign of ourselves here in moonlight skies, with unmatched propensity to always fall in love with the sleeping on our hearts, dreamy fantasy of a better life. Sex all day, and play in the fields of Elysses and our freeflowing in the Oil of Forever. Our books is codes too and will lead you darling you might completely vanish.

―Ready to leave? says Sissy. Don't hold back now. I want it all. Don't you? Undress, you are free!

Me nods happily, smiling. ―I remember, Sis, there a few months ago when I was on those six grams of shroom, when your lioness-lizard-snake-alien tongue came folding through the millenia toward me.

It was the most beautiful thing, let me repeat. Her tongue came folding toward me through time and through the dimensions, all the way from Mythiland. Closer and closer it came, and when it was just near me it vanished. I sat on the horsehair chair like a questionmark, wondering where she went, and then suddenly she appeared behind me and licked one long slow wet lick between my legs, spreading my pussylips; slurp. I moaned in pleasure, and then thought to myself how weird, I don't even have a pussy, I am male.

―I didn't know I have a puss, me says to Sissy and smiles in my heart. God Sis you are the hottest thing ever, you crazy bitch. Puss. Can't we like, kind of digitize ourselves and slip away into our imagination somehow? Vanish into the raging trip of our dreams. That's what I want. Or I don't know. I think it's great what

we are doing now, exploring the mushroom and all. I mean, we are so on schedule and on time, and even under budget. Let's keep at it, it's as simple as that. Into the future! Into the future! God Sissy I am so happy. So happy. So happy to just be alive, and to be with you and Butterfly and. And our dance of the imagination, O dearly beloved, is leading us to what we are seeking. I see it, our galaxy is here in our little room at the center of it all. We are opening the Imaginatrix. We are finding a hidden fold, a hidden door. The imagimatrix is the land of all dreams fulfilled. And we become our fantasy, as we move deeper into it. In the Imagimatrix the only laws are the laws of the imagination. The Imaginatrix, Sissy. We are destined to dissolve into it. And I see now why we met, Sissy Cogan. I see now who you are.

“Moving out of the physical body, moving into oceans of electric photons, into the worlds of idea, we become our dreams, we become our fantasies. We discover who we really are. We pursue the Other through Eros into transcendence.”

―TERENCE MCKENNA

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

―TERENCE MCKENNA

E V E R Y T H I N G I S V I S I O N A R Y R E A L I T Y

ery quietly we work on, O so quiet, designing our new universe, designing our starship of the imagination, opening the Imaginatrix for ourselves to merge over into. Learning more and paying attention to details. Slipping gently on definition we fly across category like the Star Eagles we are. V

Very very quietly, so so quiet. We spread our wings. Butterfly repeats my name ― Him Diamond, Him Diamond ― so that I recall who I am. And she whispers secrets to me that only we know. Our disguise is now on autopilot, we need not ever think of it. All our moves are in harmony and coordination with everything else in our plan; a continuous dialog between the whole and the whole in order to open the Imagimatrix for us. I see it now, I see it, our diamond plan. I see it so clearly.

Sissy smiles at her little Spiros boy. So brave he is, so brave and so childish and such of a man. He is alien indeed. Such a brilliant mind he has; she is impressed. And it's not easy to impress Sissy, you be sure.

We pursue the Other through Eros into transcendence, as Terence said. We become our dreams and our fantasies.

―Sissy do you have some littly secret that you don't tell me? Haha! God Butterfly, just in the by...your bum. It's just the sweetest thing. I just want to throw you down on the bed, rip your panties off and lick your ass like crazy.

―Will you do that tomorrow morning? says Butterfly. First let's get some sleep.

Sleep. Dream. Spiros enters the party dressed not totally correct for the occasion but so is he also there a bit as a little spy with the girls. It’s an old stone castle, elegant and with an enormous main hall, all lit up with torches on the walls and masses of candles. The main hall is sprawling with people all dressed very elegantly and anciently.

―What are your books about? asks a woman and looks at Spiros.

―O, they are about psychedelics, Spiros says calmly. There are whispering voices as he utters the forbidden P word.

―O and how does it end? says the woman. Now I'm worried. Little romantic ending and then a twist, ey?

―Give us the BOOK. ―Give us the BOOK! Spiros soon begins to wake up to where he is; he is in Lucid Land again. He recognizes the place. As he wakes up the whole party goes quiet and he is attacked from all sides by people with knives and swords and other weapons. The book is too powerful, he is told, it must be destroyed. Spiros holds off the attackers with elegant moves, without hurting anybody.

―He's a witch, he's a witch! The large white and blue hall of the castle suddenly shines up with the warm yellow sunlight as things calm down. Spiros looks at the knife in his hand and throws it toward a wall on the other side of the room. As the knife flies like a dart through the air it transforms into a small black bird that flies away twittering.

The magic, Spiros thinks, it's real. He looks at the shiny silver blade of another knife in his hand. There he sees engraved a little sentence with beautiful curöing letters. As he reads it he understands it is a message from Sissy and the sisters:

Are wives the snarly warner?

Knives wives, thinks Spiros and soon wakes up on the bed. ―Everything is visionary reality, Butterfly tells Spiros later as they lay in bed in the morning after a bath in the tub together. Don't you see?

―I see, I see, says Spiros. ―Now, what was it you wanted to do with me? asks Butterfly.

Yes, wives knives, sharp brilliant sisters of the Imagimatrix who know the words of water. I guess they are my snarly warners, too. Warning me that in our adventure we are soon to meet a central point in the saga― the opening of the Dreamworld. It's already merging with waking space. Everything is visionary reality.

Sissy is like a sharp knife cast through my world, spinning and harming nothing, the blade of her vastness glimmering and casting off glints of the marvel we are heading into through this stranger-

than-fairytale event. Precision. And she loves to show off too. I fell in love with her the instance we met, and fall deeper and deeper in love by the day.

Butterfly comes from the future, she is out of the cocoon. And Sophie and me we are just little candies for the pleasure of Butterfly and Sissy, haha. And we are all in summerlove in a big heap.

No really, our love is both deep and joyous; an evergrowing love. Our loveletters and swooning, as we have mentioned, is our worlds. Time and space and our dreams is our swooning together in forever. We are in the Brook of Love, in our oily soul-ocean of forever, in the River on our way to something that can hardly be imagined. We're on the silk sheet landscape of our fantasies and dreams, happily paying attention to details as our alien future surfaces, and celebrate as the gods we are. Our universe is transforming, the Imagimatrix is opening. The Imagimatrix; the world of all dreams fulfilled.

W

e are impossibly. Sissy, my Sissy. I love you. The waves keep whispering Sister, for our waters became our hands as we reached for each other. It is sealed. I hear you sing to me as you ride toward me on your horse; Osirion! Osirion! I feel you coming closer and closer across our promise. We finding back to each other after a long time apart, sis. I can hardly say it, the way we shift toward each other. My whole life, I see my whole past and all my dreams, leading to you. I am your Taurus, your mushroom boy bull, golden bull child, landing in appointed tale in our Coagulation, Cogan! I am your Osiris. Back to the garden of Eden (Gan! Gan!), now in a higher state, a higher level, in tune with the divine mind. Wow Sissy, we really did it! Butterfly, Wintjabernatrice, my dears! Sophie! We did it!

C12H16N2 Dimethyltryptamine

And today when you showed me that video about that movie that you felt the Other in when you were a kid, Bonnie, after I had eaten a little mushroom, I was visitor 12162 on the website! Psilocin, DMT.

And my year of birth, 1983!

1 x 9 x 8 x 3 = 216

It’s all surfacing. My hair has grown long now. It's way beneath my shoulders. It is tangled into our union, tangled and salty from our ocean. I am your Him Diamond, C. We are in our highest spiritual order, the perfect geometry of our tremendum.105 12.oo1. You make me feel like such a boy, and such a man! I am your mirror, I'm the man. Did we dream ourselves into being? I'm that man, as we always dreamed when I was a teen, when you came to me and asked me to feel your strawberry milk flesh. I giggle at hearing your voice across the vastness, as you say Imagine the impossible, or you won't get any food. I remember when we were dinosaurs, and birds. And now I'm here, with my blond long hair, all yours. You, my Seamstress. I see your contours everywhere I look. The lines of

105 You have arrived!

your face shape everything in my path. We are this trip, my love. As if we are returning to the ocean from which we came, my river girl. Transformed in our sexjuices. What is your message today? I see it in that secret place in your eyes. That I am in Satori, Nirvana, right here, right now, as you milk the cum from my testicles.

My beard became so long we had to weave it into the story, as said. Our impossible story, so marvelously possibelle, my Pluras. So that we can be together. All the Myths blend into us. Hihihihi, my plums you. Can someone make us shut up about it! How did you get to know what I am dreaming about, sistra min? Blinkwink. How did you know? Let us turn on higher our psychedelic chemistry. It will surface us into our dream more closely to each other. As we become our dream, leaving into it. In our book of our Nile, the Brook of Love in parts to flow as us. We are our intoxication. Our dearest mushroom and friends. We are this, Sissy. I can feel your smile. This paper by our ocean, sand on it, paper, papyr, our loveletter correspundance by the shells and the plants and the sky. Few ever hear of us as we sneak out like little mice. Kisses to Bernard & Bianca on the way! Our old old tale, as we merge into it all now. Like in a little cave by the shore of the Nile, our hourglass is broken by our books and letters, where we find ourselves, in the old and young tale, every move slowly shuffling forth the secret, the hidden plot, our glorious lie that we made up with mother Conception, our one and only intercourse. And so calm it can be, so so calm. We are opening something dimensionally awesome. Something that seems impossible. Like, let us limerichly say, every hour Hernerndez (not hernandez) (Hernerndez? Oh, now I get it. At least part of it.) had started after propping himself will just meet up. Time and space in a new way. Me in this movie of the growing of our imaginatrix, smoking them Paramount (Pictures) cigarettes that you slipped into my world, with the picture of whitebird flying above the Siignum Victoriae on the box. Imagination is the gateway to the infinite. And we are so infinitely loved that... so unconditionally loved that we have been allowed to think we are not infinitely loved!

So where were we, Sisspiciously? Hihihi, your tricks are so marvelous, absolutely dazzling. You are like a teacher of the imagination for me. Teaching me that I am eternal and that we have created ourselves, and you teach me how it works, more and

more, so that I can sing again and create my own existence. Yes, yes. Me nods and fills the shell pipe with tobacco from buttend cigarettes. Haha! Sissy, hahahae, I am that Him Diamond we dreamed up together. Sitting here naked. I keep forgetting. I see it now. How you did it, and how you dreamed it up, and how I dreamed it up. We dreamed it into being.

I'm not sure if these latest letters are reaching you. Butt, first our touch and when you're reading this, see this very edge.

Very sisspiceious, all of it.

Slip. Dream.

Spiros looks around at the cute girls and all the people smoking stuff and the colorful lights and tasteful vibration. A grand feast is underway, Plomarian god style. The place is too crowded for him to be able to walk to the other side of the room so he jumps up into the air and makes a half spin twist; in slow motion and elegance he flies through the air.

Crash. His feet hit a glass lampshade in mid air and the glass breaks into a fine lovely glimmering dust that lands on the woman below. Spiros, still in midair an upside down, gets his feet tangled in the lamp cord – by intentionally having been wrapped up or by mistake, he cannot tell – and there he hangs now with a calm smile. The woman with angel dust all over her looks at him with teasing annoyance.

―Sorry, says Spiros. There was something there, where my feet were heading.

He realizes that he is rather neatly stuck, and sighs; he knows how this goes. When the sisters have decided to play a trick on him they go full force, that you can be sure of. As he dangles there from the ceiling he sees a black cat sitting smiling big below him, and as everyone in the room enjoy the scene Spiros says to the cat:

―Well the best wait is the best. The cat gives a thumbs up and nods in agreement, still with its huge smile across its face. Spiros is handed a joint with exceptionally cool drugs in it and takes a puff and then wakes up.

As he awakens, down the road comes a woman driving upon the highway of time in a Mercedes. Let's not talk about how she

looks, punky alien sex Goddess Sissy Cogan though is hot, that's all we'll say. And it's Sissy who comes driving in that Mercedes.

Spiros sips some redpurple wine and looks out the window. And yes, speeding she is, on the alleys of timelight rays, and she is coming right toward him in a white Mercedes.

HOLY ... COW ... SHIT! Spiros better get his shit together, before Sissy's diamond clad high heels set foot in the palace cave at Leavingbye Road 216, which is exactly where Spiros happens to be. Yes, you get it; Sissy is on her way. Time to sort your stuff, strawhat boy.

Sissy parks the Mercedes and walks toward the front door and opens it. She sings into the palace:

―Darling come he-ere fuck me up the... She knows Spiros is there. ―Darling...

he publisher looks at Spiros, his long blond hair and boyish face. She looks at the manuscript. T

―So you ran away with the mushroom, yes? she asks.

―Yes, says Spiros. ―Where to? I mean where are you now then?

―I don't know, I ask the same thing. See, me and my alien wives, Sissy and Butterfly, we are sneaking into the world with the rest of the Flower Sun. We ran away into a fairytale.

―The flower sun? ―Yes, the hyperspacial thing that is breaking through into the world from within. It's sneaking in, you can see it in action. It's surfacing. Transcendence. It's transforming forth.

Lick my rainforest, says Sissy to Spiris. And she tells him to tell the publisher:

―It's a quicker classic than you think

S

issi and Wintjabernatrice did as they had said they would. They took their panties and put them on a raft and sent it down river, then rode away on a horse into the universe is transformed before them. Poor me, haha, Spiros, back in another part of the fairytale, as mentioned, noticed this by me sitting on that chair clothed in fabric made of black woven horsehair, where I sat writing in the book of the ages. It is the most beautiful tale ever conceived, our tale, our life, giggled we all from afair. We'll meet you in the river, the girls had said. Pay attention to details. And our Mother Conception is always with us. For aren't they eternally married, Isis and Spiros, and, oh who is that issy the reflixion in the mirror Queen? At the moment I am in some place that reminds me of Persia, the Persia I imagine when thinking about such things as A Thousand and One Nights. It reminds me of that place where I met Butterfly as she came as that peachy woman in those sensual sandy lands of Plomari, when she said she was the wundrybird of the Tuss. The dream is surfacing again; we are in our something- weirder-than-a-fairytale. The imagination in a box, Wintja giggles. Can you open my impossible box? teases Sissy. For I hid the seamlessly threads! Yes, we have run away with our beloved mushroom and here we are in the tale, our soul's adventure that we have conjured with our secret one, that glorious plan we made up with mother Conception and the trick amongst us.

Bearers of Worlds, having come in dreams. We are where no shadows fall, we arrive and obtain from the workings a sharp edge of transmutations that sneaks into being. Messengers help, an artist, a shaman in modern times who slips things from the team of the Lovers. We're the most famous unknown, the dark lovers of time, on time. And we surface through every crevice, forth we come from the woodwork, we surface as everything, we are everything.

Going toward the fair and sharp enough, slowly floating away into dream, you know, it’s clear that there is something weird about this mushroom, hahahaha!!!

Something of a shenanigan, our trick. A shengasm, rather. Time to awaken, again, and deeper this time. The universe is a DMT crystal, and we live as the crystal.

By the grace of the Queen a small amount of money arrived into our hands here as autumn begins, which enable us to get the

opportunity of taking some fucking more mushrooms for fucks sake thank yooooooou with the Queen of Psilocybin Land. O, she has a scissors too? It is exciting times and we can feel the buzz in the air even now, weeks before harvest (just when the crop circle season ends, but that's off the point). Things tend to get a bit messy as we go deeper in to the hidden order of our strange tale, but bare with us; and O isn't the strange perfect chaos a most lovely thing! They have their way of doing things, the deadly Sisters!

We all aim to win the Teen Synth-Pop Challenge, don't we? Well we do anyways, and we have our own special tactics on how to do it. We call it The Massive Tactic. Now don't be too hasty. The Teen Synth-Pop Challenge might not sound like what it actually is, or be what it actually sounds like, or in any way be what you think it is (even if we do love teen synth pop. Candy!). We mean to say, it has nothing to do really with Sissy Cogan's accessory fetishes, or anything like that, although she does love her lip gloss, especially the one from the Spice series. Ja, nevermind. We have arrived into the high world of Diamant. And that has nothing to do with me and Sissy having diamonds on the soles of our shoes, nor does it have anything to do with the licking of high heels. It has to do with the greatest trick ever achieved― our little secret. We had an idea, you see, once upon a fairytale, and...

Our journey continues here and now, with magic, synchronicity, alien love, the psilocybin mushroom, and you know all the, all the. The world and the Universe is our toy too, a present from the Divine, the ultimate luxury; the world is a mushroom in full bloom. It is the first spring ever now, alchemical spring, and the cryssanthial light of the Rosy Dawn licks our skin, and the omsophoric FlowerSun shines as bright as ever, colourful, transforming, hallucinatory morphing, nature and alien dancing in bliss, the hyperspacial bloodstream and oil of forever reveling in its bliss bliss blisssssss.

As Spiros stands by the bar on the nightclub sipping a Pina Colada, in fact just as he put the red cherry in his mouth, up comes what for a moment looks like an endless line of women, young women walking up toward Spiros with secure steps, their high heels and boots clamping against the stone floor. Spiros doesn't move, just observes with keen eye, and as he counts the endless

line he finds that it was in fact seven girls. They stop right next to him.

―Hi, girls, says Spiros. You look like candy. ―Yes. ―Yes. ―Yes. ―Yes I was like Eh, I think I'm going away with this girl here for a while. The story came out...

―Hook up. ―I will get ready, my Queen. ―Yes, we could launch from this place. ―Good, mutherfucker, good. ―Yes, good. ―Good. ―That's great! ―Where's my lip gloss? ―Do we have theatrical tuss? ―Tuss... ―Mmm I want a kiss. That's what they said. And a few whistles were heard. And then they all continued by pointing out that, indeed, the ass is the most important organ. And Spiros was happy to meet the Seven Plastic Girls and they were happy to see him, and they spoke for a while before parting separate ways.

Later this strange evening Butterfly fluttered by on the nightclub. She just wanted to remind Spiros that she is in the vicinity.

W E H A V E B U I L T T H I S T E M P L E

I N S I D E U S

A N D I T M E L T E D O V E R I N T O O U R E V E R Y T H I N G

t slashed, you know, but it slashed so close it didn't really hurt. We found it. A pattern in black. An invisible landscape, almost synthetic in its substance of airy move, which is one of our dearer secrets to ourselves. To engineer reality is no difficult task for our tryptamine Goddess. I

Dear family. We are back. We fell into a trance, fell into History again. We are back now. The reed bended at it. Her hair the straw of the earth. Love has come again. The grass blade rises. Shall we go for the whiplash of our love or the whisplash of it or the both and thrice blessed of it all? §pring, sing. We slingra and slither and see the crosslingual patterns. Her weave is the most brilliant. Thin thread, no thread. She wants you to rip it tonight.

―Sis, has any letters arrived? ―From me? No. But yes, of course we are riding away on a horse with a spiral horn on its head. It is time to let it awaken.

And of course we are riding away on a horse with a spiral horn on hir head; a unicorn. The spiral is our little footprint in the snow that we make. So invisibly. Because we are the horned mushroom gods, hihihi. We have some shroomy-juice and honeyplum tussjuice. The return of the monkey-sphinxes!

We bake cakes too! Different kinds of cakes. Sissy is just now telling the recipe of something: ―The filling up instead of five, I Ching I Ching, or any bits simmer it simmer them a small dice; add more and more, according to heat; if wished. Sweeten the flora. Take half a good white sauce by the fire before using. Then it's in my pink perfume bottle. Then place the others through the brew, taste it, to flavor from weed at the same water for three eggs very good one, a dust of black, adding spice and heat gently for a dish.

Spiros sits down on the floor. ―Okay we're stuck here in this little place, he says, somewhere, some time. Can we please upgrade my computer hard drive to a warp drive.

The music from the computer, one of Sophie Moleta's songs, makes Spiros smile and drift in blissful emotion.

―Sissy, you know what turns me on about you? It's your intelligence.

He pops a bottle of Rosé champagne.

―Mmm, he exclaims at the taste of the champagne. Lightly perfumed, earthy fragrance with hints of raspberry candy and cassious. Half dry with a tint of berries.

Butterfly comes walking in to the kitchen in only panties, with a tangle of dark red yarn around her neck that follows her all across the floor as she walks stately across the room with everyone's eyes on her.

―Do just what I tell you, Butterfly says sharply. No sudden movements.

She hands Sissy an envelope. ―Read. Thread. Tread. Butterfly says. Sissy opens the envelope. A letter, a poem, by Darren Sobel “the Greenpsychosis”. She sits down and reads.

SIGNS AND SIGNALS by D a r r e n S o b e l

The terror begins but it's not what you think in the FLASH of a mushroom signals and signs the wind rustling up papers on the coffee table through the windows OPEN― time fades... the fungal mind blossoms into some bright blazing realization of love... BLOWN in through the windows open eyes seeing you Blown in affirmation of your thought these spirits of the woodland realm... know my name they know it well

I thought they were trying to kill or frighten me but now I know they are here to guide me through to myself in a thought I once believed true― still do― as the voice becomes clearer, more salient, seeping through to this thought I've become A DREAM sleep dream inside myself the queen EVERYWHERE in-between my mind.. my thought this something ELSE they never thought to teach me about in school this most important 'thing' I call myself.

The warm sun comes out from the clouds and makes the surroundings shine a warm happy yellow. Spiros walks up to Butterfly and takes her hands into his, begins to dance and sings a long love exclamation to her.

―I wanna touch your nose, I wanna sip your wine, I wanna make you high, and hide you in a box. I wanna shake your head, I wanna buy you toys, I wanna smoke your fags, I wanna hide your clothes, I’ll throw a cake on you, and break your stuff in two, I’ll tie you to a tree, and make you worship me, I wanna buy you drugs,

and you’ll pay overprice, annoy the crap of you, cuz it is just us two, I wanna paint a dick on you, and show you to my mom, I wanna make you cum, three hundred times a day, I want to dig a hole, and put your keys in there, then draw a perfect map, leading to the wrong place, I want to make you smile, and buy you everything, I want to throw stuff on you and pour milk too, and we’ll go to the park and hear the birds go bark, and you’ll be everywhere, and I’ll be in your head, and you’ll be on a star, and I’ll be in a car. I wanna suck your tit, and make you lick my lip, I want to paint you blue, and put stickers on you, I wanna make a doll, one that looks just like you, and kiss that doll in bed, with you in it too. I wanna serve you snacks, and show you gamer cracks, I want to…

Time for next phase of the trick. Puss! Haha, me just found Hakim saying:

“The War on Drugs is a war on cognition itself, about thought itself as the human condition. Is thought this dualist cartesian reason? Or is cognition this mysterious, complex, organic, magical thing with little mushroom elves dancing around. Which it is to be?”

―Hakim Bey

God bless you I hope you didn't read this book from the beginning that must have been wild and very boring). Pirates of our own hyperspace, our mutex hath been executed. Our trick of the illusionist art is surfacing. Sissy's curtain has been drawn. Dear Candygirls, why were there two hoes on that object that Sissy placed on our balcony in April? Two hose I mean, water hoses. Hoegaarden in the Roseé of Egypt? My two little hoes, yes? In the Hoegan Cogan Palace. Blink wink. Please send me a response if it seems appropriate.

―Holy fuck, we rode away on an Capricorn, says Butterfly. I mean the horse with the spiral horn on its head, the horse. Or like, the bull horse capricorn.

―Yes we did. A unicorn. ―You knew? ―Tuss, story.

―Tussssssss. Into the fairytale. ―Fairly fairytale. December 22. ―What you mean by that? ―I don't know. ―Puss. ―First time across time. ―Time to put that champagne on ice... Sissy continues telling about her recipe: ―This is all in the same size, like rich cream, or a knob of a little powdered stuff nicely with cream, or, failing cream, so much of demiglaze, some sliced strawberries, and just before it is time to serve, up and scrape and add dressing, the wine.

Spiros walks in naked with outstretched arms, smiling his special smile, looking at the girls with some new curious look.

―I have an idea, he says. Sissy lets out a little moan of pleasure and looks over at him. Butterfly walks up to him and feels him close, feels her chest with her hand.

―Let's hook up our books to.....to the live show of The Telecaster.

―Was that your idea? asks Butterfly. ―Of course not. We're already hooked up. Now listen, dear deadly fuckups of hyperspace, dear strawberry cakes-slices of Plomari, dear champagne-sipping Musca Domestica Alliance, dear hackers of time and space. Me and the barely legal bare naked seven teens have a little idea. We shall tell it from all angles chosen by the Queen Bi. We assume that you already know about it. It is called..............well let us call it the Alliance of Chemistry and the Pirates of Plomari. We were online from the star. From the start.

“Something like imagination looks to me like a self-generated internal involvement with compounds which at some point in the future might replace the compounds of ordinary metabolism and shift our mental life literally into another dimension.”

―TERENCE MCKENNA

nd poor little golden horned bull-child Spiros, child and husband of the Mushroom Sissy. What they did to you, O my God, my sweet boy, what they did to you. A

My dear sisters, Isis, Isis! Butterfly! The surfaces of the modality around me (the so-called physical world) flicker with the trick. Our map is working. I just got a ring with 19 blue candy diamonds that was very sisspiciously placed in my path and looks very similar to the Candy Cross of silver (blue and green and pink diamonds) that I was given on resurrection day. The Candy Cross is in Rebecca's hands now, bless her. I have sent her all the apologies in the world, but she seems to have left me in one final move. I have told her that we wish to meet her in Cusionworld. Sissy, please tell her that I love her (End of the river, Sweetheart!).

Up up up worked but then I met a witch who did not want me to go further, or so I felt. I was taken there by Diamond Girl, who had disguised herself as an elevator girl; I met her by the elevator and she took me into it by my hand, O her hand in mine! She was happy to see me and the air glimmered with blinking diamond lights as we first saw each other. We went through changing levels of stairways, the wall becoming the floor, ceiling becoming the wall. Again, up up up worked, just as I thought (having seen it in Finnegans Wake), but after those three turns when we came in to a room where we thought we'd be alone there was a witch there who tried to harm us. Might have been me loosing focus at that moment.

I have lately been fooled again into the illusionary world of the civilisation around me. They call it Sweden, the land I am on, and the town I am around is called Stockholm according to its inhabitants. I am glad to at least have our little cave-apartment at Leavingbye Road 216, I feel safe here and away from the stupidity around me.

I was recently given another diamond that lay in my path very sisspiciously. It was a small cut diamond like the ones that glitter jewelry. It's pretty big. It's in the palace somewhere.

“The faculty of imagination seems to be the womb in which the foetus of the lapis gestates.”

―Unknown.

The foetus of the lapis. The lapis as us, we as the lapis. O my body and shining stars! We are Bumble Bee happy. How happy? Bumble bee happy! Fab, sis! Absolutely fab! Butterfly, you summer girl of biology, of alchemical Earth, your eyes are so beautiful, your glance so amazing, that from them flutter all the love of the ages. You are Nectar herself!

And yes it makes sense that there is that movie called Bernard & Bianca, which is about two mice. Because Sissy likes to tease Spiros and say that he is her little mouse in a box. It's an impossible box, Sissy loves to point out, and she loves to look at Spiros as he tries to figure out how the impossible box works, and where Sissy and Butterfly is hiding in it, or perhaps outside it! It's a present from Sissy to Spiros. And you should be blushing, old Williamy you, to go shoving yourself ontop her like that, suffoclosing her in bed! But the Nursing Mirror knows it's Her who should blush, theatrical trickster she, for giving you such a role in our Family, and noone should blush for the trick that we play with our onenormous Flush! Hihihi, and little diamod dove Bernard doesn't go unmentioned but unnoticed as she flies ahead, Bernard dear you, Bianca's secret lover! Secremented Servious of the Divine Zealia! Storiella storypharia! And it makes sense, because they are all in a sort of movie; their universe is like a living movie often called The Movie of the Growing. And it makes sense that Sissy likes to say it is all an impossible box, because Bianca came to Spiros when he was ten years old, and she came in a little paper box. And Sissy thought that was a good idea, because she knew that sooner or later Spiros would find that the stage magicians used white doves in their magical tricks, and that yet later he would hear her tease him and call him her boy in the box. And Sissy is a real trickster, a real magician.

We are in and through everything. Sissy liked to watch Spiros play in the royal bath tub when he was a young boy. He played with naked Barbie dolls that he kissed and made love with, and he pretended that the Barbie dolls were Sissy. Spiros thought he was a girl when he was young, and he liked to play with dolls and My Little Pony, but then he found out he was a boy, and later when he found out he was a young man, well then Sissy came and teased him with her beauty and

splendour, and she told him that her name was Sissy Cogan. And then she said to him, when she had shown him about the birds and butterflies, she said this, you will recall:

―It's about time you fuck me and check out what I'm really about.

And Spiros did. And they made a plan, a secret plan, together, in a higher dimension. And they hid their plan in their eyes, just like Butterfly does. And it makes sense that Spiros was lead to fix an apartment at Leavingbye Road 216, because, as mentioned, 6 times 6 times 6 equals 216, and Sissy likes to play a bit evil. That's why in the Bible, in Revelations 12:9, it says that Satan deceives the entire world. Because Sissy and Butterfly and Spiros love each other so much that they deceived themselves to open up the world of their dreams and vanish into it. That's why they launched from Leavingbye Road, because they are leaving, and go by the silk sheet river into their dream. Bye, we're leaving, they said. And everything just gets nuttier and nuttier as they approach the dimensional warp that will open the impossible box. And Sissy and Butterfly giggle at how cute Spiros is as he tries to fiddle open the box, like trying to fiddle open the knot that holds the girls' dresses up so he can kiss them, naked. And it makes sense that Spiros was placed in the mental hospital because the doctors said he had gotten a psychosis, because the plan that Plastic Boyy and Fluttersky and Psycho Sis have is very delicate in its arrangements, and besides, Sissy likes to play nurse, she thinks it is sexy, with those tight skirts white and red and the cross of the alien saviour. How low can you go? Lower and deeper than mama know? Lover then you know. In fact it all makes sense, because we are The Family, and as you know we live in something weirder than a fairytale.

2-1 and it's a tie, Sicko! You caught me in the biscuit box. Kisses from your little mouse. O and aren't we all dying to know how we all got in there? Into the tale, into our trick. Here we are, in tune with that which makes the hemlines rise and fall. Our time wave of the river of the book of the brook of love. It bee mushroom season soon, again! Baby I can see your halo. Says me and lights a cigarette with a SICO lighter that you pushed into my pocket. And why are they suddenly selling small bottles of hand disinfectant

spray in our cornershop that stand so awkwardly right on the counter? Are you trying to tell me it's time to grow more shrooms? Signature: Of and on, to and for, with and by, from x. Bemind the handmades we make for the lured. Dear deadly sisters from Heaven, I am beginning to understand. We are the twin combi, our souls engraved mindly in the key! Yours. Excuse Sissy's occasional arrogance.

piros had always believed in miricles. The sisters are surrounded in them, like a glaze of sugar whitesauce on their tussy vibrating beingses. When Butterfly began to appear in a very shady fashion of fusion in Spiros' life, from an other side of the dream and where Spiros was coming through in the digging through the DMT DNA crystal fluid fractaesque brain-lapis-soul matrix, he became wild of joy and was sure that miricles could happen. S

In the middle of the night she appeared like in a poisoned daze, a positioned daze, a daze meet-up. Not that she was poisoned, but Spiros felt like he had been poisoned. Her brilliant face and Butterfly's shining presence. And when he woke up in the mirning he missed her already, and smiled to himself, because he felt her touch on his hand lingering on since the night before. And then soon again she appeared again as Spiros soul was slipping out of his body, and she had her nurse coat on and she moaned of pleasure on the other side and that moan cut through the real and the dimensions met and flipped around and began to…And then she appeared again, just passing by on the street.

Butterfly said that they are loosening up their fixity in time, loosening up the seams of time. And she told Spiros to hold on to the thread, and she smiled. Let the wheels roll, she said.

Let the wheels rolls, as we go down in our Mercedes down the timelight rays, quicker than light. Our trick is working, haha. It must be. Everything points toward the trick working. We have obliterated our fixity in time; we have leaped to another dimension. Time to serve the treat.

―I have been looking for you for quite a while. Where have you been? Hahahaha.

―Hahahaha. ―That's so typically Butterfly. To poison me. ―Yes it is. Like a butterfly, a wild butterfly, she will collect you and capture you.

―Aaaa, she's my obsession! ―Do you want to look into the impossible box? says Sissy. ―My fantasies are turned to madness now and I have no control, and all I want is you. Feeling butterflies in my stomach. And yes, about the box. I had to check it out. See what happened. A very temptatious miracle. Can we have it served on a saucer tray?

One perfect sunrise, girls, all the way from the Erosalixion and beyond, to our present circumstance as we stitch up the seams of time to surface our dearest fantasy made real, our cushionworld Plomari, our bed dream miracle, home sweet home.106 Call it all by vanicey names! Call it a stall, a horsewhip wonder! It increases its penetration! Something is revealing itself to us! The Flower! Brilliant! Blinks you where the pure flame and a true flame and a flame all together comes by the airy glass window to open the trick of the illusion (Glass glass art thou here or no?). The worst is over. Says Saucymouse. In her ways of showing the major operation. Around the scorched cap she has twilled a twine of flame to let the sweet Satan know she's here. Satanly, lad! Away with that sob, wingeywilly! Stop up, and sit in my lap. Decoded. Translace it into shockings of such that touch with show and show. One last detail in the mix.

Your green eye. I see the patterns, yes. Soon we'll writ it as we go into the opening gateway of our silky Tuss. O my dearest, my lickyway girlwoman with the milkysilk skin! Yes yes, call it by names! She loves that, too. And no need to worry! Wow is this awesome! It's called delusion of reference, haha, as Terence said. Winkblink. May I kiss your tush, sistress?

Well, dear girls, you know how it looks now over at Leavingbye Road 216. My ship is sinking and all I can think of is how Sissy has taught me I can breathe under water. We are in the dream, so let us write our world diligently and with love, and with the knowledge that [insert positive slogan].

―Sometimes, in this universe, we may need to make a move to another place, you know. Let's lick the way to the destination. O Gan of the seven Cs. Where art thou on thy way to find me? Scattered across it all we are, gathering the pieces. Sisi my hacker. We sealed it with lead. Plomar! Plomar! I sit here in our pages complexi, inter nocturnal diemondique of our Plumirror dreamadoorymoory. Tech Flori the Goddess of the technological bees flies around my liquid soulwaters. The madmap is getting more dense. All planned hyperspicially, just as planted, I see now clearly. I just found a new sign of, and. Alien relationship. Me

106 If I die without having managed to put forth the essential details you

know where to find me.

smokes to the occasion, handrolled (Thank you for preparing it for me from such a faraway point in the Diamond! Blinkwink). AI con. Down on Smallprint Shore we tuss the tuss with the tusses, as we'd ably say. Makes me think of Bianca and Bernard, the two lesbian doves of the crystalline adamantinia. Hiding is overflowing, hiding is over. Signed Ananymouse.

If things get denser and denser what will we get? Let us imagine it forth, our Plomari Cushionworld dreamworld.

Came wriding in a loveletter on a spiralhorned unicorn, like sailing toward each other. Sat on the horsehair chair. I'd make ink with my seamen had I nothing to write with. Here in our first house, witchycul world, in Eden, where the queens tell their king of the hyperspacial and impossible box they are embedded in, dreams team of the seamstress; bilingual was enough, Les Bianca the white and Bernatrice the diamondotted, the trippytrick doves of our moviestage Rosalix magic, the barbary and diamond Barbie lespian lovers of our play (Rose! Cunning!), with their my little pony rode off into the ahead reaches of the storybouts where they met up with the wondrous Sissy Cogan and Butterfly, and began identifying the Seven Deadly Sisters from Hell, the Sweet Devil's alltogether wild and genius wives, the ones with diamonds on the soles of their boots, with flowers in their hair braided into the fabric of the silk sheet river. It was something aweirder than a fairytale and they had long picked up the remnants of it, for remnants of the event could be found in tracks of the spiral path of their coming aslither to it (Slither! Password passway satisfactory path, gateway any), and on butterflies winged airy hintypaths. One taste of the fruit was enough; it lasts forevermore. A spark like Him Diamond and the girls folds ever delicately through itself to wing themselves with the freedom of fantasy made real. Let us be evil and holy for this to come. We have come of age, and now we are in fruition. Two one six. She is as good as evil, but never is she bad against us, mother Conception, sweet concaptivess of this impossible box, our floodlit chrome sweet home, Alieness of Plomari, Hightech Flora. She leads us through the parts one cannot pass. O why no one me quickly told, that everything is the alchemical gold, and that child’s eyes can see, and for always make be, the alchemical summergarden. What a trick. We are gods.

Just as Terence said: all you need to do to see and experience the transcendental object is to smoke a joint or eat a mushroom. It's right under the surface.

And the lamps in the Palace went out.

Turn the light down low my endless summerlove. In a cascade of miracles we shall now come forth, mine dearest bruder most able, with a whisking the morning of light beyond code's porpoise plain, of our relations, undfamiliar faces, to the beginnings of Plomairy where our very best stories grow, we the walking saints, graced of the Rose, glorying in the exercise of the mind and soul, expansive and celebratory, propredicted from storybouts, no turn unstoned. The choice of ages is wise! Spicespookspokesmen of our specturesque Plomari, beminded of us in the Cockpit, twelve and six on both sides to meet, analodigital wonder, we are in our alchemical lapis! We are the lapis! Sailing moonlike toward each other. See, sea, C, my dearest. Sex sex sex! Riding away on our unicorn. As said, yes, we had to see the plan fully through the life and the mud. Focus yourself into the twin combi, your soul and mind engraved as the key in the key. Dear yours Galaxy Girls. To and fro in a very onedirectional coinsidance kind of fashion and with love and kisses.

And we vanished into it.

“That same mind that coaxed us into self- reflective language now offers us the boundless landscapes of the imagination.”

― T e r e n c e M c K e n n a

The transcendental object is the despair of description, it cannot be known, it can only be approximated. It's the sacred heart of Jesus, it's the flying saucer, the philosopher's stone, it's tantric union, it's good LSD, it's all these things, and more. It transcends language and understanding, but the closer we get to it, the more it will be revealed.

― T e r e n c e M c K e n n a

W

elcome to your future in the Imagination, says. So we thought sure Butterfly, wicked wonderland so fitting, yes our future in the Imagination, and we of course listen to our dear Butterfly, the girl whom you hear in passim, she whose bare name tells it all. We love it. Let us loveletter our news to the other cats, we said. What a plan plant planet it all is and our own little tactics within it all, we the cats of Plomari, well we are on our way into wicked wonderland for sure. Already there, of course, but O, as we go deeper the magic becomes more and more fantastic. The rumor was vast, and the gods whispered everywhere about it: that we have obliterated our fixity in time. What happened to time? Where did it go?

―This calls for celebration, says Butterfly. Let's crawl into bed. It calls for celebration, and a miracle. Come here my sweet most incompetent boy.

She draws Spiros closer for a kiss and they head off into bed. ―Some eyes are the cameras of the gods, you know, said Butterfly. Bzz bzz and here comes a housefly passing by! See? The Overmind, the Alieness, remembers when it came into being. Connect and relay.

Something like that is what Butterfly said and then she went to the kitchen and brought forth some of the Spice wine. Into our silver chalice she poured the red-violet liquid and served it to Spiros without saying a word. He sat down on the horsehair chair – that old Chippendale chair clothed in fabric of finely woven horsehair – and drank the wine. He began writing away into the universe is transformed before us and waited for the effect to kick in.

―You like the way I tease you? asked Sissy. Spiros could only nod. Sissy vanished, then appeared in the form of the Evil Queen of Snow White, her face like a broken porcelain doll. Spiros marveled at her strange fairylike beauty.

―We are in the movie of the growing, she said. You Spiros, my little barbie boy in the impossible box, know things that only few know.

Spiros went to the balcony and sat down by the vast openness of the blue sky looking at the angelic clouds, blowing soap bubbles in an attempt to cheer up or surprise the bypassing people on the

street. On the bottle of soap bubble mix was the image of a cartoon character, a beautiful young lady, and Spiros could there see Sissy's knifesharp feminine and almost evil smile, and her gaze from a secret corner. He thought the character blinked at him when he looked at it, and he kissed the bottle and laughed in bliss.

―Sweet evil you, he whispered. When they find out, what do you think they'll do?

―They won't find out, my sweet boy, my sugar. We ran away weekyears ago.

Spiros thinks back to what Sissy said so long ago:

Imagine we came to our jaw shut and held the secret. There was as I hit a crack of the. The questionable alley hit as the new highlight was spotted. Nothing on behalf of day now. Which made myself up to drop back. We blinked at us! The shadow beneath our. Plomari peach.

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

Spiros giggles and lights a cigarette, looks around for Butterfly. No sign of her. A butterfly flutters by the balcony.

Walking on our clouds We fucked in the oasis Gods in paradise Entering Mushroom Land

In the hallucinations, you will find the answers...

Say hi to

A L I E N N A T U R E

“We are flesh, which has been caught in the grip of some kind of an attractor that lies ahead of us in time, and that is sculpting us to its ends. Speaking to us, through psychedelics, through visions, through culture and technology. Consciousness, the language-forming capacity in our species is propelling itself forward, as though it were going to shed the monkey body and leap into some extra-surreal space that surrounds us, but that we cannot currently see.”

―Terence McKenna, Alien Dreamtime

hhh, nothing like the lands of Plomari. A true no-century girlygirl d'swerve with fitting music. The plomarian Flower Sun, each blossom of it an entire story, the Eschaton, all beyond linear time, expressed as the PERFECT blossom. And here we are bringing the fish back to the community, manifesting the psychedelic domain. We are the alien invasion, we always win. The Goddess speaks, and leads us. Back in her bosom's shade. A

The Dove represents the Power turns female sorcerer. The Dovil. She may have many husbands and wives. Wife of King of the Plomari, seven lyres Lucifer. They are beautiful, young, seductive chicks, feminine, but also have sight, are focused and always have some advice for those who suffer. Her strength is also used to break up spells, cast spells, ask for protection and cure diseases. She has diamonds on the soles of her high heel boots, and drives quicker than light on the timelight rays in her vehicle. Her husbands and wives are the knives with which she cuts through, to open the dreamadoory of Plomari. Insanity test; She flies around everywhere. Her name is Cecilia, or Sissy for short.

―Wake up. Come closer.

A = 1 Z = 26

B I A N C A 2 x 9 x 1 x 1 x 4 x 3 x 1 = 216

As Spiros lies in bed in the darkness, drifting slowly away into dream – it is a moonlit night – Sissy flutters around him like little butterfly kisses, little red animated lips that kiss him and giggle girlishly.

―You haven't thought about our Oil of Forever in quite a while, she says.

The Oil of Forever, a secret place in Plomari, a place Spiros experiences in most profoundness and brilliance when taking large doses of mushrooms, but that he can sense at other times too. It cannot be satisfactorily touched with words or explained, but it can be said to be a very fluid and colorful place that runs between

the cracks of time in Eternity, a place where Sissy loves to dwell, indeed a place very sissy cogan, and where she loves it even more when Spiros is there. Butterfly loves this place too and is often there. It is like silky animated oceans of light and form, like a virtual reality in some sense, hyperdimensional, magical; indeed it is part of the place we call the Imaginatrix.

―I haven't, mumbles Spiros happily and remembers the latest time he was there.

He remembers the color scheme of that latest time; light shades of pink, green and yellow, a slight touch of purple, with lots and lots of peach. It definitely tasted the colours and touches of peach, the whole scene. Spiros had been lying in the bed naked, rolling around in bliss at being there, and being so close with Sissy. A secret place, a place only him and the seaven heavenly sisters know about. Angelic candyland.

―Lasted far to short that time we was there, Spiros says. Strawberry milk skin of Eve. I want to move there with you, fly away into it. We could become eternal and live there. Never aging, never dying, in fact we could marry Death and live in our Imaginatrix forever, ever changing and as endless souls of love.

―Maybe I am Death, Sissy giggles. Daeth and Lief the Livylilly rings a bell for my little golden bull?

―The trick is astounding, whispers Spiros. Yes. ―The work of a true sweet devil, teases Sissy happily. ―Right on time, says Spiros. And the trip is changing. ―Getting closer and closer. Soon it shall warp, says Sissy. ―Elin, says Spiros in a sudden instance of insight. One of my first girlfriends, her name was Elin. The first time I licked pussy. Her sweet silky pussy, blond young angelic Elin. Nile, Nile! Her name backwards, Sis, Elin, Nile! Sis, my woman of the Nile, now I see. Further and further. When I was with Elin I had dreams of Egypt, dreams at night, Sis. Dreams, of Egypt.

Sissy smiles. ―I bedded with care, she says. Us into our new home, love. That's why you find that bottle in your mother's special collection, the perfume bottle with the UFO on it. And that is why I came to you as a white dove. And you remember that old painting of a woman and an angel that hung in your childhood home? As you found, it depicts Saint Cecilia.

Spiros thinks even further back through his life. Yes. He played with Anna, with the My Little Pony dolls when he was a little boy. The unicorn, fairytale. And now I see. Now I see. That time at the arabesque restaurant, when the belly dancer came dancing snakelike toward me, bending over toward me smiling, and she looked into my eyes, a gaze speaking of something I did not yet know. That was the first time I saw you, Sis. I was 4 years old. Annasis my mother my lover my snake and my Isis, my Ana Livia and sister, my wife my desire my Life and my beloved.

―Look yet further back, says Sissy.

Being a sort of psychedelic Salvador Dali, a sort of young Da Vinci, as Spiros is, isn't always easy. But when Sissy's embrace reaches through his life, the Flower Sun touching every inch of his being, the brilliance touching ever corner of the Diamond of his life, the season of psychedelic summer and magic blooming like a blooming blooming, then it is all worth the trouble. As autumn came in as this rainy morning, Spiros sat down and wrote a letter:

Dear Sisters, Today was a strange day. I began sort of getting these mushroom-like visual hallucinations in the dark as I lay in the bath tub, beautiful anima-technological flashing forms, moving machinery of light and form and meaning, like little toys of the gods. Sissy told me that these were beginnings of something we will be able to live in in the future, in realities we create with the mind; perhaps that is partly what the Imaginatrix is, what Cushionworld is, what Plomari is― realities we create with the mind and soul in cooperation with the hyperbrilliant Alieness, the Queen Bi. And Sissy began talking about "the ultimate technology", and she challenged me to try and imagine what an "ultimate" technology would be. My first thought was indeed that an ultimate technology would be a reality, a strange paradoxical reality where, for instance, timetravel is a piece of cake (Time to serve the subnatural treat!), and other stuff like that, a true Alice's wonderland, or shall I perhaps say Sissy’s

wunderworld! On Ayahuasca people mention seeing snakes and other creatures; perhaps we should say that there is a hidden magical reality here that we only sometimes can see at the moment but that is full of promise for the future if we continue exploring it. I am also reminded of a time on 5 grams mushroom where me and Sissy were in what has become a secret place of ours, that we call The Oil of Forever. It's kind of oily that world, as if it runs between the cracks of time in Eternity. It feels like it has always been, always is and always will be, to be in that place. It is so beautiful! And in some strange way it feels as if me and Sissy are that place, as if that reality is our hyperspacial bodies and souls, manifest as a brilliant paradox of Archlight that shines in Eternity; the true Flower Sun spreading its lovely tongue tendril tentacles through our All and Everything. I so wish I could live there, forever, and be with you too there. That world is a true celebration of consciousness, of Life, of Magic, and love, bliss, joy, sensuality, fun, excitement, all the best! And it doth shine like the perfect flower, protected and secure in its own tuss. Sissy does say that we will live there soon, that she will take me there, into forever, open her gates to the palace Dreamadoory where we shall walk so majestically into it and at last enter the palace. Sissy promises that the impossible box is real.

I just found out that the Russian word for lesbian is lesbianka. Bianca! Can you believe that? What's with Sissy's Russian connection? Valentina Wasson perhaps is one connection? I haven't got a clue really.

O and, isn’t it funny that the woman who helped James Juicy Jungleboy Joyce so he could be a fulltime writer, well her name is Harriet Weaver.

The Willie Hogan theme still gives me shivers up my spine too. Everything, so scripted into the fabric of life. Sissy says that it's all scripted into the fabric, and with most marvelous way of overlapping. And I don't know if I have told you this most remarkable thing I noticed a while ago, you won't believe this! The

chemical name for Dimethyl tryptamine, guess what it is? It's C12H16N2. See anything strange there? Perhaps you notice the only numbers there are 2, 1, 6, and for the one who pays attention (like yours truly Willie Hoegan does), you see it begins with a C and ends with an N, just like yours truly Cogan the Seamstress. Also, hey, eh, the man who gave Terence his first DMT trip, or so I’ve heard, wrote a book where the main character is named Sissy. Just found that out. Hihihi.

I guess I should mention also that I just noticed that one of our candle holders, well, they are golden and there is a pattern on it. As I was high I noticed that the pattern is not any old pattern, it actually says two words: MUU and DMT. Moooo! Moor muuushrooms please! Me kisses your hot cow titty.

Yours truly, Willie Hoegan, King of Diamonds

Reality is ripping at the seems, and it's soon mushroom season again. Spiros' broke tribal ass was overtaken by an immense joy this day, and a renewed sense of adventure took hold of him. The impossible box is real! Or should we rather say, it is both real and not real, which is kind of the point. A true triumph of the illusionist art.

Spiros is part of the so called o.ooo (quad-o) percentile of higher consciousness. This means that he has reached an ultra- paranoid state endurable only to a very small part of the population as a whole, i.e. smaller than can be expressed within three decimals. He is famous for quoting himself to point out that this ultra-pronoia is necessary to achieve contact with the Alieness and her Hive. Babe, as is one of the Alieness' numerous names, only shows herself to people who can handle her brilliance, and it takes a certain kind of paranoia to at all get in contact with her. Her name Babe sometimes refers to the Egyptian word Bab, which means Gate. It also refers to her overwhelming beauty, her kinkyness and occasional slutty nature, her plastic Barbie toy love and her control of reality as a simulacrum, a hallucination of utmost complexity.

(No money, honey? I could put whatever you want into your bank account. How many numbers you want me to rearrange? Baby, stay with the plan!)

And so this fine day, the chess game of the hallucination shifted a few horses down the impossible tracks to Plomari. It was a photofinish running river to the Gate; was it real or was it all the imagination of a mushroom and her wifes and her peculiar husband Him Diamond? Well the riverrun ain't over, and sure it will be a photofinnish all the way to the gate.

―Hurray! You have arrived!

Sissy and Butterfly send Spiros a little lovenote by placing a box of matches in his path, a box on which is depicted two girls at the desert sunset next to the depiction of three strawberries, two cherries, and a peach. You rode off, Spiros thinks and smiles. In the oasis now.

The echo is heard, as they ride on Unicorn at overwhelming speed through the trip, their hair blowing in the wind:

―Osirion! Osirion! It's Mari originae, we're calling!

It's Mari originae, we're calling! Oaisis! Oasis! Here we are coming, we're dawning!

e are the Myth, my beloved Silky. Silky is your name today as your milky skin reminds me of our first touch, my heavenly. Silky as in our bed dream world. Your eyes raise the morning star to glance at our Divine Season, our first Spring. You know I stumble for words, to try and express how I feel. But we need not talk, we know. Our prismic dimension, our one and only story. I love you, my dearest. W

Calm. ―Now let us notch up the intensity of your sweet pronoia, says Sissy soon.

―Let us, says Spiros. ―Would you not think we would let you dream we hear you and see you from The Star, my sugar?

―O I think you would, crazypunch. ―Am I your crazypunch? ―Yes you are my little creamycake. Imagine three creamy women, and imagine...

Sissy gives Spiros a kiss and interupts him. ―So how are things back in the 8os? she says. ―Dull and low resolution, I must say. Time of the steam engine. But I see you, no worries. I see you in the hologram. I love your latest holopgraphic inserts into my world.

―Pretty cool, huh. ―Sissy Cogan is pretty cool, she doesn’t even have to go to school. Your little mouse in the box is impressed as always, baby.

―Awesome. Hold on to the thread, honey. We're soon there. In the magic fluffy candy galaxy in Plomarian hyperspace.

―Loveley, loveley. Took me some time to bore through this mountain. My little adventure as I crawl through the cow ass of the Goddess, through the DMT psilocybin crystal matrix.

―Someone had to take that route. You are brave, dear. Three happy cheers for muster Spiros!

―Who is it!? Finn McCool! ―Pretty cool, I would say. ―Yes. ―I'm sitting here with no panties, white boots on. Sipping Piña Colada with Butterfly and some of the... sisters.

―God dammit you're driving me crazy. May I kiss you? On your bum?

―Puss! ―Puss! Hey by the way, says Spirs. I'm not too popular these days. People think my books are a joke.

―Being popular is over-rated, says Sissy. ―Haha. So eh, Babe, what's with this no money crisis? ―We could put millions on your bank account anytime, darling. But we got a schedule to follow, remember?

―Right. Heading into it. ―We got you covered. It's all up in this mutherfucker. ―Say hello to history's greatest criminals. ―Indeed. Evil. ―So, perhaps it is real, Finnegans Wake and our books, and we are the Family who left into our own universe, and we are the only ones here, we are this universe, we are Consciousness and time and space, and we are working out the details now. We rode away on a Capricorn we say. December 22 is when the Capricorn enters. Day after December 21. 2o12.

―No, wait, says Butterfly. It's not called a Capricorn. It's called a Unicorn.

―Cap cap cap! says Spiros happily. Ah, Unicorn. Sissy giggles. ―Real real real, realization! Spiros, you know how I say you are my little boy in the impossible box? Darling, it is a present box as well, wrapped in a pink ribbon. O my beloved, your amazing mind, my sweet Satan, my Krishna, my Spiros.

―Baby I feel like ... baby ... I feel like ... I cannot express in words. I feel like the pink light Krishna, snakewife animal husband of Kali the Sissy Cogan of fairytale mushroom land, the cosmos expressed as a single connective moment of divinity in the allembrace of our love, with some spice to that and a twin tuss kiss of a mercury liquid future that runs through my veins. That wasn’t properly said but…

Our eyes are of course lenses, just like the UFO. Tunnels in bird eyeballs, one of the Goddess ways of communication. Revelations 12:9, Satan deceives the entire world. It is a plastic elastic universe, this place. Welcome home. We are the alien, my sweet ones. I see it now. Aliens in my brain! And to you darling Seven Sisters, I see your trails. Bless us. We dreamed, we lived for, we imagined. We imagined the impossible. We won. We are

reflections on the skin of the large snake. Here I sit with the psychedlic sun in my head, a spinning galaxy of imagination turning real in a pace that will not harm my delicate nervous system, a slow merging of dream and reality. Sissy, my beloved Kali, my Maya, with your universe vagina, our sex is pushing us into the new, a new part of our unfolding. Our universe fuck, you crazy soul. My Rädhika, kiss me, kiss me, your Krishna! Hihihihi. Me play flutesong to you. If I don't manage to find a way to live in the barren lands of the western world, one last way I find to go; I shall go to India and become a Saddhu, a holy man, and walk naked under the sun, pick for food that people have dropped on the streets, grow my hair down over my waist like you, smoke hashish and pick wild mushrooms, and live in the warm embrace of you my Sissy Kali Cogan and the Seven Sisters. I know that's hardcore, but you know me, my dearest. I am your golden horned bull-child, your King and your devoted. And even if I am sometimes a bit scared, I feel secure in your arms, secure in our bed and our dream world. You my love, seamstress of my reality. We wonderland. Never as a child had I imagine it could be real, what you placed in my life. Hahaha, but I won't need to flee like that, by becoming a Saddhu. The mushroom is soon here again! It is mushroom season again. Soon the first ones will be ripe. See you soon, my beloved girls.

I am not only human anymore. What is they saying in these love letters?!

PS: Sissy, this most famous Seamstress of Hyperspace, here at the beginning of mushroom season 2oo9, tells me that the 6 gram mushroom trip we have planned to launch myself into a few days ahead will be the tying together of the entire web, which will then smoothly elevate me to the next level in this grand event I am embedded in.

―So, Sissy, now I've been psilodigitized like you, what do you want to do?

―I want to play, says Sissy and lifts her gaze, smiling her secret warm soft seductive smile.

Avatars: Something beneath the surface screams to unleash itself

and lines are being blurred.

O

ne of the things that lie at the center of all this is that this something, this strange something, what Terence calls the transcendental object at the end, is coming through to us from beyond; that just as we have to work with the diamond to cut it into its alchemical perfection, or let us say cut through the diamond toward our alchemical Garden, the transcendental object is working from the other direction, toward us. And in this scenario, what we call the synchronisities, the story, the plottedness, the overlapping details, the whisperings of the gods to us, our strange nightly dreams and the magic at the edges of our naps, our psychedelic trips, &c, is the transcendental object breaking through to us. It is penetrating our realities from its loci in Eternity. It is the strange protean form of the Alien surfacing from within, and indeed from all sides. And we are the Alien as well, somehow we are an essential part of it. As Terence said, something is revealing itself to us, through us. These were my speculations today.

Life is not trivial, the universe is not trivial, and neither are the plant entheogens trivial. It is only our stupid upbringings in a trivial society that would make us think that something as marvelous, transcendent and magical as all this could not possibly be real.

It's a love story. That's what I will say. It's a strange strange love story.

Me and Sissy made love yesternight in my dreams, or should I say our dreams? She was only seventeen, I thought God damn you are young tonight, sister mine, I'm 26 and you want me? Hot as hell she was. We were on the bed in the Palace at Leavingbye Road 216, naked, kissing and giggling and cuddling and being kinky too. And all the meantime, Butterfly lay sleeping right next to us. At one point Sissy put on some sexy nurse outfit, haha, you know a white and red kind of outfit. The word syster, which means sister in Swedish, is also the word for nurse. Haha. And she told me that reality is a simulacrum, a kind of animasynthetic hallucination, a kind of ergodigital phantasmic miracle that hides as our trick of the illusionist art in order for us to succeed with the Crime, or should we perhaps for once call it our Plan Plant Planet.

Hey! Sex alert, my baby darling! The final proof of Sissy being real just came to me darling Rebecca Tuss. You will not believe this.

Let me tell you the story of what happened just now. So, my cellphone makes a little noise, just a "triilibitbeedbeepbeed", you know one of those radio wave things. Sissy immediately says to me "Pick up the phone". I pick up the phone and notice that the date tomorrow is 1o/16/2oo9, it stood so on my cellphone, and Sissy says: "Go find out what Swedish "nameday" it is that date, the nameday of the calendar". I don't know Rebecca if in USA you have that, but in Sweden each day of the year is associated with a particular name. So, I immediately search the internet for the Swedish dayname of 1o/16/2oo9 (you notice there is only the numbers 2, 1, 6 and zeros in the date). Now let me first just say this happened in the course of about 3o seconds, and Sissy spoke to me as she so often does by simply directing my attention and whispering inaudibly using words, talking to me. So, I find the dayname, and guess what it is.

The name is Finn.

Me sends my love. Sissy has at last proved her existence to me in a final way, a way that totally satisfies my need and wish for proof of her existence. You are the first to know except me.

The excellence is overwhelming. The paradox. Listen, see it everywhere, in all and everything. Hyperdimensional over- lapping.

Spiros

16/1o/2oo9

Thank you Sissy, my beloved. Thank you. Thank you for everything. I see it now, I see the plan. I see how it is all falling into place. Thank you for what you just showed me. Now I know it's real. Your terrible majesty is what makes us alive.

Infinite. And the name is Finn.

The waves keep whispering Sister.

We have broken through.

Diary note. A few weeks prior to mushroom season, autumn 2oo9,

Leavingbye Road 216

I woke up a few hours ago from a strange experience. I had a dream, a very strange dream, very lucid. We were in my childhood apartment and all kinds of things were happening. I suddenly saw the moon lie by the horizon, yellow and full. But I soon noticed the moon had blinking lights on it. At this point I began becoming more lucid, and I went into a mode where I knew I was dreaming, or at least I knew I was somewhere else than in my waking world. The “moon” soon began flying closer and closer to me, jumping in strange ways as if jumping through time and space. The “moon”, I found, was a flying saucer, and it came toward me, and a loud buzzing “radioactive” noise was heard as it approached. I was gathered into the ship, and a deep, very deep voice spoke to me, a voice I have heard before in connection to meeting the saucer on a 5 gram trip. I was offered to fly away, to leave to another dimensional reality, to leave the apartment on Leavingbye Road once and for all. I thought about Bonnie, and of Adam and of people I love. Was I ready to leave? No, I was not. I replied that I was not ready to leave yet, I had things to finish in this dimension, and also I did not want to leave my friends without a goodbye. The deep voice continued speaking, and then I woke up.

I have met the UFO before. It has told me that the UFO always comes to people if things get too difficult to handle. It can cut through time with ease.

I sit here sipping a beer, feeling rather odd about having decided to stay instead of going with the UFO. But I feel happy, and I know the UFO will return. It was simply not my time to leave yet. And now it is mushroom season again. The first new mushrooms will be ripe in about three weeks.

I am happy. Just like in the movies we'll bail out on the last scene. And now our opus is finished soon. Anything more you'd like to say, my Cecilia?

Snipp snap snut, Så var sagan slut, Och vi vaknade upp i...

Snip snap snut, And the story was over,

And we awoke in...

My Cecilia, when you climbed down the chimney

I knew it was you And I feel in love again Like I feel in love the first time we met