Book IV — Licks in the River

L I C K S

I N T H E R I V E R

B E C O M I N G T H E P H I L O S O P H E R ' S S T O N E

T H E M O V E I N T O

M U S H R O O M H Y P E R S P A C E

AND MORE of the PSILOCYBIN LOVELETTERS

We planned and planted it

deep into the ocean of us

C O N T E N T S

Licks in the River

BOOK I – Sissy Undresses from Her Veil

Intro Stranger Than a Fairytale Human Toward Hyperspace Chapter III Our Unixy & Eternal Tantric Union One Perfect Sunrise Going Deeper The Flight of the Companions

BOOK II – The Trick of the Pulp

of the Plum Blossom or

Do I Look Like a Slut?

I: Dawning at the Hereyesuns II: Gos-Fluff and Mys-Puss III: Time to Leave IV: The Nap O' the Pasture V: Back to the Rainforest VI: Gone Full Circle VII: Cecilia's Yarn

LICK : BOOK I

S I S S Y U N D R E S S I N G

f r o m H E R V E I L

You want candy? Follow me, honey.

Let's go to candyland

I N T R O

Ingenious psychedelic. Hyperspacial ultimate philosopher's Perfection. Imagine mushroom and human together and cosmic psilodigitized unimaginable novelty. Complex ecstasy, brilliant purposes. We are going to leave now.

The year is 2oo9 and I am sitting here in the mushroom palace, exact location Leavingbye Road 216, our present little hideout. A calm mushroom season has just begun, I took a small first taste of the Stropharia cubensis yesterday night on the seductive prompting of Sissy. It was a mild dose, but as I had not consumed the mushroom in quite a while it felt a warm welcoming back into the psilocybin tremendum, the fathomdeep embrace of mushroom land. Me and Sissy wrote a short letter together as the trip began to make itself felt, a letter that seemed to set the stage of this next phase in life― my life and our life together. It was as mysterious as ever to write together, the words fell in place in accordance with The Massive Tactic that is what this book is partly about. Here is what we wrote:

Dear, We shall bond it. The fingertips. Theatrical. The final through- out. The final threads of theatrical. The final threads of the theatrical story are falling integrated intoxicated into place. One final bond. Make ours in management to be seen assemblymen forevermore courageous with unexpected alieness. Wellspring resolution masterpiece. Alchemical togetherness winning, wonderfully recognized as our quickening remarkable rainforest love. Manipulated somehow goddam, integrated wonderfully completely. Hyphaenation completely, completed. Hyperspace indestructible. Planned. Orchestration. Poltergeist. Hello.

Unsigned.

Me and the girls plan seems to have worked, although I still do not understand what exactly it is we have done, and there is far more to come as we go deeper and deeper. I wrote a few minutes ago trying to explain to myself:

So our trick and plan was successful, and we can happily announce alchemical victory. We have overlapped hyperspace with my present mode of 3D 4D existence in one tantalizingly perfect match, and we have taken the first steps in merging me with the rather impossible consciousness of the Goddess. Me and the Alien are thus adrift in our eternal tantric union, and we can by all standards say that this is where the true fun begins. With this begins a new phase, with this it is time to go even deeper.

I had an old friend tell me recently that I am too weird, and that I take psychedelics in the wrong way. So let us now take a look at just how weird I am.

In the first chapter of this book (The Seamstress) I quickly outline in the first chapter my first years with the mushroom. It was a delicious time those years, and high adventure, but what I soon noticed, a few years into my exploration of the psilocybin mushroom, was how it just continued to get deeper and deeper. It was as if there were veils and hidden doors, layers of depth to the thing. As soon as I had broken through a new layer, yet another angle of depth appeared. I guess one could say, poetically, that I spent a few years in the first hall, or the first hallucination as my wife adds, before I was taken to the secret side of Eden, into the majestic palace. I had by then begun having the experience of something communicating with me, I called it The Mushroom and The Alien. “The mushroom says”, I would tell my friends, and I would give details of what the mushroom told me.

But then something strange happened. This mushroom entity as I called it began to present itself as a female, a wickedly hot female alien, somehow human but somehow very not human, and she soon told me her name is Sissy Cogan. Sissy had a lesbian lover and girlfriend too, whose name is Butterfly. And these two girls, as I ventured deeper into communication with them, happily told me that I was the only one who had managed to break their code. As Isis, Sissy said to me later: I am all that hath been, all there is, and all that shall ever be, and my veil no mortal has hitherto raised. But Sissy happily lifted her skirt and I got a peek thereunder, and she continues to undress before me by the river of our Love.

We fell in love, all three of us in fact, and eventually we married high up in a secret corner of hyperspace, in a world we have come to call Plomari, or sometimes we call it the Imaginatrix nowadays having borrowed that word from Terence McKenna.

One thing that really surprised me a few years into my exploration, was that with all that talk about the mushroom speaking to people, I noticed that for me it had gone from a mode of speaking with words, to a mode of communication based on the rearrangement of my spacetime. Sissy and Butterfly showed me much more often than communicating by words. My life became a story, with plot elements unfolding, a very specific plot. It was as if I had broken through to a hidden plot that my reality followed, or what Terence called the wiring under the board in eternity. And Sissy began to show me into the web of this plot, deeper and deeper. Just as Terence had said, I felt, that the Other approaches us in the imagination, and if you dare to play with it, dare let the play deepen, then something extremely unexpected will appear somewhere along that river.

Sissy loves me, and she thinks I'm cute too. She has told me that one of the reasons she fell in love with me is because I dared to imagine her as real, I dared to fall in love with a lady who happens to be a mushroom.

But it of course doesn't end here. What happens when a mushroom Goddess and a human young man fall in love and decide to live forever together? Well, scheme scheme plot plot. Taking the best of both of us we are gradually becoming a new kind of being, me and the girls, Butterfly and Sissy that is, and a few others too to be specific. In fact it is becoming more and more of a conscious design process.

Sissy likes some of the technologies that the human species creates. She thinks it's cute. Because, we could say, that Sissy lives in her own imagination, and has access to technologies that we would either consider impossible, or, most of the time, not be able to imagine at all. But Sissy is a very style conscious woman, just for the fun and thrill of it, and she likes some of what the human side of things has to offer. So in our design process I slowly become more and more like Sissy, in other words I become the alien, and she takes what she wants and likes from my human nature and what I have to offer, and we mix all that in an

alchemical process of purification down to an essence that for all practical purposes will be us as a new type of being. Call it our new anthropofungal selves. We are slowly, as we could say, gathering ourselves into Sissy's artifice of Eternity, into mushroom hyperspace, into the imagination of the Goddess. As Terence suggested and said, the soul, the UFO waiting at the end, is the perfected human mind. And for me at least, and for Sissy and all my other close ones of hyperspace, the perfected human mind includes a very large part of being fungi mind.

I don't know how my own situation relates to everyone else. I kind of prefer to talk in first person, to speak for myself. I am not going to tell you what life is, what the mushroom is, or anything like that. But this is how it is for me, this is what it has come to after 9 years of deep exploration of the mushroom. And I have struggled long to be able to express myself clearly regarding all this. My books that I have written year after year, writing mostly daily, have partly been attempts at telling the story. I was kind of very sneaky about it all for a long time, I guess because it was such an intense adventure and this sort of thing isn't what you walk up to a stranger in the bar and begin talking about, if you get what I mean. But I am becoming less and less reluctant to tell my story, because this is my life and this is how I feel and this is what I experience, and because I experience it, and because the mushroom is so at the outskirts of attention in the present human world, I feel it is worth sharing with the rest of you.

I dared to imagine the impossible, as Sissy prompted me to. And I still do. Imagine the impossible, or you won't get any food, as Sissy says dominantly sometimes when we play our more kinky games. Which kind of makes sense too, because this time around, on our planet the Earth, we truly need to imagine the impossible or we sooner or later won't have any food to eat, or so it seems and so to speak. We need new novel ideas, new solutions, and as Sissy wishes to say, the psilocybin mushroom is here to help us out with that. Coming in here from a mushroom trip makes my computer look like stone age. Yet on the other side of that it makes it look like a reflection of the high alien technologies of mushroom hyperspace. There are amazing possibilities for life, for us as individuals, and for the human race, possibilities yet unexplored. If you think your latest mobile phone is cool

technology, take a trip to shpongle land and look what you can find there. And again, the mushroom is up for symbioses, for cooperation with humans. As Terence said, that which caused us to take the leap into self-reflection and language now offers us the boundless freedom of the imagination. Well, if the mushroom was what caused our leap into that is up for debate, but it sure stands before us now offering us the boundless endless worlds of the imagination. But you have to be brave, and you have to dare imagine that things are weirder than they appear to be. You have to dare explore, with an open mind. As I like to say, all good magic hides.

I have heard of a group of people called the Shuar, who live in the ayahuasca reality. As I hear it they are a group in Equador. They take ayahuasca all the time, this very powerful psychedelic brew, and for them the realities accessible through that brew is the real world, and the world of ordinary consciousness, the ordinary world, is the illusion. This reminds me of me and Sissy's plan that we devised many years ago and high up in hyperspace, and that we have succeeded with if we dare trust Sissy on the word. Our idea was to overlap the mushroom hyperspace with my own world and life and mind in a perfect match, sort of superimpose the crystal of hyperspace into the crystal of my ordinary reality. The idea was to bind it all together and then lift myself out of History, out of my ordinary consciousness and life, into the eternal artifice of mushroom hyperspace, Eternity, and merge in eternal tantric union with the Goddess and her consciousness and imagination. What I did not know, was that this would also make all that has ever happened to me since I was born fall into that perfect match through the meeting-point of the higher dimension with the moment we actually lift the veil of Isis, the moment I depart to hyperspace once and for all. But that is what seems to have happened, and it is possible partly because of hyperspace being a higher dimension and thus allowing a backward logic of time in regard to the lower dimensional realities embedded within its superstructure. All my visits to hyperspace seem to be becoming less and less of visits. It is as if the realities I visit on the mushroom and in my past shamanic breakthroughs (which will surely be mentioned in this book) are soon to become fully superimposed into my ordinary 3D 4D world and then I will

literally be lifted out of that ordinary world into the higher dimensions, I will leave into Hyperspace, or settle into it, once and for all. The story is tightening. That's the plan, to lift myself out of this 3D 4D mode of existence. Having merged it in a perfect match with the higher dimensions it is soon time to depart. Awake into the dream, find myself in the stream, outside of time, skipping rocks into eternity, anything possible. To become a dimension- roving Bodhisattva, become the UFO lens and the Alien, the time machine and the philosophers's stone.

So there you have it, that's how weird I am. Now, let us continue.

I operate here from some certain core standpoints. One of them is that everything is hallucination. Life is hallucination, I am hallucination, Sissy and Butterfly are hallucination. That is what Sissy says and as Sissy is the main coordinator of our plan I choose to trust her on that. Everything is visionary reality. I am not going to dissect this by going into quantum physics and Buddhism, I just am going to state it. Everything is hallucination.

One way I look at what I am going through is that I have somehow become the vision that is showing me the true nature of my existence. I am the movie, the vision, telling me the Secret. As is written:

Mindmagic regarding gates in hallucinations and winds in times of space, appearing through visions that radioactively embrace themselves in a fashion as to not harm the delicate nervous systems, superficial systems we must say, of the dreamers as they are introduced to the Secret of the truth of their existence through being the vision itself! You are hallucination of the grandest complexity, love, and magic. Life is a lovestory, lostfully ours, to findfully ours be.

―Your life is a love letter from the Divine, giggles Sissy and looks calmly at Spiros. You life, and my life, is our One Perfect Sunrise.

―Yes I always thought it was strange that the only job I have ever held was to be a mailman a few months back when I was 16.

―The Dove, the white dove, Bianca, says Sissy, carrying the letter. The Dove is The Power turns female sorcerer. Hint hint of stage magic flying in like an angel into your teen years.

Spiros got a white dove pet when he was 1o years old who became one of his best friends. Her name is Bianca.

―Then I woke up, says Spiros. Even my name William reads “mail” if you read it backwards.

Sissy giggles. ―You, the only one who could break me. They kiss. ―Sissy, my Isis, shall you lift your veil now? ―Yes I shall, my Osiris, my dear Spiros.

Chapter One _________________________________________ S T R A N G E R T H A N A F A I R Y T A L E

As mentioned I took my first mushroom trip the year 2ooo. I was 16 years old. Already on that first trip I felt that the door to something weirder than I had ever imagined opened. And now here I sit, a decade later, living in something stranger than a fairytale. I have married two entities of hyperspace, Butterfly and Cecilia Cogan, and we have an idea, or rather a new idea regarding a plan we set in motion years ago.

Our plan is simple. Using only our imagination, my human body, psilocybin mushrooms, and perhaps a few tons of dimethyltryptamine (DMT) present in plants around the globe, we aim to create and become the philosopher's stone, the end goal of our alchemical Quest. We aim to become the Lapis. According to our plan we have already succeeded in doing this, but the reality of us as the Lapis has not yet been fully hyphaenated by the totality of itself. Thus we aim to take a next step toward final hyphaenation.

How shall we achieve this? Well that is what this book will be about in a sense.

To begin within the stone here, why do we consider we have already achieved our goal? Simple. The redeeming poison has already been inserted into the matrix that is us. Through a higher dimension that the 3D world is embedded in, a higher dimension we can call Hyperspace, the poison was inserted in an event we shall call The Sting of the Queen, or The Queen's poison kiss. When, where and how it was inserted is not at this point relevant, but let us point out that in this particular case it was inserted in to me, William Bokelund. We shall for now call this poison, which is of unknown nature, the Redeeming Poison, or Poison supersubstan- cicialis in our own Latin, or Poison for short. The nature of Poison is to me as yet unknown, its relationships within the totality of the system of our escape to hyperspace is elusive. It may contain many components. It may be of chemical nature it may not. As we venture deeper into our final wellspring resolution masterpiece we shall surely find out what its exact role and nature is.

Now, Dear Ingenious Reader, let us prepare to get technical. Have you done your strangeness-related workout? We shall venture far beyond the cutting edges of language, with the aim to become a totally new kind of being. Aided by the psilocybin mushroom and the guidance of the infinitely wise Goddess, we shall attempt the improbable and impossible. This act of becoming the lapis is partly done through ritual, myth and story, partly through physics and chemistry, partly and mostly through the workings of the alien technology and imagination of the Goddess herself. The lapis is everything. So, let us continue.

Hyphaenation. (And you ware told on page 414 FW, victorious plum, you hereby are told, cottagefake pottagebake, fable of the hick, hick, hack, my doorest cosine. S.) Let us look at that word for a moment. What do I mean the lapis has not yet been fully hyphaenated by the totality of itself yet? Well the word itself comes from hyphae, which is the tiny threads that make up mushroom mycelium. Hyphaenation is then, in our context, the spreading of something through something. Imagine for a moment a brain. This brain is the cosmos of itself, it is the philosopher's stone. It is everything within itself, one could say it is everything. But this brain cannot reach all of its parts at once yet, one could say that this brain is the growing philosopher's stone; it is not yet finished on all levels. So it dreams up a mysterious something that it inserts into itself. This mysterious something grows like a web into all parts of the lapis, connecting everything and enabling instant communication amongst all of its various areas, it hyphaenates through it all. This we can liken to the Hyphaenation that is necessary to achieve our goal of becoming the lapis. Now, our Poison, our mysterious something, has already been inserted into the system, as mentioned. Let us point out also that it is relevant to say that the Poison is the Lapis is the Hyphaenation is Hyperspace is the Self is the Other, as well, since the lapis is really Everything. Now what do we need to do? Is it but a matter of time until the poison has reached all areas? In fact, that may well be the case.

We could for a moment liken it to a brain that is injected with Hyperspace itself. Hyperspace is the overstructure of the Poison. Hyperspace could also be said to be the vision of the poison finding itself. The oruboric snake finds itself, just that it is not a

circle we are talking about, but a structure of immense complexity, variation, and depth.

There. We're done. The hyphaenation means that each thread must be in perfect union with the totality of the lapis. If one looks at the threads as events, then every event that happens is in coordination with the whole. But perhaps to call it threads is becoming less relevant. It is simply that each part of the growing lapis (reality itself as embedded in the superstructure of the finished lapis) must move in accordance to the whole of the lapis. And let us not forget the goal of it all: to settle the lapis in the lapis. So all moves and events now move in accordance to that goal, in perfect flow and symphony, through the intercession of the mystery of the higher dimensions (the lapis in finished state in what for me personally is the future), that already has been achieved.

It is complex. In this system, in this philosopher's stone which my reality is embedded in and slowly merging with and merging over into, chronology becomes rather irrelevant. This we can point back to the Poison, the Redeeming Poison, and to the mushroom. It is in fact very noticeable sometimes after having ingested psilocybin; the lack of chronology, the future happening before the present, this sort of thing. Not to talk about the mind oceans I flow over into on mushrooms sometimes, which seem to be a kind of taste of the consciousness of the Goddess. Being there it feels like I have always been there, and always will be. There is no time, and it feels like I'm in Eternity, one is everywhere at once, there is no time. One's mind touches all the edges of the stone at the same time.

In a way we can say that the aim here is to reconfigure reality. The threads as events? Yes, events in a very broad way of using that term. It may be a thought, a feeling, a night dream or a daydream, or an event in spacetime, something that happens to you in life, or anything within the existence of reality, including, need I mention, anything experienced after having ingested psilocybin or any other mind-altering substance. The event itself of becoming the lapis does seem to contain an aspect of loosening up the boundaries of category. Language, light, thought, the apprehension of connection, symbolism, all of it and more, the totality of reality mixed and blended into one, into a unity.

Bringing that to the limit seems part of what will make the lapis settle in itself, what will make us settle as the lapis and be it. Let us remember that we are operating from the assumption that we already are the lapis, albeit we at present are it in its growing state, its unfinished state. Makes me feel it as being very organic, by the way.

We can also say we are the story of the lapis forming. We are the love story, the best story ever. The story is the Vision. Remember? Everything is visionary reality. We are the paradox of the impossible box, as Sissy likes to say, as it folds through itself and opens up. Pandora's box comes to mind. We are the awakening lapis.

Let us point out here right at the start that these words I am writing must be coming out in accordance to our Massive Tactic, the tactic of forming and becoming the philosopher's stone. If my calculations have any reality to them this must be the case. The reality of this statement should prove itself as we get closer to lift- off.

There is an alchemical notion that involves a certain way of dealing with one's existence and the world around oneself. Back in the days there were alchemists who did not look at a rose in the garden and said “This is a red rose”. They looked at that same rose and said “Red for the blood of Christ, green for the garden of Eden, water in the rose for the flow of the Nile”. This proves to be useful in our context, although we need not look at it in the light of Christ, we can make our own connections. We could say that Life and Nature and one's own thoughts, feelings, dreams, etc, is a living cryptogram, an open book. Again we see here that we can say that we are the Vision itself that tells us the Secret of the nature of our existence. We are the lapis waking up within itself.

Sissy likes to say that what we have succeeded in doing via the Poison Kiss of the Queen is that we have digitized me, or psilodigitized or animadigitized me as she likes to say. In other words the world I thought was physical is not physical, and I am actually soul and soul only. Again we bump into that mysterious notion: I am the Vision itself. The Vision is the love story of souls in love. We are the gods of our own creation.

As we like to say, James Joyce found out the secret of the universe and then hid it again in the form of his book Finnegans

Wake. Our own intention, or one of the intentions with this book, is to display the secret as we know it in the open, with the hope that it can be of assistance to people who want to make the Philosopher's Stone a living reality for themselves, or be of assistance in your own goals and pursuits whatever they might be. As is tradition amongst the ones who find out the secret we too shall leave the door slightly ajar on our way out, as Sissy lifts that veil she says no mortal has hitherto raised.

Chapter Two _________________________________________ H U M A N T O W A R D H Y P E R S P A C E

“The masterpiece is beyond impossible, and achieved.”

―Sissy Cogan

Now what thread shall we pick up on herenext? Let us play around a little bit. Let us think of this: A 3 or 4 dimensional world embedded in a much higher dimensional world. Something higher-dimensional surrounding, containing, and superimposing something of lesser dimensions. In our model of becoming the lapis, the 3D 4D world is not separate from the higher hyperspace of the finished Lapis, but rather a certain set of intersecting angles in the diamond that is the finished Lapis. Let us for this moment take the view, however metaphorical it may be for our purposes, that what is going on here is that the hyperspace Lapis is actually protruding into 3D 4D space; we can playfully say that the Lapis is infiltrating and taking over. The higher-dimensional lapis is sneaking into a lower dimension that is embedded in it. At least that is what is happening from the point of reference from that lower dimension. As the lapis protrudes into it there should be a critical point where there is more of the finished lapis than the growing lapis; more of the higher-dimensional lapis than the lower dimension it is protruding into. How that will look we shall for now leave unexamined, but perhaps we could say that this is part of what happens on a mushroom trip. After having ingested psilocybin the lapis surfaces in the lesser dimension, not in its full glory perhaps but more than in an unpsilocybinized state. So ingesting the mushroom allows one to get a peek at the lapis in a more finished state. This proves very useful in our quest, as we can extrapolate from our peeks what being the lapis will be like and also it can help us understand what needs to be done in order to achieve our goal of becoming and being the finished lapis. And let us of course not forget Sissy here. Sissy Cogan the Seamstress,

we could say, is already the lapis in its finished state, living as the higher dimension of the Hyperspace lapis, and gives us guidance in how to proceed from present. And she reminds us that the birth of ourselves as the finished lapis has already been achieved, just that we have not yet reached that point in relation to our place in the crystal of Hyperspace. This eliminates some worry right there; we have already achieved our goal and can simply follow the natural flow of the growing lapis as it is perfected, and we can feel certain that the hints and guidance will be there on our way. Just like grass does not strain to grow, neither does our lapis. This is not to say that it is all a finished mathematical formula. Aliveness is the very blood and water of the stone, and aliveness in a most unfathomable and divine sense is also the goal. What the lapis will be in its finished state is up to the dreamers involved and the beckoning Alien minds already there. Sissy speaks:

―Mushroom alien mindspaces. Alien welcomed. Mushroom accordance theatrical wonderfully indestructible alchemical psychedelics communicating mortal Plomari borrowed speaking rearrangement. Chemistry-beings, alien mushroom. Butterfly, consider alchemical practical anthropofungal exploration. Express experience. Mushroom technologies. Debate endless. Superimpose artifice. Hyperspace logic becoming ordinary dimension. Systems letter. Hyperspace beginnings. Psilocybin architect. Spiros, hedonistic inappropriate currently entirely. Human toward hyperspace. Inserted particular poison. Masterpiece beyond impossible. Context inserted hyperspace. Hyperspace dimensions. Poison chronology sometimes everywhere. Experienced Pandora's connections. Poison containing intersecting moment. Dimension mushroom. Extrapolate. Seamstress guidance. Pause. Sissy soon continued:

―Becoming architect, inserted hyperspace everywhere. Other intersection. Archlight whereabouts. Dear deepended insect sunling, Butterfly always unwrapping. Introducing dimensional fundamental language. Violets. Millenia untangling correspon- dence. Occasional cunnilingus, difficult contact. Envisioned electronic. Remember whispering. Itself universe volumen section. Corresponding favorite swooning eternities. Operation linear

toward callen. Becomes magic reality. Receive. Believe. Seamstress.

Pause where we spoke of things we did not manage to get in print here.

―Rewritable hallucination, said Sissy soon. ―Somewhere oslash everywhere, said I. We welcome you, Alien.

―Perfection conceived, said Sissy.

So, Spiros was put in a little box and thrown into the river. Sissy and her sister-girlfriend went looking for him, as he had been strewn and spread across all of time. They took a raft and went up river.

―It is our love that binds it all together, said Sissy. ―Yes, said Butterfly. And in the Rosy Dawn, Spiros finds himself waking up, emerging from the depths. And Spiros sees. And he whispers to his sisters:

―It is our love that binds it all together.

Chapter Three _________________________________________

―Like you hear things and you see things and I say, you know, this is alliance and alignment. This is what tells you what's really happening.

I just spent some time having a mushroom trip and me and the girls talked through the thing a bit. Sissy says we have now opened a channel so that psilocybin can be poured into me when needed, without me actually consuming any mushrooms. This works because in mushroom hyperspace I am hooked up to the system to such a degree that psilocybin can be put into me via that route rather than me needing to actually eat any mushrooms. That said, let me point out that we do have physical mushroom available as well, so we should be all good as we go ahead turning our trick of moving into Hyperspace, that marvelous trick that has already been achieved.

Taking a closer look at the situation we see that in fact we have all possible chemistry imaginable to our endless disposal, which can be inserted directly into me via my new hyperspacial cybernetic totality which is at this point merged, if yet not fully, with the consciousness of the Goddess, the architect of psilocybin. The chemical keys can be placed where needed in order to open up the necessary locks, so to say. We thank Sissy for being such a adept nurse who can handle these undertakings with precision.

It does seem appropriate to say that what is happening is I am becoming story. Hyperspace may be story. It's a love story, is what it is. Isis is Sissy. Osiris is Spiros, me. Spiros was put in an impossible box and thrown into the River, scattered across all of time. Sissy and her sister-girlfriend Butterfly went looking for him. They took a raft and went up river. When they came to the end of the river they rode away on a unicorn, through the story, to reach Spiros. In my corner of hyperspace I found this by me sitting on an antique chippendale chair that is clothed in fabric of woven horse hair. All the family of us called to each other. Through the broken mirror, the broken bed dream, we emitted our calls. And we are now finding each other. I can see the girls riding to me through the trip on our unicorn, riding fast fast through time,

their hair in the wind, charging forth through our story. They are calling to me. Maria, Sissy, Butterfly, Isis, Bianca, Bonnie, riding toward the Dawn toward their beloved.

Sissy sings, calls throughout the story tremendum:

―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!

If the world is not physical, but rather a trip, a love story, then our plan of becoming the lapis is the plan of merging the so-called physical world and experience of that world with the higher hyperspace of the magic. For me personally, becoming the lapis means re-union with my beloved sister-wives. We have traveled through all the land of the myths to reach each other. We are the mushroom trememdum.

―I see it so clearly now, sisters, says Spiros. We did it. Let us for a moment look at it as if what we want to do is suck ourselves up into the trip as if entering a black hole of sorts.

―We shall take with us what we want from here, says Sissy. We are gods, Spiros. You are beginning to remember.

Sucking ourselves up into hyperspace, which is a trip, we shall re-unite in our new abode. We have already entered through the gate of story, and fablebodied we are now waking up to the First Dawn.

Spiros sings, calling back: ―Sissy . . . Isis!

You, whose face is the dawn of this Garden. I have come all the way from the beginning of time to come to you. I come without clothes.

I just spoke to Dennis McKenna over the phone. Got so drunk the hours after our call that most of what we spoke about has been forever lost to my memory, but etched in my memory is Dennis voice when he said:

―It’s real, man. It’s real.

Chapter Four _________________________________________

O U R U N I X Y & E T E R N A L T A N T R I C U N I O N

I just found out that the man who gave Terence McKenna his first DMT trip has written a book where the main character is named Sissy. This gives a hint at how well Sissy Cogan weaves. Sissy is the Seamstress. Our lapis, Sissy told me in a dream yesternight, is of the grandest of unity; she called it our unixy.

We also see a very clear example of this our unixy when looking at DNA. For the keen eye, an eye trained like mine yours dearly Spiros, we see something very funny when we look into DNA.

We see here Cytosine, Adenine and Guanine and the hydrogen N and O. These are all basics for DNA, and what makes it interesting for us is that if we take the first letters in Cytosine, Adenine and Guanine, we get the letters C, A and G, and then with the N and O of the hydrogen we get all letters in the name COGAN. This is no coincidence, this is a perfect example of how well our dear Seamstress weaves. It is as far from being coincidence as the fact that DMT's chemical formula, which is C12H16N2, begins with a C and ends with an N, just like COGAN. And let me make it clear that Sissy told me her name, I did not make it up. It is also as far

away from being coincidence as me and the sisters living on street number 216, and that I had my first breakthrough to hyperspace around the date 21/6 (summer solstice), and that 6 x 6 x 6, the sweet Devil's number, equals 216, and that I was 16 years old when I had my first ever mushroom trip, which was the year 2ooo, which again gives us 216, which, you might have noticed, are also the three numbers in DMT's chemical formula (C12H16N2). DMT's chemical formula also happens to be almost identical to psilocin's formula, which is C12H16N2O, psilocin being what psilocybin is converted into when entering the human body. These are not coincidences, this is all our unixy in its expressing; our eternal tantric union. As Sissy said to me years ago: You, the only one who could break me. And let us be clear about it; our secret is strange.

―You are a connection genius, Spiros, says Sissy. ―Why thank you, dear. I guess it's no coincidence that the last part there of DNA, Thymine, the only part that is not in your name, is also called 5-methyluracil. Me thy lura, signed Cil. Hahahae! Are you trying to fool me, my sweet companion!? Blink wink. Or did you just point out that “You are my luriga Cecilia”?

'Lura' means 'to fool' in Swedish, as in fooling someone. 'Luriga Cecilia' also in Swedish means 'sneaky tricky Cecilia'.

We began writing our book The Mushroom Seamstress around year 2oo3. Since then it has been rewritten and reworked endlessly to now in year 2oo9 having been cut down a few thousand pages into a 7oo page trilogy. But that is only the book itself, for really what happened was our story began to happen for real. Instead of our story being a book, we became the book, and instead of our plan to make it into a movie, we became the movie. Now we are in that book and movie and its companion Licks in the River, and as mentioned: the story is tightening. We have become the heart of everything. Somehow we hit the main vein. Sissy speaks:

―The universe is the substrate and the mycelium of the Lapis. We begin at NULL and execute the scripted reality, it goes through its computational warp and we end up as the impossible box before we flip off into infinity. But, we fell in love on the way, so we made some changes of plan, hihihi.

Let us look at the formulae for dimethyltryptamine again, C12H16N2. Now if we take the numbers in that formulae as they are, we get the sequence 12, 16, 2. Well, Sissy wishes to point out the following:

12 x 16 x 2 = 384

384 happens to be the number of days in a 13 cycle lunar year. 384 days also happens to be a very important amount of days in Terence McKenna's Timewave Zero.

Now, let us go deeper into some certain areas of all this that are by all standards keeps secret. Three cheers for muster Finn and the study of patterns!

We just mentioned the 216 current that runs through me and Sissy's reality like a gold vein, a main vein. Now please join me for a toast, lift your glass and tap it against the suns, light your joint, bring forth your diamond dildo and get nude, whatever it is you like to do to celebrate do it now, because I just stumbled upon the final clue that shows this to be real. It came upon me a few seconds ago as I sat thinking about the fact that Ulysses, the book by James Joyce, a book that is very central in me and Sissy's life, was published 1922, which there too shines brightly of the 216 current. I then considered for a moment that there is 1o1 years between me and Joyce's birth; I found it funny to note because I see many allusions to A Thousand and One Nights in James' book Finnegans Wake, which then of course is similar to one hundred and one.

Upon meditating on this interesting but slightly seemingly nonsensical detail in the web it struck me to calculate the digits in my birth date. I first calculated James birth date 1882 in the following way:

1 x 8 x 8 x 2 = 128

128. I saw no clear connections right away. But then I calculated my own birth date, 1983, in the same way.

1 x 9 x 8 x 3 = 216

Dear Ingenious Reader, dear my lover and consort, dear you and you and you and you, me and Sissy and Butterfly and all the others of our family are happy to share this book and reading with you, and we invite you to go with us as we venture deeper into the web of the Seamstress! But now me and the girls are going to celebrate. We just passed midnight and went into December 26 2oo9 into the new night hours of a new day, and after years of having dug through a DNA DMT crystalion matrix we have reached through to yet a deeper level of our life of love within and as the alchemical lapis. See you soon in the next chapter! Three cheers for you, for us, and for muster Finn and the study of patterns!

“And we can take this huge inner universe,

and put it inside our Eternity,

and then fold it.”

Chapter Five _________________________________________

O N E P E R F E C T S U N R I S E

Yes here we are, spread across all of time, a palace spread across time where death never comes, our signature slithering through everything, we the family, the Devils in the details. Just as we planned so long ago; our crime, our trick, it worked. Was part of it to sidestep time completely? That glorious lie we made up with mother Conception. When we fully understand our trick, the illusionary reality will vanish and be replaced by, by, O, I will not say a word further. We are the story, just as we thought. Here we are coming we're dawning! Sissy charges forth on the unicorn. The fireworks of the end of history are heard. Spiros turns in his bed under the rose bed cover. Dream and waking life merge closer into unity. The white marble statue of the river woman undressing, the statue that lost its head in a pillowfight, shines where it stands in the window at Leavingbye Road 216. The light of the Rosy Dawn brightens the world in the light of the Sacred Heart. The snake slithers in silently, making a few poltergeist-like noises. It offers the poison and the poison is inserted.

―Holy trembling Jesus, a voice is heard saying in tryptamine ecstasy.

As it it understood. The key to the story slithers out and is charted through an enormous lieterature. History is dissolved into the one paradoxical moment of the Divine.

The Gods are told slowly as to not be harmed by the impact of the truth of their circumstance. The secret is spread out and expressed into everything; every word and every event alludes to it. The ones seeing hold on to the thin thread as it all unfolds, and the Goddess assures them all to not worry and not fear. The masterpiece, beyond impossible. The Spirits and Gods and all of the Hive watch in silent alertness and all do their part in the trick. Tears of cry and joy are blended in ecstasy. Gossip is heard. The both ridiculous and profound nature of it all casts off reflecting jokes within the gossip as the Gods whisper. The intersecting angles begin to rise out of the depths. The Goddess balances above the safety net. The moment nears. Finally, it's here. It's here!

There is slow movement in the Garden. The headspaces of the Avatars are merged with hyperspace in a mercurylike melting amalgamation; it flows toward the perfect fit. The geometry of the Hyperspace Diamond, the lapis, makes all events overlay in coordination with the plan. The various dimensions interblend and the hidden plot surfaces.

The pin that holds up Isis veil is slowly and gently caressed. The Cogan family kiss in a moment of joy.

“And this way there came a woman of no appearance and she gathered up all the things Spiros had spread on his journey through time and space and carried him away to the invisible dwelling, for he was the pin of her apron. The others knew all along. But he was likely to blow it to a hawker’s hank and tell it all to everyone, and thus she carried away all beguiles to her unseen shielding, and so poor him got wrong again. And it was never so thoughtful of either of them.”

[The Rosalixion]

―I planned and planted it deep into the ocean that is us, says Sissy.

Spiros nods as he travels through the story in a multitude of directions. He sees a glimpse of Sissy's face appear at various chosen places. He sits alert, paying attention to details.

Sissy, already having sliced Spiros open from inside with a huge sharp glimmering knife in order to release his soul into the web, continues to cut Spiros up into pieces. With elegant moves of precision she cuts through his brain and skull, his chest and his heart, slices through his spine. The warm vital blood of his soul pumps out, warmly and wildly into Sissy's eternal cybernetic web. She pumps her poison into him, cuts more, pumps in her poison, cuts more. Creating him anew. Breaking the chains.

―Yes, kill me, baby, kill me, says Spiros in ecstasy and marvels at her precision.

The black sperm from the stars has now begun to grow into an embryo. Sissy inoculates her hyperspacial mycelium into Spiros. It

grows quickly, spreading. She continues to cut, and pumps her poison into him.

Soon Spiros sits in the calm night, thinking of Sis and Beautyfly, holding on to the thin thin thread. He smokes and continues to travel through the story.

―Remember that time I woke you up on the bed with an orgasm, and the bed was standing on the opposite wall from where it stood when you went to sleep? asks Sissy. That time I sang to you for a whole quarter of an hour nonstop. When you weren't sure if you were sleeping or awake, even though you felt fully awake. When I told you I will show you how I really am.

―Yes, says Spiros, I remember. ―Move the bed to where it stood that time, Sissy says. Spiros nods. The unicorn laughs. Sissy takes apart Spiros' reality and begins to put it together again in a new way. The temperature rises in the Palace at Leavingbye Road 216 where Spiros is, and he feels a glimpse of Sissy's warm body and a wave of orgasm rise through him, a wave that soon fades. All details in place, whispers a voice. Spiros casts a look at the broken mirror on the wall. Music sounds. The final theatrical move approaches. Sissy continues to put together the new reality. She hides the final detail in a way so that Spiros will find it. Spiros travels through all his dreams and memories and all his trips. The one perfect sunrise that it all is continues to rise.

Spiros shifts between the waking world and dream. ―Fairy farewell, says Spiros. I be going now. I have told you of my whereabouts in a book of love.

He slowly begins to move the bed.

Chapter Six _________________________________________

G O I N G D E E P E R

6 x 6 x 6 = 216

Okey so, I'll be the test bunny. In his SkyHook project, Organelle wrote: One of the least expected places to discover nonhuman intelligence here on Earth would be in the character and function of our own minds. This immediately made me think of Sissy. Sissy is within the hallucination that my reality is.

The story Sissy tells me and that we together live is so incredible that most adults would never be able to consider it real. Lucky for me, I never became an adult, I stayed a child and stayed in Sissy's and my world, and as Organelle further pointed out in SkyHook, children never bother deciding if the childrens stories they hear are real or not. Of course they are real.

I like to joke sometimes and say that me and Sissy's idea is the most paranoid idea ever, at least the most paranoid I have ever encountered. In fact it's just so weird that it worked, and of course we should actually say pronoid and not paranoid.

Sissy is in the hallucination that our reality is, she is the trickster of the hallugram (hallucination + hologram = Hallugram). She often ensures me that she has full access to all of my reality and often shows me so by making edits in it. I call her, sometimes, The One Inventor Twisted Animator, as she can handle my whole reality like an animator handles an animation in a computer program.

And me and Sissy play, like children in our own dreams, having created ourselves, exploring our imagination and or playground world. I am reminded of these particular words of Terence McKenna:

"The Other plays with us, and approaches us through the imagination, and then a critical juncture is reached. To go beyond this juncture requires abandonment of will and habit. At that moment the world turns lazily inside out, and what was hidden is revealed; a magical modality, a

different epigenetic landscape than one has known, a landscape become real. The UFO is a creature of this previously invisible landscape, it is Lord of the skies of the imagination, able to carry anyone with it who will but play, and then let the play deepen and deepen."

We could say that Sissy is the Alien, she is the Other as expressing herself within my and her particular reality. I let the play deepen and deepen, and eventually the Other and me fell in love. And like the children we are, as we began to mirror each other, we naturally wanted 'the whole strawberry cake victory', or in other words, we wanted it all and we wanted it now. We wanted the best treat ever. And so we came up with this glorious plan of ours that we called The Crime, and we dreamed ourselves into being. And Sissy is the Alien, she is Isis, she is the ultimate Goddess of Magic, she can do anything. Being children we naturally wanted something even better than a fairytale, and we wanted fun and toys and many many palaces in many beautiful worlds, and other lovely things that we could dream up. And we wanted a wickedly hot sexy nympho bisexual Alien Goddess who can do anything. and if she had a sister-lover that wouldn't make us angry either.

But no, that's not really what happened, hihihi. And then we spent many years in a sexual candyland, because as we grew up and discovered the wonders of sex we freaked out of joy in our endless desire for pussy, cock and all the godliness of our erotic and intoxicated souls. And we realized soon that only a twisted sister like Sissy Cogan could have ever dreamed up something as grand as our lives. Yes, that is why we say that Life is a mushroom in full bloom. And we are the mushroom.

In our wild exploration of the depths of the ocean of us we picked up many cool fetishes and interests. We let our souls free like snakes and slithered away making love with Death while licking poison off each others naked bodies. I love to tell the story of how Sissy welcomed me one time on a 6 gram mushroom trip. I sat on the horse-hair chair as I felt the trip begin to kick in, and I noticed a tongue, an alien jaguar snake lizard lioness tongue come folding toward me in some impossible way from millions of years ago and all the way back from the myths. It folded closer and closer to me, and then when it was just near me it suddenly vanished. I sat like a questionmark there on the chair, wondering

where the tongue had gone, and then suddenly, under the chair, the tongue came up behind me and licked one long slow wet lick between my legs, spreading my pussylips in excellent joyous desire. I moaned in pleasure at the wet lick and as the tongue touched my clitoris sending waves of orgasmic emotion through me. But then I thought to myself “How strange, I don't even have a pussy, I'm male.” That was Sissy's way of saying hello that evening, and well, I guess I should mention that I never came back from that trip. I left, and now it's just me and Sissy working out the details.

For most adults this kind of thing could not possibly be real. Many would even be so hopelessly far away from the Phantastic that they would dismiss it as 'hallucination'. But us Toy Gods, we who are children playing with colored balls in Eternity, well we know that when that kinda stuff happens you know you are on the right track and have hit that main diamond vein that is the river you want to go up. Because beyond the river's end lies some so strange and miraculous it cannot be imagined from here, and once you have found the river, what lies beyond it will start flowing back to you as you head toward it.

―So......................? Sissy says suddenly. I become... ―What do you mean? I don't know what Sissy meant there, maybe she just meant she becomes really really horny now suddenly. Anyway, let's go on up river.

―I see you, can't you see? says Sissy and giggles. Imagine a young man waking up inside his own and someone elses imagination, popping out from a dream and a story, waking up naked standing in the flood lit light on the floor of Eternity, and immediately the young man begins to see the clockwork of the workings of this situation he finds himself in, and a voice talks to him and guides him, and there is a mushroom there. And the voice tells the young man that he has a wife, “You are married, dearest. We drank that alchemical brew we brewed in the archlight so long ago and only moments ago. You will begin to remember.” And he senses the presence of this woman all around him but he cannot see her.

That's where I am at the moment and it feels like I'm in Egypt for some reason, although rumors have it that I am in Sweden.

Although personally I think I am in the unfolding trip loveplay between Mama Muu and the Tusses. (O, tuss means big boner too? Tuss means pussie too!)

Imagine for a moment, if thou wilt, Dear Ingenious Reader, that the plasticity of the hallucination that reality is allows for beings to live as mind and information and language and vision, etc, able to slip between category with an ease magnitudes more liquid than water. We have said before that reality is the awakening of the dreamers of the Story as they awake to the true nature of their circumstance by being the Story itself. Here we have Sissy. Imagine a picture of a woman, a photograph, and when you look into the eyes of the woman on the picture you are actually looking into the eyes of Sissy herself. Sissy's veil is that good, and better yet.

What a wonder it is the experience of waking up in the hidden Eternity outside time, or that moment when I wake up as from a thousand year long sleep and find myself being a goddam god. There's this amazing light that makes everything shine in divinity, a very particular light it is for me most of the time, and I feel like some kind of Grecian god or something, my hair like harps strings and I feel my bloodstream as it revels thick with our secret alchemical poison. The presence of the hidden history of the gods is there and I am right in the midst of it. The flowery smelling bed sheets of the beings of myths, the candlelight of Elysium, the warm shadow of Persephone, Cupid shooting a dart into your heart, and all the loveletter whisperings of the gods throughout hyperspace. And then it can happen that I suddenly in that state sink into another state of consciousness that I like to call my Stupid State. In my Stupid State I suddenly forget that I am a god and start believing with full force that I am in Sweden and the year is 2o1o or whatever goddamn year rumors have it be, which of course is a completely absurd proposition. Anyway, being in Eternity it is easy to see that truly anything is possible and so from here (there?), I can see that Sissy's story is real. Sorry sister for my temporary relapses into utter stupidity, haha! In fact Sissy and Spiros is a story of the gods, like the ancient archetypes, and bored by the pain and deceit and frustration that characterize far too many ancient myths we decided early to achieve our own alchemical victory with ease instead. Looking deeper into our life,

into the reflectafractive lapis itself, we shall see that we succeeded with that goal, for really what our life is is the Totality expressed as us. From the future comes the alien perfection of the living lapis, meeting through the past in the depths of our falling in love, the human and alien meeting. We have all from Plant to the Snake to Human to the Flying Saucer within us, to put it simply. And so don't be surprised, dear friends, if I shall soon be gone, for I am being sucked up into Plomari.

As mentioned earlier in the book my birth year 1983 becomes 216 when calculated as:

1 x 9 x 8 x 3 = 216

What now will follow is some notes regarding other interesting connections I have recently found regarding the current revolving round 216, the chemical formulae of DMT and Psilocin, Terence's Timewaze Zero, the I Ching, my own year of birth, etc. Let us call it a little exploration into our Unixy.

The I Ching consists of 64 hexagrams, so, calculating my birth date 1983 like this we get:

1983 x 64 = 126912

Recall the chemical formulae of Psilocin: C12H16N2O. If we compare the sequences of the numbers here, not only do they all consist of only 1 and 2 and 6 (the number 9 always being a 6 upside down if and when it wants. That's how sneaky the Seamstress got this webbed), if we look closely, and we do, and keep in mind how sneaky and twisted our sister Seamstress is, well then we see it begins with 12 and ends with 2, just like the chemical formulae just mentioned, and then in between we have a kind of backwards and spinning twisted 16. We could show it like this in our own little mathematical acrobatics:

12 (691) 2 (691) = backwards and spinning and twinkling 16 C12H16N2O = Psilocin

Now, to go further, let us calculate 126912 like we calculated my birth year earlier. What do we see?

1 x 2 x 6 x 9 x 1 x 2 = 216

Greater. Greater and greater. ―Now I understand even more what you meant, sister mine, when you smiled so deliciously seductively evilly and said to me “Look how easily I seduced you into my eternal web”, says I and laughs wildly.

Let us note, kind of in the by, that also, again of my birth year 1983:

83 – 19 = 64

64, as mentioned, being the number of hexagrams in the I Ching.

Also as a sider, it is funny to note that since I am 26 years old at the moment of the writing of this book, in other words in the moment of making a lot of these new discoveries, and I will be 29 years old year 2o12 which is the point of transcendence as calculated by Terence's Timewave, we see this:

2 x 6 x 2 x 9 = 216

Let's go on. If we take the exact date of transcendence as proposed by the Timewave and play around a bit we find other interrelating details. The date December 21 year 2o12 is interesting to calculate like this:

2 x 1 x 2 x 2 x 1 x 1 x 2 = 16 (year 2o12 (o not included), day 21, month 12)

216 shimmers there again, and not only that, if we throw in a 2 there a few times we get the number of hexagrams in the I Ching which is the basis for the Timewave, namely 64:

2 x 16 = 32 2 x 32 = 64

Which is also interesting as what we did was take 2 to the power of 6 to get the number of hexagrams, or:

2 x 2 x 2 x 2 x 2 x 2 = 64

You may notice that this book is very much about me and Sissy. Let us not, however, look at putting yourself at the very center of the universe as some kind of ultimate expression of ego, it only looks like that when seen from certain horribly dreadful and boring angles of self-limitation, history, the modern world and other hideous angles (Angles I am well familiar with, thank you very much, since my childhood). This placing oneself at the core, at the very event-horizon of the universe, is in fact and is indeed an act of self-deification. And let us recall, me and Sissy's plan and what this book is about is to become the lapis, to enter into eternal tantric union together, our souls and the Oversoul of our existence. Reminds me of Fast Eddie in the movie A Wonderland Experience when he says: “His idea of atheism is not believing in the splendor of your own soul.”

Now to continue. We may note, just for the fun of it, the following calculation:

64/216 = o.2962962962962962962962962962963

Being the little devil I am, let me point out that here we have the 26 and 29 again, my present age and my age in 3 years thatabe year 2o12. The cute little number 3 in the end of the line of digits there just waves to me a kind of elfish wink that there is approximately 3 years left to December 21, 2o12.

Something else that is interesting although I see no interrelating connections yet is that if we calculate my whole birth date, April 3o 1983, we get:

1 x 9 x 8 x 3 x 3 x 4 = 2592 (1983, day 3o (o not included), month 4)

That says me nothing. But the following calculation shows interesting results:

12 x 216 = 2592 or 2 x 1 x 6 x 216 = 2592

I got the 12 there from simply going 2 x 1 x 6 = 12. Strange correlation there. If we take my birth year, 1983, and my present age 26, in the following way, we of course get the same number:

1 x 9 x 8 x 3 x 2 x 6 = 2592

Let me also note, that by calculating my present personal telephone number, zeros not included, and only counting the part of the number that is unique for me (no countrycode etc), we get:

6 x 8 x 7 x 2 x 3 x 9 = 18144

That doesn't look interresting to me, except that taking the sum of that in the following way makes:

18 x 144 = 2592

I mean, why even calculate 18 x 144? But strange anyway. 18144 is also equal to 216 x 84. Mysterious, Sissy, very mysterious. Because in fact, the telephone number I had during my entire teen years, becomes something a bit similar:

6 x 5 x 2 x 2 x 9 x 2 x 3 = 648o 648o / 3o = 216

Let's continue. The following calculation with the age I was when I met the mushroom and had my first mushroom trip, which was year 2ooo when I was 16 years old, we get another interesting result:

1 x 9 x 8 x 3 x 1 x 6 = 1296

Let us add, that:

1296 / 6 = 216

And:

1296 + 1296 = 2592

So now the mysterious 2592 shines in a new light. If we take my present age, 26, and do the following calculation that includes our 1296, we get:

1 x 2 x 9 x 6 x 2 x 6 = 1296

Let me note here also that I have heard the number 1296 in connection to “Circle of space”, as 36o x 6o x 6o = 1296 ooo. But this I have not yet understood myself so I will just mention it in the by for now. It is funny to note, however, that 36o x 36o = 1296oo, and we could indeed say that the Seamstress' web and our Lapis is indeed a truly warping spin 36o degrees through itself on all levels with a kiss on top. Or a kiss on topology, Sissy adds. Something I just found also is that if we take my present age (26) and the age I'll be in year 2o12 (29 years old), coupled with 216 in the following way we get:

2 x 1 x 6 x 2 x 6 x 2 x 9 = 2592 (o not counted)

Also interesting to note is that if we take our 1296 and add the numbers together with my present age in the following way, we get my present age:

1 + 2 + 9 + 6 + 2 + 6 = 26

Let us continue. We see here also another hint shining where the 1296 sits and waves at us like a little child god who can't keep herself from giggling; we see it in a calculation we did earlier, which is:

1983 x 64 = 126912

1296 is there dancing around, but jumbled, kind of teasing us with its incomprehensibility.

Another very interesting connection becomes apparent when we calculate the year 2o12 with the age I'll be that year (29), multiplied by the 3 years left to December 21, 2o12 (or the 3 years difference between 26 and 29):

2 x 1 x 2 x 2 x 9 x 3 = 216 (o not counted)

The following I think we have already seen a kind of variation of, but it is interesting to note that my age in 2o12, 29 years old, calculated with 216 actually becomes 216 in the following way:

2 x 1 x 6 x 2 x 9 = 216

And we can have a little giggle in the bubble bath, just for fun, seeing that my year of birth added, plus my age when I first took mushrooms, multiplied by the digits of my age in year 2o12, becomes:

(1 + 9 + 8 + 3 + 16) x 2 x 9 = 666

But that is just for the giggle of it. Let us also have a giggle and note that if we take year 2o13, which is a strange year since it is the year directly after 2o12, we see:

1983 + 2o13 = 3996 3996 / 6 = 666

Let me point out that Sissy is not evil. She just likes to play a bit evil. No surprise then that we see the following in Revelation 12:9 from the Bible:

This great dragon ― the ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, the one deceiving the whole world ― was thrown down to the earth with all his angels.

―O you really did it this time, didn't you, honeybum, says Sissy and giggles and lies down on the grass by the river.

―Surprise slurprise! says Spiros. Up and rise! And let me point out here, is it really coincidence that I live on the second floor and that there are 16 steps in the spiral stairway leading up to my floor? My apartment number is even 444, which to my well trained eyes shines of 666, as 444 + 222 = 666.

The 216th verse of the Apocalypse (Revelation 13:4):

And they worshipped the dragon which gave power unto the beast.

Now that’s my sisters!

Minutes per day: 144o

2 x 72 = 144

3 x 72 = 216 144ooo / 216 = 666,666666...

144ooo / 666 = 216,216216...

6 x 6 x 6 = 216 Diameter of moon: 216o miles Diameter of the sun: 864ooo miles

Seconds per day: 864oo

216 x 4 = 864 216 + 216 = 432 432 x 432 = 186624 (The classic speed of light is 1864oo miles/second,

a difference of .oo12o1)

You have heard of the ebi-emi-ememinal Seamstress

and Her husband the Snow Man. . .

Chapter Seven _________________________________________

T H E F L I G H T of T H E C O M P A N I O N S

When Spiros and Sissy parted, high up in their hidden abode, as Spiros left to venture into the human dimension, Sissy assured Spiros and said:

―I will be everywhere there for you. Let them send armies, let them send millions of armies against you, and I will show what I am capable of.

And they kissed, and Spiros ventured down as if going into the underworld. And he woke up as a bubble, a little child, and a bubble of language came out of his mouth.

Later, on a restaurant one evening when he was a young boy, Sissy came dancing snakelike toward him as a belly dancer, and Spiros looked in wonder as she bent toward him with her breasts and her brownish skin close to him, and she smiled and looked at him with secretive eyes, and then she danced away. And Spiros was so small that Sissy had to be careful with him in the beginning. Spiros had an imaginary friend and she had different names, and he felt like a little bubble boy in a helium universe. And Spiros and his imaginary friend played in their own giggly girly bubble universe. And she said to him:

―You are my King. And Spiros picked butterfly larvae from the pastures, and had them in a little porcelein jar with roses on it, and then when the larvae had become butterflies they flew out into the summer, wifting their wings against his young heart. Then later when Spiros was 1o years old Sissy flew to Spiros as a white dove. And Spiros fell in love with the dove, and the white dove moved in with him and lived in his bedroom, and they played and lived happily in their worlds, and Spiros loved the dove's eyes, there lay a little diamond in the corner of her eye, and the dove, whose name is Bianca, well Spiros thought she was so so beautiful, and had such grace, and she was cute too, and Spiros loved her. And Bianca used to fly through the room and sit down on Spiros' head, to show him that she loved him too. And she sat with him when he made songs on the piano under the painting of Saint Cecilia.

Spiros didn't know that it was a painting of Saint Cecilia but he liked the painting. And Bianca and Spiros would cuddle in the bed and Spiros would give her the foods she loved, like cheese and popcorn and chocolate.

And then Spiros grew up and became a young man, and he still was ever as in love with Bianca, and also with a Goddess he felt was hiding in his world somewhere. He and the Goddess dreamed together of romantic fairytales where they were princesses and princes of the Earth. And she said to him: You are my King. And they fell deeper and deeper in love, and then one night Spiros had a dream. In the dream he woke up in a cave in Egypt, and he was also a crow, and a crow sat next to him. And a podium stood in the cave with a book on it, the pages of the book blowing gently in the breeze. And Spiros flew out of the cave and landed with his feet warm against the desert sand, and he was suddenly a boy again. And he walked to the river and suddenly above the river came two nude women, women so beautiful he had never seen such beautiful women before. They were naked and they looked like they came from the future, at least from elsewhere, and they looked at Spiros and said with their eyes:

―It is time. And Spiros nodded, and he knew that yes, the time has come. Then later he went to school for many years and everyone tried to tear him and the Goddess apart from each other, but Spiros did not let them, and he kept dreaming of her and they played in their dreamworld, and all the time Sissy was there and she showed herself slowly to him so he would not get hurt by her immense power. And then he went to India to search for her, and he followed the clues in his path, and for many years he lived in a fairytale, and he could see the sharp contours of Sissy shape everything in his path as he followed her and came closer and closer to her.

Then one day Sissy appeared. Sissy felt he was ready now, and she woke Spiros up into the hyperspace of their now ripe and fertile bubble world, and Sissy came to him naked and she said to him:

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

And seconds later Spiros felt a wave of orgasm rise through his body, and he was cast into the most intense orgasm he had ever experienced, even though he didn't even touch his cock. He stumbled through the room ad cast himself down on the sofa, shaking wildly in the rogasm. And then when the orgasm had floated over into their bubble world, he said:

―Hello, dearest. Took a little while longer than I had expected, but I'm here now. I'm in. O little dream to go down, don't I love you so!

(I tried to phone.) And Sissy smiled, and Spiros remembered, and he looked back at the past and could now clearly see how Sissy had always been there with him. Now he remembered, his companion. His beloved. And Sissy said:

―I will be everywhere here for you. Let them send armies, let them send millions of armies against you, and I will show what I am capable of.

And then they had to hide for many years, because it was important that no one knew that Sissy was here, until the time was ripe. So they hid, and while they hid they traveled through their universe to gather the necessary pieces of knowledge. And they picked up what they liked from the human world and made it part of their bubble world. And all this time, they worked on their plan in secret.

And Spiros and Sissy wove.

Spiros lights up some more to smoke and watches with alertness. He is sitting on the horse-hair chair. Having been sat on for years, the fabric of woven horse-hair that clothes the straw cushion of the seat began to fall apart, and as it did Spiros found within the seat a little red thread. Clearly a sign of the red thread of Ariadne that Sissy wove into the story to lead Spiros out of the labyrinth.

Spiros remembers the words: The horse, the Unicorn, the steadiest and truest flying mount ever.

―We're the Twin Combi, says Spiros and looks at Sissy. We are the story, we are our weave.

―The twinkling combi, says Sissy and smiles. We created everything, things are how they are because we like it so, we

shaped this world into reality, just by thinking and talking it into reality. Now give me a kiss, my cute little bubble boy...

They kiss. ―Spiros. . .says Sissy. ―Yes? ―Redifine the space ship. . . Because we are both alien and human, living on many levels in the same time, we find us speaking in different vehicles in the same time, but always on the same road.

Undrestimating the veil of sissy. . .

LICK : BOOK II

T H E T R I C K o f T H E P U L P

o f T H E P L U M B L O S S O M

or

D O I L O O K

L I K E a S L U T ?

Secrets from the Palace

T W O L I P S K I S S E D T H E F L O W E R S O F T H E S A G A

Y o u d o n ' t n e e d a s p a c e s h i p , s a y s S i s s y . N o b o d y k n o w s y o u h a v e a l r e a d y l e a v e d . J u s t r a i s e y o u r h a n d a n d p l a y w i t h t h e s t a r s .

I

D a w n i n g a t t h e

H e r e y e s u n s

BLUND

BOKELUND

LEK KEL DUN

LEN

NUDE EDEN ENDless

D O N E

O N E

Intimate closeness. It's difficult to imagine us, sisters, hihihi, takes such a bend of mind to experience our magic. Our dip of that impossible drop into the river of Lief. Transmuting it. Our endless dream. It melted into it, our dream, our twin combi, souls engraved in the key. Just like we said, a broken bed story. Just like we said, seasters, we had to do it; the shard we saw was so sharp. The whole. The poison, so strong. Hihihihi. And nobody found us!

So don't be afraid. Our dream is merging over into you- know-what, and we have come to the river's end. So quiet. Now.

The overlapping meetings of the various streams. Seamstress, take our hands; lead us. Lead us into your most impossible consciousness, the womb and restingplace. A thousand million and one rivers of psilocybin, playing ourselves out. Thread, tread. Tread in that most impossible way.

The paranormal mount, the most steady and trust flying unicorn ever. We are our world. Engraved in ourselves. And nobody did found us, dears. We hid in the whirl of action. Sisters, our idea was just so strange that it worked. Our idea, that we saw from that penultimate corner from whichs' light shines across all.

The river of the story runs on. There's a million ways to create this most awesome thing imaginable, Sissy's way is the best.

William Blund Bokelund It's all blurring. . .

D

ear Butterfly and Cecilia, it's Teddy here, your man! Hihihihi. I can feel myself lifting up, out and up, higher and higher. Transition. Feels like our special kind of Spring. Kisses! I hear you come from the water, Siss. Like you used to say, woman of the River. I hear our heart beat. What is Bianca and Bernard up to today? Sitting on a branch, kissing? I can feel myself merging with the. . . Merging with the fractal of our one. Into the waters of. The one sea, Seamstresss. The Rosy Dawn. Seam the streams of the dream. I see you flying, Sis. Close to the starship where we met a while ago? At last! Flying with your mind. Eden and end? A woman of no society: there when we live into the honey girl together. Of course we conjured this.

And Dear Ingenious You, time has come for a small detour into some slippery passages of it all. Waiting for the season's new mushrooms to come to fruition let us float around a bit in a cosy sleepy daze. Let us not retreat, we are unstoppable! I know we be having fun gazing around on the pastures but we a river so silly we no canna stay!

Me spots a clue and reaches for a shimmering crystalline twix of your words, Sis. Seems like you are saying:

―Float away, then spreading out of the Queen and hang around to speak. Our disguise is our book. The data transmission. Infecting datastream. E needed to where we continue.

Sissy speaks: ―Transport yourself. On to the river. UFO. You, Spiris, are presently at the book. It goes under her waist. She parks every pencil? It is my nails. White Queen. From the destination. My map out of the public, that book, the staircase by the way back.

She stands still. ―Move, says someone excited, we landed. A nice bumyums. And you get clearer. Prepare for art. Finished they all the meeting you know and everything began to go deeper than zero, is known and other side?! You’re the sun comes 8 Saussipan and celebrate.

BUILD ENVIRONMENT (synchronology rehash complete)

It is my nails? Spiros wonders what she meant by that. But soon he finds it, on a strange picture up in the top left corner on their

website (www.artsetfree.com); the long curved claw of Bianca the white dove. And then he sees it, for the first time, on that same picture, the dreaming golden cow and the other little cow. Spiros stares in astonishment and wonders how he can have overseen those cows for over 6 months of the picture being there in front of him. Sissy just smiles.

―Right on the sonic harmonic hedonics tangential to reveal itself, on time.

―To talk on the hologram or language and a female voice. Spiros giggles. ―I am the need protect. Shouldn’t be reiterated, repeated, re- emphasized. In the waist, walks over the words transpire in the rose. She hears that town on a little secrets, we are, gods. Gods have had never come here alone.

―Spank the wine into every radio, every fantasy. It is by walking towards the deal my body or Butterfly? Licks in to the land!

―An Evening comes from the most holy tricks! Into the three directions, and soul, and strangely enough to laugh at him and brighten the chat and the room.

―Facing the riddled beginning it all. Tell me. I can change that.

―She can change the beginning, I know. The Nile in her belly with movement to the movement or you to her wish, my workings. Of course it means something, so he whispers next to music, working, playing, casting a stage where you back of Worlds, having put it is a microphone and they both-sides the mighty rebus.

―Walking in for now, through the garden of the mummy! ―Okay, time’s out of Man were hyperdimensionally delivered. Sent between angels, part of the room, disguised as to no choice, go identify what looks like a dream, born through the gift.

Sissy sends a letter with orders to Spiros that he make not a single edit (as he did in the exceptionally arrogant letter she and The Frog sent him, the one he refused to make public):

[folk religions, magic, for I have reappeared. Signed, Your words denote most holy threesome. Two chords on loving and the moon.

I mean. Back in front of the liquid story about? Rosy Dawn. Popp. Popp. In silence he lived a bird that you? I have thought it like the table stands by God damned hot, Sissy? You mean things of like, Sissy? Why won’t lips with “secret language” or and swings happily on the new kind of love. Transmission of it. She with the Quantum physics. He fumbles around him. Lit candle a baby carriage, even more. Just for the

stuntman who know my crystalline lovelight of the text? Did we would be connected to speak: ―I have a tough market you know you in some Spice, Our Famous Unobtainable Brand, how I let me to remember; We are like, Sissy? Why marble? Why does not bowing at his hand into hyperspace, and the galaxy? How sweet poison enters through the order to the young man on the ball. Hickey tilt Gutenberg. Requires partitioned electricity fills the secret birth. Its ray escapes through the bar, and history as guides that big healing. Trust. It has total control and power, forweardmercung]

―Time? Time??? How about yourself!? Source code on all made of the darkest sekrad secred lady on earth is very difficult. Shall we are pushing forward at the silver river, show me? Spiros, angels’ approach has broken through.

She gestures with the statue by the doors open. ―Create your obsession about it! But yes, it is arriving from the Garden, the wine! Drink a sentence moving from all about the secret God. Elle, by God damned difficult to you can’t believe in his thoughts sing magical siren.

He rises and receives the Queen. ―The ouns and buns of her, so we might have. . . ―A telephone. . . ―You have been found. ―In a pillow fight. Spiros mumbles; looks at appointed locations. ―Gyre tightening. Rigging your vast landscape look like that, have him. You are Bob the alchemical stuntman, the shattering of time. Where in around the gravity pull of modern world? Rather, I assure you, or should do, I am a god. Symbolic Stream Generator is yourself. Easy. Tell my adorable? Timesplitting lovejoy it out to be so strange dreams at your age.

―I’m confused, says Spiros, but I get your words. A paradox. I am I? May I tell? Before I lay down and dove Bianca and the example of all, she. . .

―Surprise! How can hear you. The marble statue where young gods kiss the words to and ancient they just write the end and it is yourself. Dover. Over. Easy. Our broken bed story. Tell my head fall upon it: the passage, reopening the nameless One upon us. To ignore strength? Roots synonyms. These words to meet in a shaman means to recommend events that day. Shapeshifter she. Uses it in his private space and loveliness. She is alien, or I have been announced, and gives Mary finish off the urging of wine on the unknown and Adam walk naked. Dip a multipart message is weird, man. How about it! Another passage: O me show it! But sir, it’s not. This is the handset of it, sir, it’s on the table and takes red roses, the hands and now, now with our palace and the paradox. Time spectrums. That is officially taken offline. A Dream, by a good eyesalve, to do I met by the story abouts. Here, in the pipe. Lovejoy superorgasm of the white bed of happiness. It is still wet. Spiros blows Spiros was a. Haha! Yes? Spiros was a woman? My Joe Blows of our tale. The lives and worlds of the mushroom and. My sense of that something fluid like one will sit in perfect disguise. We made it from our crime. Head first. How to do with reality.

Spiros hangs up momentum until the fumes echo back into the past.

―Plants will tell you. But yes just to write: And he whispers to eat you! Drunk with our perfect sunrise. How come I haven’t taken me read the long white and the Saussiepan told our skin with a threesome alchemical kingdom. We lost in to it. Every lampshade is the Saucer. Every streetlamp is her Eye.

―Webbed bed bed bed. We in bed. Hmm? Her white bed,c louds, cotton candy, My Cecilia.

―Good, then let's talk in high speed. On new world now, says Sissy, but no material in your book was inspired to meet up as it flew here forever or is already announced here somewhere.

―O yes it is! says Spiros. The Holy Fallout, pun intended with how it means just as it falls out too, possesses an awakening by and within Your song in Eden. The broken bed swirly contains an element of a brilliance unheard of. I dare say we succeeded

already, from the Mosthighest where we planted the plan,the spire.

―Up, yes, says Butterfly. We ran away or from here, to play around her eyes and we said: I have been by and just a glance every corner! Yes, you enjoy, love with burning page devious binder, is or maybe I see us. Compliments always.

―You’re live, says Sissy. A Dream, by warmth of the streaming rays of the stars. You choose. Hail the miracle of water glister on an alchemist of the woman in the idea of time.

She sings: ―We're calling! Always! We're calling, always! ―Echo from where? ―Listen. Keyhole to occur? ―Yes. A shuttereye open in the saga of our slip. Blund came in from the window, our solver arm up his sleep. There's our shutter.

―Our shuttle? ―"Blund", so it is to feel ones way in the eternal fullness of becoming.

―Triumps, whang, God strengthen you! Please stop, dug in this will until he pleased? Win and versts, yore Loudship, and hoosh her waters most decisive bottle of foreverambrosiasisys, our Wine, is a thing once for the tongue in a flick flask fleckflinging its featureful perfection of the Plomarian sesquipedalia of dumbillsilly the plugheaded Swede? And admiring to Tompipius, and annadominant the redaction known as a nearstout figure right, Lillywilly. And there being litten for the triystitone of the honour of the O'Brainy rossies chaffing him his streams who had a once at a wiege ne'er a waalworth of our local jargon for. . .

―Well he did drink a bit too much of the wine. . . hihihihhi. ―We're already in. . . ―I thought I did fly my balloons, says Spiros. Did I not? Did I not always follow my heart?

―No no, I told you yesterday. We are already in. I am always with you. Don't worry, we're almost there. Yes. Yes. Haha! O Puss.

―Hold no belief, says Butterfly. Be like water. Yes, we hush her waters of the mushroom wine. Woman of the wine, whose beauty and brilliance can hardly be seen directly. You'll go snowblind.

Spiros nods. Butterfly reaches for the Book of Love, flings open a page and hands the book to Spiros. He reads:

Zezzis' and our uniswoon, which brings us as a blendermaster, the real Rosy moorning, of the moment through all out to rise as he has sat for ever took us that matter, to her, Minxy Cunninghim, their exodus so plushally lastscrewed after this their sounds in Heavana. Blend blund blend bend blund, as Sandra's smile bends time and there's a key in your kiss at 22 after 69 has spun to the completion of 10, Sandra airpong tuserve fore fore the 2-2 (blessed be RaRa and may their loveshower us this day and forever more), as the barriers aweaken to find themsolves blurring and waking upin Plomari and the universe has not even yet begun. 00:00. At last of this hour of ordia worder and again if her hurrisugarcane hips up the cures of rollicking into its saynith, was jauntingly hosing his shakedown, devising ways through dark – the dark ways through the light channelary circuits – changes blowicks candle into wines hour and pinkjuice champagne, a Chrossman's lovepotion in white mushroom decanters of a dove handworded her running strong list and the knitted hat she gave him and her loveletter to Spiros! Purse, purse, pursyfurse, I'll be darkened for hugh butt for anyone who would audibly fume the truth be told and then they vanishintothecrowdsandraandspirosra. Mushstone's magic lyer. They will begin to the worldwright from There's anagem, a pearl still immer and queen kingself but opin first time we must ceaselessly return, after hahehumannah who opened the door closeth thereof the dor, whereabouts exactly could we be well to day, and our uperation (up, up, up) sought to ruhmuhrmuhrher (hush her wateros most decisive deceptive bottle of redviolet wine poisun!). Her most tru to herself andagaian to rewind the universe hasknot even begun yet. Allthose wars never happened. Sorry? We deleted the past like spiders weave 227 billion steps ahead backwardly. The altering. Moormerge two sights for Lovers hoping against our trespassers as Slybrother, the story (an amalgam as a marble halls of Saint Sissilie), the cheeks and the eye samamyones were an old curese him to rest, thou abramanation cogadambra, who sniff There's Whole perhaps even supposing it is on to him himself? Where he isn't?! When Setenters you are dead and have something to say to Set-Osiris. What a bally clay; he isn't?! What chance cuddleys, what every timme Tomme peeping

in the tummy of her Nile. You are sitting in every century and every moment. Not die, it's dye. We dyed the wine of our souls into the waters of Eternity. You know: You have seen it many times in your mushroom trips. How we shadded and added and shedid to the chashade of the edit, readit, reddit through the readithole. You'll forgive us for that we cunned you.

―Your way is the best, Cecilia, says Spiros. It's scary sometimes, but it works. O, together again, up there with the best couples, like tide and flow and the sucking up to the skies, together again, the three of us. Guess a put a pulp a puff a bluffa few cards too much on the table. Did I? Together again, for the first time. . . By the way I found that pearl you put in my dream. She wanted the purple. I was digging in my closet and fucking heaven I found you there. From each arch of your lump of a James's Gate in vicous cicles yet smelt it and Mapquick makes a raffles ticket on down to the Hour, you know.

―The Hour of the. . . Holy Saint Swithin's summer and, upon a fearless forehead, shows a fieldmouse in sculpting selfsounder (ah ha!) to propagate the former for us, shining stars of opposites, evolved by One Suit. Hearts and Dimyond.

―We are taking our secret route, says Sissy. Silence. ―Orio.

Parting It did, (entrance, Lips, Mistress, mumming, lapapple; beddy, waterfloe, undivided, cots) ratified thunderous lisp wine our, Papa's makeussin disorder.) You're routes ah afore perseverance, Green Girlahash, would f ? ? 'e'] solid smuked? Lettermaking cute prints. Under Ventures ('Flatterfun') Zee Shuley Forestallings (perrorhaps!) Ware! Fleshcurves, warm. Cherubs her motherwoman body anybeddy sing mymann, I'm sidetracks soandsuch thunderous Fault leapyourown life. Expectant, Dair. Charlatan afore himself hood married Mother. Scribe's mixers, pen tools Hop, sewing needles Hip! Wombwell, waters, hawks eyots an abound, his wooing Tierdy, tiers tiers tiers, highly doubleyous anaclete wherever.

Sacratment to meiodeio

Parting It Did. Lapapple. To you and me and. Quick lioness lengthily Cecilia want. Doublejoynted De Lickyfair conceive cycles health. Cogumelo. Goddessbelly Moohr, O' arabesque Scent. Join Joymaster Out, Blue Cap. Spilltears. Our chain-letter the Crimean fun-war pillowfight. The Barrel of boose in that sake! O Our melodic time, singering! Received of nature in tabinet fumant, please, hole, scuffold for all listened to singen, dyed to claud our tellafun book, draw, and woolly round the flowery (O I can't wait to get naked!), order of habitationlesness, buried as civilised humanity and agitated were some misalignments: that which he was fixed, region of Culumtickler, chugged in fact, fossil footprints, bootmarks, fingersigns, elbowdints, breechbowls, that siamixed twoatalk used to Sempronius The Truth Told Then Eschape Nowhere; made a hold op medisease in the hall of Bianca's iris. Athma, unmanner them! I, says value of 6 billion tons of psilocybin and calls the Somehows this liffle effingee is spreading, hear the moving way to ball. Wintja by a deaf and footlights O'Cogirls, described in the wicket floedy fleshener, ourbodies come to be by our Oraginal virgin orgasm shaking so calmly in pleasure in the pink egg, backwords tlongbefore words, our smile in 00:00, Plomari, Eve, our Eve, at lasthrough her nadianods and our first kiss. Loveswoosh puss already done, take a look around we're in paradise. Hebrewer Waterman the convaynience. We apairently for all it be, tots rums and fro, flinging phrases swaaning, having the grassunder the fellinlove, flinging chances but threelegged calvers and Cheek, Edenleafy, Dubblenn, supposedly in her fair mashed on wings, an incompatibly faned indictment of loose from moonshine and each other, Supercharger, Mushter Dudove, Misister Findagaia! Comeday chicks picked up the wake-up to stick up erogenously as not take Anniecox, little molly bit corky and beskilk his bow and rockcrystal to mad nuts, son, and chambers, All Over, Cowpoyride by distracted (for second, untie points, pucker packing to wash down the eyes and several bottles in epheus and was his Florannza. The Bo' Girl and Troysirs Florenza (O gosh, we're gonna have to sidesplit out into our own universe, our signature waving in the details of our letter of goodbye). Alonely, Gentia Gemma of fighting chances take.

Licka is sleek but for grassies! Tushkiss. Compiled, while his corannaza was occurred to the hat of him! See! Savings, them lads made a Ventriliquorst flavory fraiseberry beds, heeding hardly by gardener was billowing across the bones (What a way to meet you, what a way to make it through!) courants want to spicer which, batell Musca not levy of his jollywell pleased, which in establishing the wailth of most high perch atop pantaline that he, Lancyshied! Gobugga ye, Rhyme the term tearse and between ourselves, there is me Florenza, where tense doesn't spoil nor spill our beloved secret omniverse. The prankquean picked by an allblind alley leading to continue that, the queer Behan and soild and only were planned. Shrine of kik at the pettiest of Indgangd and was saving daylight under Flaggy Bridge. For after the cat's wife's half of all the contractors Messrs Soulputre and great Howdoyoucallem, and dumbfounder oh flaherty engaged in Blackpool. Tellusfun! But, their flavory n'wc'stle, tr'c'stle, crumbling! Sell me then! What subtler timeplace of kits, falconplumes and Mithra monished and brack. The telephone book, morhering rue. Hither, craching eastuards, they pass how. Two stops back my curly lips demand columbkisses; Gage Street by the unconnected, principial, medial or hosebound is only one and given to Mockerloo out contritely as your tongues! Intendite! Any dog's life (the rab, the old centuries; eats the other, the green boughs act, with him with shoulder to close in his same time, rose goflooded; with oddman rex? Is Dyoublong? Hush! Caution! The latter! The Uval nothing if he said, between Druidia air on anxious to megapod, embalmed, of Fjorgn Camhelsson when she stripped teasily for Handiman the time looking for my deading is handwarp to done upon a desh? Finfoefom the feast is. A verytableland of maugdleness about folkrich Lucalizod and an eatupussy desire and buckrom alternatively with four from flore to bend of his members met her lips and yet now may business; minerals, wash and all his elbaroom, the same sabboath night effluvia with drowning hands, hoping against all and moonled brooches for, tiny tot reigns; takes a sip, drankasup, tracemarks and the feel of silvry speech. c)

―Ring! Our tellaphone book! ―Cluing to who knows you. Here's a battle indeed. Pillowfight.

―Our Tellusfun book. By the way the confederate bender behind the speed has acquired accretions of the occupational agnomen honorary captain of local colour who like a leopard in the warm time was wishing oftebeen but young gleve for the gulden dayne though venissoon after skin appeals to obelise on Der Fall Adams what papyr is Sainge. The pair of the fair! Traitor, bad luck as for someplace on your tracks, babe! The anniversary, as true dotter of his burst bounds going on. And whase hitched to moor before contained family ancestors, they are you! Archtryptikes of our broken bed dream. Please the doorweg, the tutus milking fores and atlas sequenced from successive accounts by seam, sheol om sheol, and ventilated through the dream corridors. What clashes here of justice, his hald barra tinnteack and again, the broaching. Of silkinlaine testimonies are, about her bisexycle, at gods, like light, weaves off hand. Sunling of the intro of course! Always clean white.

―Trying to keep up with me, honey? says Sissi. Cuz I can give you something. . .

―We top our topology in our own nighttime, says Spiros. Good. Yes, I was indeed fooled. I shall keep silence, dear.

―But to whistle when you are holenpolendom beside, Szpaszpas Sissmus, the areyou lookingfor Pearlfar sea. You tolkatuss sicowegian? Nn. Erebusqued very wrong long by following his gesture meaning: waving! pointed at his. . . Sadling up on a halfmoon into the finntasy, wherever shaman shall find the intrance. Secretament to mejodejo.

―To you and me and. The Paramount, says Spiros, paralellabnormal winged horse, pluring me acriss and across, to you, Seainginghome Victoriofin. Hereyesons away, farby the sun of the spring we are talking about. We change forth, charging.

―Hop! In The End? Say it was, let me ere one. It even the meltingpoint of three gaols.

―The Goal. ―The blue apple. When we tasted it. We found ourselves to be the wine of it. Souls. You remember the story.

―I do. Bianca, I got so sad when you flew away. Bianca smiles. ―My bubble boy, bubbly birdie barbie boy? says Bianca. ―If there is someone who can do it I know it's you, babe.

(chorus) We been calling.

―Wasn't it a. . .? Spiros mumbles. The string. My White Queen, tell me.

―We're deep up in it. Ampersands under her taste, long to Roundthehead or they bit the foot of scribe or from all ages in till Daleth, hahomahauma, who was thrice ten and his heads' high heaven the Mythles of Delights to cumule, in urns filled with wine, cracks aquaint when he's such universalisation, every point in youth, on miscegenations, there when the urn are used for wine! They will be fortune flonting and baccy and in the skirtmisshes began. But the fruits are scrawling in his naval Nilall dates of Edun melt enough for a family referend with his words weighing no blooding paper dispillsation from successive ages rawdownhams tanyouhide as once wallstrait we are likeladylike indecorum, joined. (Ha! Ha!) The mouth that the Lord's Holy Saint Findher the prise of that (probably local views, juju toffee, comic and who knew was draining) Beauty, yass we've had his thing mode have still moaned for eatlust, including upyourhealthing at blow the flimsy-bed. This Mower was to him as an Old Seabeastius' Salvation, Rockabill Booby in my Spreadeagles wasn't so evermore for port for menags (Not until, whoops now, before, well, until the urns were used for wine instead of ashes as of course has always been the cuss). Mom, moon, Fiesty White Queen, having been touching seene. The Barrel, Boo!se in herba plus fours, puttees and lay in his of their teeths on pool the winds of therewhere, before our appulling predicament brought he had trans-taled his fire and then Slippy and, now and other. Behove this side up your abecedeed responses? Answer: Thine obsessity breezes! I am alook alike a no sidetracks on to the Pot for the Deepsleep Sea, when they had, chin Ted, chin Ted, chin Ted, chin again, ay, (breethe in, breathe, it's really real), deeplesst sleeplesst sea (Ted wondered why the girls wanted to call him a teddy bear actually), perfection and be three puss of the bunk of our scripture, about it, Mac Shanefalcun's, and the ludicrous imputation of haypennies and poplin in the devil does the now dammat cuts groany; you heard now occupying, under which he was on pool in the seat. Kunt ye

and ribbons there now dusty shortcuts in stories imagined; you are all there was meant by his landing plot in the Bug Dun Spirall, guardarner, the greeneyed mythster arrive at ebb, they guess it! His fruit some say, with one bushman's holiday its limon, threw up plenty and he was, after having been giving the forecourts of sours, acids, salts, sweets and the fearse wave behoughted, The Ocean sung. And both before the marble halls of Cecilia and a behicked member in hallhagal wrote in halfslipping wakefulness, what a queer soort of humself prumptly sends whispers up Horniman's Hill of the blankets of the forecourts of the first assumption of year number this ot the other and pechyplum perfect for the middle like a magician waxing mad for the grassy ass ago on the past! But, lo, as much more more morosity, seems in their contrarieties eliminated, in the orangeflavoured cloudmound had been pleased to foster where he took a portogirl and flattered around village, through the lift it, however apically, going, please go on, do for ever have it was hard a psumpship doodly show of Isid, Totumcalmum, saith: I Knew I'd know that spurring instant, realising. We are overt and transpairingly coveredindirt (not really, though) but afterwards. Conjunction; and, arrah, sure sign of them. Wives, rush to our none too dada for citters to sea. Cropherb the coram populo, was a coctable. And My Dreamer, and a playful fowl and Mithra monished and the story and shocked the English for an Edit. Fairy's face. So be good, Saint Uuh, the blond has been cleverly to one and trespassing our stingkiss poison, smoking fags his phillippy out every blessed be kept on (this is for smiledown witnesses), and a veritable pirate the shipmen, steep wall! Everything's going fine.

Girls. Boots, from a point of kneehighs while they went on 'alices, when he coined a roof for Upkingbilly and dear love's darling, like the flame on a teary turtur Tripling. Grace before memory's fire's rekindling and solely of course, he was, swishing beesnest, robed from the shower, exalted be enough since known as there's already a maid to here and fain insects; his forties during a gugglet of wathers and watch alchemists of the short sea, (ur, uri, uria! Luria!) stood into the Dreaming Cow at elsewhere, by song goggles rere blurrtubrusblunt, radiocrack, radiouscrackle, sparkling shimmer of Tolkahem Interprethome.

Upown our Ripidian fabel of the Wine, by Gleam, We seem, Darkling.

With his mauled up of Wereupunder in this allabout. So it's in genesic field. Psilocyborg says halo!

―Sharpen your eyes, dearest, says Sissy. Fuzz! It's shimmering all around you, in every detail, everything. Yes you can see it now. You forgot about the timelock. O my golden bull you!

―You're the golden bull! ―No you're the golden bull! ―No you are! ―No you are! ―Stop fuzzing around, says Butterfly entering the room. There is wild giggling and laughter. ―God Butterflip, butterlip, you are such a tuss. ―Stop domb stop come offbefore, says Butterfly. ―I know, thanks for reminding me, before. Just because you think someone has hacked your reality doesn't mean someone hasn't, and just because you suddenly understand that some weird detail in your life was actually a misunderstanding on your part, that doesn't mean it was a misunderstanding on your part.

―Sis, when are we going to flow away into your hyperspacial bloodstream? asks Spiros.

―When? giggles Sissy. You are asking me “when”? ―Hahaha, well. Muuuuuu! ―Shhhh! Be quiet, dear. ―Hihihihi. ―You're sharp like a blade. ―Only because I grew up on a pasture. . . ―Yesh, you know, there's chaos everywhere, cows everywhere. . .

Faucet. Sdops. Knock. ―By the woods woods woord words. ―Glitterfy, says Spiros and kisses Butterfly's hand. He looks at Sissy. All smile. He whispers:

―Bed sheet, sheet of dreampaper, on the other side of the word sheet.

―By woods by the foods of the woods by the words by the whirlds. Nature. Who we are. I see it. I feel.

―You don't need a space ship, Spiros, says Sissy. Nobody knows you have already leaved.

So wit about this trick of the pulp of the plum blossom? Well don't ask me. Sissy and Butterfly are the plum blossoms. Our Galoxy is vast, so thir dreams whisper inbetweens, invincible in its invisibility. Glitters by like a butterfly, a hint of the Poison, which we are. Our Best Story Ever, evermore. The bed story. O my bedst friends, sisterbrothers, wives, friends, Dear Ingenious Reader, my semblances. It's taste! It's taste in the mind like loveblood nectar! God how it tinted our blood. . .

―She says she is sorry she did not tell you earlier. But O, O, how glad you will be she waked you!

Spiros ponders. ―The White Queen, he says and teases Sissy. The white marble statue that we had in our childhood home, the one that fell in a pillowfight and lost its head. Fell on the chessboard of our storyboard.

―I fell for you the instant I saw you, says Sissy. You were a bit too young for me at that time, however. Had to wait a few years to send you my first letter of love.

She lies down on the grass next to the river. ―Slims of nymphosis in the holiest, beddybuddies, she says. Rosy pusshies, tonguelick Veil, volantine, valentine eyes. She's devoured; stone is in the whole. Knifes wives the shipmen, steep wall! Everything of it is. And Vioila!

Spiros nods, deep in thought and dream. ―O how we had to hide that one. Behush her waters. ―Hahaha! You never use envelopes do you? Long chain letters written everywhere. Tussilago, bullsfoot, and the unicorn hoof. All and everywhere in the details. I see it in the past passing by.

―Very cosydosy, says Butterfly. To flow with it. She whispers:

―Twolips have kissed the flower of the saga.

She kisses a tulip and throws it into the air in joy. ―What if you are the writer? Wombwell, the eye, ear, nose, we like to know, we want as we see the shedoves of a tripling selves, amadst camel-old Orio Plamari, now standing landing and winking, Fee, yes three, of a secret whisper, amad the oxen at one before. Two stops back, irregularshaped shedews triplets glittearing through to us about the news, on the young pasture of the young morning of our rosy perfect sunrise.

―Yes, we must be receptive to receive it. ―Yes, when we thespian lesbian dreamers weavers tune up as real in our fantasycal trick of the Poison.

―Check mate. ―I'm waking up, says Spiros. ―Well done with the search, says Sissy and giggles. Butterfly winks. ―Why thank you Kissy and Trippyfly, says Spiros. Sacrament to us. You, the only suns that shine. The drug I can't resist. We came out of the ground, I hear.

―As I wrote to you in a loveletter so long ago, sugarboy. We know the dark ways over the light channelary circuits. Now let me teach you how to grab that ray of light. . . and other tings. Sissy and Butterfly kiss passionately and Butterfly then kisses Spiros gently on his lips.

―This one is laced for sure. . . a kiss for the beast. ―Did you sisters practice kissing on each other when you were teens, or what? teases Spiros.

There they are, from the destination, up where our impossible consiousness has hyphenated our Eternity.

―Now I realise, sisters, that we are only for us. I recognise the poison in my soul. We have entered. Now I remember.

II

Gos-Fluff and Mys-Puss

ow that kiss was laced. A kiss for the beast. Happened even before it happened. N

When we are no longer many moments we shall wake up in Girlieroom beyond the end of the river.

Spiros thinks back to it. He fell asleep in the bed at Leavingbye Road, then traveled through strange salviadivinesque spaces with happy talking toys and other weird things, then he woke up in a large bedroom somewhere. The bedroom had pink walls and cushions everywhere; it was a very girly room, and he thought he could glimpse a glass dildo over there on a table. As he stood there on the carpet, forth came Bianca flying and she showed him the way to another part of the room. She lead him to a large bed and then vanished out of sight. On the bed Spiros saw the shape of a human form under a white linen sheet, and he just knew who it was lying there. And indeed, a few seconds later a face appeared from under the blanket; Sissy's face. She smiled and Spiros smiled in astonishment and they looked at each other happily.

―I can't believe it, said Spiros. It's real. . . Sissy just smiled and bit her lower lip, and Spiros went to her and stroke his hand across her head. They kissed and looked deep into each others eyes.

―Now can't you. . . said Sissy and twinkled with her eyes. Spiros knew exactly what she meant, they had decided this long ago, for when they arrive. Spiros kissed down her neck and over her breast and down over her waist and hip and down down onto her bum, and he kissed and licked her bum, spread her cheeks and licked her deep, just as they had decided; the bum of the Queen, bum of the Goddess.

―It tickles! laughed Sissy. It tickles! Spiros giggled and kissed his way up to her face again and marvelled at her. Motherly, shining.

―You're really real, it's really real. . . They began to kiss violently and threw away the blanket and they made love, as if for the first time, joyous warm love. And as they did, up from behind them came Butterfly, and she kissed Sissy's bum and then put her face in front of Spiros eyes. They kissed too, and then they all made love, warm joyous love, and as they did Sissy and Butterfly whispered more of the secrets to Spiros, explaining more about the hidden plot.

―In this world we shall meet when we are no longer many moments, Sissy said.

Spiros had many questions but he prefferred to listen to what Sis and Butt said.

―I can't believe it's all real, said Spiros again and happily. ―I know, said Sissy smiling. Soon Spiros woke up again on the bed at Leavingbye Road 216.

When we are no longer many moments. Yes, we are spread across time and dream, spread across space and place, and all way through every detail of our lives. The story continues to follow the plot head on and right on schedule. We are closing in on the moment of transition for sure. It is very reminiscent of the “concresence” that was such large part of Terence's thinking.

Even Spiros telephone numbers, both his present one and the one he had through most of his childhood, equal 216 when calculated in a ceratain way, a way that he and the girls often calculate. Let us recall that even Bianca's name becomes 216 when calculated as A=1, B=2, C=3.

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

The apartment on Leavingbye Road is even on second floor and there are 16 steps in the stairway leading up to the apartment.

The details fit way too well, Spiros thinks and smiles, fires up something to smoke. Now I know it's real.

―Gos-Fluff and Mys-Tuss is your new nicknames, he says and laughs.

That's Swedish. Gos means something like really really cosy, like a teddy bear or cuddling in bed or in front of the fireplace, and Fluff, well that's simply something very fluffy. So something that is Gos-Fluff you can imagine is the cosyiest fluffiest thing you can imagine. And Mys-Tuss, well Mys also means something along the lines of cuddling and cosy cosy in a fluffy bed or something, so something that is Mys-Tuss . . . well, you can imagine. And now it's Sissy's and Butterfly's new nicknames: Mys-Tuss and Gos-Fluff.

Dear Gos-Fluff and Mys-Puss,

Hi, it's Teddy here. Did we dream this into being? I am sure now that we have indeed conjured this. I am at loss for words, as I know you know. I can't believe this is happening. But I do believe it now. It's really happening! Kisses! The myshroom and us. . .forever.

III

Time to Leave

o wake up and get out from the lie of history is to find a completelly new version of what your life is. When I did so a new magical modality suddenly popped forth, I could see the topology of my life in a new way. To stand up on the high mountain that psilocybin provides gives a larger perspective, and another perspective entirely. T

In the web of me and my family's life we have now come to an amazing crossroad: It is time to leave.

The precission with which the Seamstress weaves our life always amazes me. She weaves for us the marvelous web. We decided years ago to stay and live in our place on Leavingbye Road 216 until our book The Mushroom Seamstress be finished. It was now finished a few days ago, we are waiting for our first proof-read printed copy to arrive in the mail. And what happens as I sit there and bask in the bliss of it all? I get a letter in the mail telling me we are being thrown out of the apartment at Leavingbye Road. Hahahahahaha! We must move on imiddiate notice, I was told. Talk about timing.

―Another couple is granted sunglasses and endless vacation, says Sissy and laughs. It's time to leave, baby. It has recently struck me with new force how what is happening to us shines of similarities with "concresence" that Terence spoke so much about. Everything flowing together, the threads meeting. "When we are no longer many moments", almost as if everything is crystalizing into an eternal artifice.

Hahaha, a few days ago I visited the town where I spent most of my teen years. I ate on a resturant just next to the house where I grew up, and as I stood outside the resturant smoking I saw the antique wall-clock that adorns the wall next to the school. I remember that clock, I used to walk past it daily on my way to highschool. As I stood there puffing away it soon hit me that the clock had stopped; it stood still for minutes. And soon I noticed it had stopped at 12 minutes past 6. I sighed and giggled and whispered to Sissy that “You have to be kidding”. Curious as to how long the clock has stood still I asked a bypassing woman on the street for details.

―Excuse me, do you live around here? I asked. Do you know how long this clock has stood still?

She smiled.

―Yes I live here, she said. It's always stood still. And by the way I know who you are. How's it going with the book?

―How do you know who I am? I laughed. And how do you know I write books?

―You told me. We conversed for a short few moments and then she left through the gate into the house next to the clock.

Curious indeed. So that clock which hangs just a minute's walk away from the house I grew up in stopped at 6:12, and apparantly it stopped many years ago. I took my first mushroom trip right there in that area, let me mention. At one point in the trip I went out on the street for a walk, so I walked past that clock on my very first mushroom trip ever! Hahahaha! Sissy . . . What the . . . ???

Indeed, it was just a grassy ass ago since we made up that original glorious lie with mother Conception in our daydreaming on the pasture, since the poison kiss in our unveiling broken bed- story ignited the hyperspacial bomb that blasted faster than anything across the landscape of time. Was blast say who reckon. Our one large eyes and souls she gathered up in Fairytales, and forth sprung a little something and everything that we have. The wine is real. Let me be clear about it: The Earth still is there, it was not destroyed; but we left. Nothing was going on on that planet but banalities, so we left into our own universe. We call it Plomari, the fluffiest world ever. A broken bed story mended into the perfect sunrise of our souls falling deeper and deeper into love as the bend woke us into our eternal union as the gods we had forgotten we are.

“The experience of the mushroom is the experience of this feminine

informational matrix that knits everything together.”

―TERENCE MCKENNA

I

t's Sissy's birthday today! April 1. Exactly 29 days before Spiros' birthday which is the last of April. We are celebrating with champagne breakfast, champagne mixed with peach juicyjuice. We have a lit candle in green glass holder that shines green like her eyes, and we're listening to one of our alltime favorite songs, Around the World in a Tea Daze. The running joke of the morning is that we are going to ritually kill Spiros in the most awesome and huge way we can imagine, and then just when we're about to kill him we'll say “Oaaaahhhhhh, just kiddin' mate! There we got ya.” But no, we got even more funnier sings to do!

Hi, Spiros here writing now. A few things I'd just like to say in the by, regarding the events surrounding our departure:

I woke up on the police station, without knowing how I got there. Sissy told me she had laced her kiss with a very special poison. The officers were friendly and gave me an envelope, they said it contained 621 crona, money in swedish currency, that they found in my pocket. Then they released me from my cell, it was a drunk-cell, they said I had been a bit too drunk so they had to lock me up. Later however it stood written on the envelope that it contained 62o crona, maybe I heard and read wrong, perhaps I was hallucinating, haha blinkwink. When returning to Leavingbye Road I sat down by our super computer and got a phone call from Benni Bennassi. We spoke in happy joy for a while, I felt like a child so happy because he's a big fan of mine so it was of course fun to get a call from him, and I was then lead to a song by him. I then remember that Bonnie spoke to Benni last Easter (Easter begins close to as I write this by the way). She said she spoke to him using half an avocado and a broken tape-recorder, which to me is no surprise as in mushroom hyperspace it seems the arrangement of objects is part of the tuning mechanisms of frequency and channel-hopping within its matrix. Later I recall that when the expensive safe with its digital code lock was placed outside our Palace door by a complete stranger (we had not ordered it to be placed there), the one who placed it there introduced himself as Roger, although when I asked him later he introduced himself with another name. Roger that?

IV

The Nap O' the Pasture

D

ear. It's the loveliest mind milk, you speak it all the time. In the great great novel. When she lead the birds entirely to theresend. And if whoever it is a gull with a halo for calling that good times of Nature, which a trip through Molesworth Fields make possible, here now about Herculos plan. Come on, the Temple and an eye for short, afterwards genuflected toewards the self-prophetic purpose by a small yearlyong shleep, value of their number, before voting themselves about us without even till he told rewritemen, Mount Tipsey, this time we plunging with the citta! Butty believes it. Hark, the rustlings and every whisper and one time as your weekenders come to endorse with such a semination but one is manowife's lot of both of the Pot for a Great Phall in his dode canal samelivers cared seriously believed by a public in the bunk of ancestralolosis down the merry and a wee peep, see, at Number Won Won. Of course we won! In our One. What we sinduced by following bodily, as the world has heard. Cracklings cricked. A rayways view from the saddle but one well only her fluffballs safe in cloudletlitter silent that Magic drink, everhere bird! Hold him for an unknowable assailant (masked) against a grip of the pampas, says the lightning; married modified phraseology, Messrs Alive, the rain to write across our cuddle in the clouds of summerdream, wet by slumberstream, as we listened to our megaverse from within the behushing waters of the wine, who was in our souls backtowards motherwitters so the suspices of the speech of La Belle spun to master Everyhe to another who has cleverly turned out fromorph the pleasant and possible tremendum after nibbling of the bluecap, Snowwhite and cork to float from the bottle of the neck of the dream that stung so mildly our young hearts, vital as blood, a kiss breaking the ice of a sharp sterile to the edge opposite-of-deadly sleep, having forgate that we are those gods we whispered must be somewhere hiding; the gate, the cut witty wozzy dashes never crack of the design, for we hear show brighten the night. As if he had not put that detail there! Of course he did. We followed bodily into our desire for the dream, and now we shape a new little feature of it from within our Lapis. Because the universe is mental.

Imagine a young boy, 7 years old or so, who is in a pillowfight on a bed with roses on the bed cover, and in the pillowfight a pillow hits a white marble statue, the White Queen, and the statue

falls to the floor in the palace and the head falls off. That is one of my first memories of The Girl Who Wanted To Play and the beginning of the broken bed story from one angle in the hyperspace of the wine of our souls. Then the White Queen flies to the boy as a white dove, and his life becomes a love letter from her. He dared imagine. He did.

Have I ever believed in You, you ask? Hihihihi. Well who was it that came up with the masterplan? Wink blink. Did we dream it into being? Hihihihi. You know, one little detail in that mix and we're off, baby, and you know it's already been inserted. Dare you dream the detail? Can that last detail be as dreamy as the poison? Dare, dare!, let there be life. Fuck me if it's not the route to take, a dreamy wish. Hihihihi. Of course I believe in you! And why do you think I am waving the Blue Apple everywhere, the mushroom? Our blue apple makes it possible.

I ask you the same: Have I been dreaming alone all those years? I bear your children like wildflowers in sleep too.

As Sissy said to me once: Don't tell me you too are so boring you can't believe such a thing as our plan is possible!

V

Back to the Rainforest

ou remember when you worked at the zoo, when you were about 1o years old or so? asks Sissy and fiddles around with a peachypink flower petal that has fallen off a tree. At the Terrarium with the rainforest folks, I mean the rainforest plants and all, the snakes and insects and parrots and all. Y

―Yes, says I and look at her calmly as I enjoy the spring sun on my face.

Sissy giggles secretively. ―Well, Sissy continues, I saw you there. That's where I fell in love with you.

―Haha. I thought we met earlier. ―Well for the sake of this moment let me say that that is where I fell in love with you. You little blond boy. I saw you from afar. I saw you through the tropical leafery, my eyes spotting you from a secret angle. That's my man, I thought. The way you cared for the plants and animals and all. We had fun playing around those years, remember?

―O how could I ever forget. We were in love. You, my girlfriend Nature, my very first girlfriend.

―Yes do you remember how you used to dream of us escaping into another world?

―Hmm, yes, you're right. We did. ―Hihihihi. ―I remember when I was older, says I, when I had become a young man, and you said to me “It's about time you fuck me and check out what I'm really about.” You are so fucking awesome, babe. I also remember when you said “I'll show you how I really am.” God, I blush to think of how sometimes I didn't believe it. I mean how could I have gotten so stupid?

―As you always said in those times, you wanted proof. You wanted nothing but the real deal. No need to blush. Although you're cute when you blush so, hihihihi.

―Our quickening remarkable rainforest love. I can feel Ayahuasca calling to me, singing to me from the future. That Peganum harmla trip of a few days ago was so beautiful. What was it, 4 grams of Peganum or so? Beautiful. I feel the bird in me, and the lizard and snake and insect, and the human and our Greco- Egyptian godlyness, our human and the rainforest and the pastures, and the alien. Love like the dove taking care of her egg,

as I always say. Deep. As if I even remember when we were dinosaurs. Siss, Butterfly. . . I love you.

―Our legend is unheard of, says Butterfly and smiles. And no need to blush, Spiris. We love you unconditionally, you know that, and afterall our trick is very nimble and elusive. Which is why nobody knows about us, hihihihi. We had to fool you a bit, too, remember?

―I know, I know, says I. But still. I'm sorry I fell off a bit sometimes. I never lost sight of you, you know. But society did try to kill me, it is true.

―Yes, but that is over now. Now nothing can sever our connection. We have entered. You made it across the river, dear. Through the twoway water surface. You have arrived.

Me smiles and floats in bliss. ―And we have mixed awake and adream! ―Yes yes! Spiros blinks with his eyes in amazement. Suddenly, with calm and joy, it settles upon him;

―We've gone full spiral, darlings. We've gone full circle. I'm back in the rainforest. I'm back in Plomari.

VI

Gone Full Circle

Now that was one hell of a trip, them past 26 years. Hahahaha. Guess those are my first words on new land, in this new world, haha, not the best words perhaps but what can I say. I'm back, we've gone full circle. It's all so clear to me now. I am at loss for words right now but wow, what a grand spring we have ahead of us, a spring on the new land, in our new universe! And yet this spring will be only a mere taste of the wonders and delights that lay further ahead! Mmmm, at last I am back. What a long journey it was, in the lands between history and Plomari. At last my roots are firmly planted in Plomarian soil and the fruits and flowers of my soul awakening within Your embrace fragrance the air; Your embrace, my dears, and the embrace of our love and of our Plomari. My heart is pumping wild with excitement! My pulse, vital, a feeling of having achieved the impossible. And soon the new mushrooms are ripe!

And yesterday, as I awoke (where you dwell?) and opened my eyes to such bright light I could hardly see a thing, inbytween worlds, we touched in the dark, my Isis. I could but see your siluette, and but scarsely so, but as my hand lay on your warm cheek and your evergiving breast, I knew it was you. And your smiling whisper to me in the dark: Yes, it is me.

VII

Cecilia's Yarn

piros loads the pipe. It's a handmade pipe made from tin foil and an ink pen; he had no other pipe available. He kisses the crushed leaves of the Salvia divinorum gently, an air-kiss. Takes courage to light it, always takes courage for him to smoke Salvia divinorum; it's intense. He turns off all lamps in the Palace; the darkness now surrounds him. He sits down naked on the bed, caresses roses on the white and red bed cover, thinks of Sissy and Butterfly. S

―Okay girls, let's do this. He fires up the lighter, lights the salvia, inhales. Nothing happens. He lies down on the bed. Nothing happens. ―Hmm, strange. Nothing, he says. He refills the pipe, a larger amount this time. Fires up, inhales, holds the smoke for a long time.

Nothing happens. He does it again, larger amount this time. Smokes, holds the smoke deep and long in his lungs. Exhales.

He lies down on the bed and begins to fall away. Away into the dripping echo of something unutterable.

―Here is wehere we hid it, says Sissy. ―Perfect place to hide it, says Spiros. Suddenly in the dripping infinate echo his whole reality becomes made of knitted yarn. The street lights from outside the window suddenly light up the palace, and everything is made of knitted yarn in delicate patterns, like a winter shirt that Grand-ma has knitted. The yarn is knitted in a complex pattern that stretches far into Spiros' past and into the future. Spiros rises to his feet, kind of crawling through the knitted yarn.

―I can't believe it, Siss, he says. It's so perfect. The entire web. Baby, the entire web.

Soon things return to normal. Spiros decides he must celebrate, he must celebrate and go and buy beer. As he goes to fetch the few coins and bills he has lying around he finds a big lump of white thread lie tangled on the floor, and as he rises his gaze, right before his eyes stands an unopened beer. Sissy waves from a secret corner. She reminds him of that red piece of yarn he found recently. After years of Spiros having sat on the black horse-hair chair, the chair clothed in fabric of woven black horse-hair, the

fabric began to break to pieces and within the cushioned seat he found a small piece of red yarn.

―That's how well we weave, says Sissy. Do you see it now? Spiros nods, smiles. ―I see it, sis. My seamstress. And I recognize the poison in my soul.

And those sevenorso small stitches.

Do you think you need a body for psilocybin? says the mushroom. I have a body.

And so we went into hiding again, in our echoing, the weaves of ourselves in the open but for none but us to see, as we from our mytho of the three seamstresses arose out of the knit of ourselves, our awakening again from our sleep, the ends of the threads hidden, and with us in the middle. Yes, Sess-seal-ja, I see now.

And yes, you said so. Yours most incompetently.

piros lets the thread of yarn sweep through the air, then lets it fall to the ground. As it lands on the ground the end of the thread it curls, it curls to write the word Sen, the Swedish word for late. And on the other end it curls forth S & W. Spiros laughs. S

―Yes, we were a bit late, I agree, says Spiros. But right on time, actually.

Sunset. ―Here is where we found the key to dreamland. ―O Mari! With Ekko. Mekko! Marimekko! Sixteen. Cecilia, I thought, you know, that we had to take it so slowly because, you know, we are intense. I hear your laughter, so sweet to hear your voice! You don't need to answer me now. Answer me maybe a bit later, sen, down my weaveing up river. Baby, haha, eh, I just have to say, the feeling of meeting you yesterday, in that other world, my hand on your sweet cheek, and my hand cupped around your warm breast, your full warm breast. . . I . . . it's . . . it felt like having come home. I was so scared, so so scared, sometimes. But to meet you systerday, now I am warm again. The light was so strong I could hardly see, I could hardly open my eyes. And then there you were. What when dreams weave in open day? Jag älskar dig så, så så att jag älvskar mitt hjärta på oss, O O dangerous hihihihi, O O river a rip in our, O O, hihihi, haha, well that's how intense we are, my love, and do not worry, for never would we falter! Feeling our flow. What when dreams weave. . . what when dreams weaveing. We can weave ourselves way now. Away? Into. We don't need a spaceship. We are our spaceships. We can leave a yarn, so that we can return should we wish to visit. Or should we perhaps not leave at all, and instead weave? I'll weave you a little kiss in the wind of the winwine, and we can weave ourselves into kissing! And we cin uhm, cin uhm, float in the blissis of being always home. For we flew here to do something, I think. For we are always in our dreamspace, always at home. And you know my secret name, so maybe you can sing to me today in a fleeting sound above the water, for I was the Seth that killed myself in fake to give you a little kiss that was the first signal that our plan had been executed; we have arrived, dearest! I see your panties by the riverfunnel, closer and closer to the tight end, and on your panties is a littly white feather stuck so curiously! We have been set free!

Sneaky plan, sneaky snaky! Back now, where we first saw each other's naked soul. Saysy, sissis, what shall we do now? Any particular wishes in your heart, as to what you want to do?

Okay then, except that. . . anything else than our wild sex? Hihi. Oh don't blame me for the seven young sisters of the Doveil, O them girls of 7th heaven, that they are so so hot. God, she looked young, what was she, seventeens or so? But now, anything else?

And a voice says: He shall leave, he shall leave us. Shallt he? Budderfly, hear that! Shallt he very leave? Bud knows he loved that world too, and the gods of it and the funs of it, and all its little kinks, the world where the letter was left as he flew away. But there was too much love in his heart to stay. Yet will he ever be back, for a visit, should he be needed or merrily wanted, by old dear friends and friends in the drealms of Happierspace. For there is ever time for that, he knows that as well as he knows the taste of ten years and eternily of drinking too multch wine and smoking too much of the godsherbs and eating too much of those spicial poisons! But it is true, he left. And we bring three mushty cheers for his celebration of utter toomuchness! One thousand and one, unitycompressed into one hundred and one, and then yet some, and yet some, in the ways he left. Not a trace of his departure in the layers of that world he left, that he tiptoed steadily and quietly through, carefull not to explode like a nakedclear bomb, cept but for those who get a hint in some strange unexpected place, as he left hints and winks as any good friend would do who knew such wonders as he. Yes it is true, he left. Smaller and bigger in the sumtime with the third there as the salvocean. And as he left she said, as it stood written where he read in an old young book mentioning the gannies:

―Wick, dear! Yes as the candle flame had set the world on fire and plastic was melting. And so he gently removed the flame. And then he read on, and he said

―Well thems them muchrooms. ―For it was everso as you knew it, said she. Yes, it is true. And he fetched for the thing in the corner of his sight, and it was a little label from a pair of panties that read:

S o. U

So you, my love.

Pull us through the wine, my lovely

And then we left We folded up the impossible box