HOME / THE ALIENS LOVE YOU / WEB

Forty short shorts / chapters / experiential units with various vibes (mainly sci-fi, metaphysical), degree of difficulty −4

Also available in EPUB, MOBI and TXT

75 pages

Cover

The Aliens Love You v1.0 2016-10-17
Copyright © 2016 Marc Fiszman

1. Prefatory Note

These materials are quite advanced, receiving −4 in the latest rankings.

Those new to my—

^

2. Short Shorts

“Faggot…” he says, and I can’t really blame him. I am wearing some really very short shorts.

Here’s the thing:

My legs:

:

: ARE

: DELICIOUS

And the join…

#

“And the legs…”

: ARE

: DELICIOUS

“Legs…”

“Walk.”

“Yes, one… ambulates.”

“It could be worse.”

“It could…”

“It could?”

“LEFT!”

“Sorry! Right. Legs. Got it. Delicious.”

: ARE

: DELICIOUS

And what, may I ask, of delicious…

“Faggot…”

Oh…

#

And run! And I ran! In this shitbag, really great. Great mission. Lovin’ it. Showing my legs at every opportunity.

: ARE

: DELICIOUS

Being meat… being the meat… Being not releasing…

: FUCK!

“Faggot…”

#

Strange, sitting here, on this couch. Quite rotten. I, too. Yet the legs… haven’t changed. I remain, as ever, your servant.

But do let’s end this?

^

3. Big Experience

> I’M

> FUCKING

> MIKE

> YO!

#

> MIKE!

#

> YA

> HEAR

> ME!

#

> YOYOYO!!!

#

#

############…

Okay, Mike, breathe… take a moment. Breathe, baby. Exit the Mike complex, step away from the console – withdraw…

…flow, to the kitchen, for some passion fruit loaf with a dollop of crème fraîche, yes…

Yes! Crème fraîche. That’s just what I need. Some passion fruit loaf with crème fraîche, just like _mx.0k4 used to make.

_mx.0k4…

#

Ah, these thoughts of the Old World make me glad… a little sad… and rather sick… – dollop it on, there, “Mike”, don’t be shy – the two-moon nights. All the days of too-awake inside that gridwork, pattern, maze:

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

: praying like a bitch for a chance at…

This…

“Hey, hon.”

“Hey, sweetie. You’re home early. Didn’t hear you.” You didn’t exist yet, per the schedule… now: breathe… “Good day? Fancy some loaf?”

The price of withdrawal…

“Sure. Wow, I’m starved! Dinner with the Oovians isn’t till eight. We’re doing Red tonight, right? The jellies?”

“Yes, that’s right. The sitter’ll be here soon. For her orientation.”

“That’s good to hear. How’s she been?”

“She has… been. She has been sleeping.”

“That’s good to hear. I’ll make some coffee. God, I’m wiped!”

“Yes, I bet!”

“Hang with your friends today?”

>

>

>

> Sure.

#

“That’s nice. That’s right. It’s good to go outside. Good to get online. It’ll go great with the loaf, now I think about it. Great with the crème…

#

…now I think about it…”

:

: HESITANCE

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

: ON

: THE

: MENU

# # #

“Babe, let me do it. Put your feet up. Put your slippers on. Put your feet up.”

“I’ll put my feet up.”

“Put your feet up. I’ll bring the loaf.”

“And the coffee.”

“And the coffee! Don’t worry. The coffee will be there. Everything you want… will be there.”

I wasn’t Mike there.

And I’m not Mike here. Can’t be Mike here, without the keypad. Tried shoving my fingers in a loaf once… but no go.

And I love that woman, ya know? I’m not Mike, no. But I do love her, that thing. And when I enter the Mike complex…

#

#

# …I kinda wanna smother the child…

# # #

Guess that’s part of it, eh? The Big Experience. Fuck, this crème’s good… Goes so, so well with the loaf.

With the crème.

With itself.

It’s _mx all over again…

It’s Red tonight, jellies.

Gonna leave the console behind, Mike behind. Gonna take these plates and fake-to-make coffee.

Sit [DOWN] in the lounge.

Stream [ME] to the screen.

^

4. Let’s…

…try something different, shall we?

Let’s.

Let us be us. You, me. Let us not be them.

They…

Who do invade us!

Steal our carrots!

Ahem…

So…

So…

LOOK:

There once was a man who perceived in the night infinities of parallelics resulting from his

: GOD

And he shook

. in his bed

. those nights.

He was wet. And by day, he came to notice cars were stalling by his side.

In his field…

Yes…

: GOD

“I believe… well, that I’m God.”

“Okay…”

“Or… something.”

“Right…”

But look… is this different? Yes, no. You, me. The parallelics. Do you see?

: DO

: YOU

: FUCKING

: SEE

: AT

: ALL!

# # #

There once was a man who perceived in the night infinities of parallelics resulting from his God. And he shook, in his bed, those nights. He was wet. And by day, he came to notice cars were stalling by his side.

“You are channelling God’s energy – there is an expansion, concentration of your kriatic field – and this is interfering from time to time with the engines of these mundane vehicles. All very normal, and to be commended. Oh, these scones…”

“But is it something I can control?”

“And would you want to? Do you wish to be a superhero!”

The ring of Inner Ringers chuckle, and I smile. Yes, this is going well… The tea is hot, the scones fresh. There is jam, cream. Fuckloads of spirituality.

“We have all passed through it, this transition,” Torbin says, Inner Ringer #1. His disc is alive, second in size, shine only to that worn by the Big Cheese. It bears the symbol of the group, the phoenix-like kriat. We rise, by the flame. And soon, this community centre with Gladys at the door will burn.

“But be hush-hush about it, hm?” adds a woman of lesser charm, #4 or so. We are all One, in God’s eyes. And the Big Cheese is enjoying her delights, naturally.

…sugar…

…vinegar…

…yes…

#

:

:

:

: I

: AM

: IN

: TEARS…

:

:

:

“It is God…”

Now I feel their embrace…

# # #

Soon, I will free them, free them all, including the Big Cheese. And take my place as the new Big Cheese, the former Cheese inside my sandwich.

Unmelted cheese…

Tomato…

Lettuce…

Yes…

#

:

:

:

: BREAD

: BREAD

:

:

:

#

…bread…

…yes…

…and you are the pickle, the Torbin pickle… sugar…

[VINEGAR]

[CARROT]

# # #

TWO

CREDITS

99

# # #

“Seasoned mayo…”

^

5. The Emissaries

“Alter course to 4.7-alpha-alpha-7.4. Three.”

“But Captain, that will take us straight into—”

“JUST DO IT!”

“Yessir!”

“Thanks. I’ll be in the smoking lounge.”

Glowing up a fat one with the emissaries, assuring them we’re heading straight into bubblespace, as agreed, a plan shared only with me, and the highest sections.

None on this ship. They lack significance, according to Barnes. They are expendable, per Veer. They will all die soon, compute the models.

She will be dead soon, my alien lover, with the delicious lips, hips… fuck me, she’s so delicious… How could such a creature not be spared…

FUCK!

And so brilliant in the modelling and desiccrumb studios! Fuck…

And the emissaries and I will be laughing away, laughing all the way to Reality 4 in our bubblepod. Dining on fake steak, some cubic crumble of that meat. And toasting ice blue wine, illicit blood of cyborg turtles.

And I do so crave that extraction…

“WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING!”

“Yessir! Sorry, sir! You kinda… er… weren’t looking where you were going.”

I was twice intoxicated…

#

And five minutes later, we were tearing off our uniforms, performing hard – the very hardest – alien porn. We would be superstars. Always masked, of course. Can you imagine!

A little fun.

And then it grew.

Before we knew, there was a non-stop stream of credits.

Enough to buy a planet!

We were in love…

And then this…

“Understood?”

#

[######]

#

> Yessir!

[############]

[############]

[############]

>

>

>

#

>

>

>

>

>

>

> LUNCH

> WAS

> COMPLETE

fates were sealed, I was drunk on turtle wine. And I grew hard, very hard, as I multitasked the shortlist. The planet we would choose! We would be wed there, in a maskless ceremony.

And I cared little that it would never come to be…

FUUUUUUUUCK!!!

“The fat ones, Jimmy. Thanks. Did she? No… Leave her to her brilliance. Her revolutionary reimagining of the very essence of the desiccrumb. Yes, agreed! Oh, quite so… I have always enjoyed you, by the way. Are you a fan of porn? Please speak freely.”

“I… am, sir. Yes. Very much so.”

I know, Jimmy. You have rated us an average of 4.8 dildos. The Barnes animal: 4.9.

He will soon possess the Fourth.

And I will drink his piss. Effectively.

“Good, very good. Well, off you go for your stroll. Veer will get you up to speed on the Cigar. Wonderful docking bays! This ancient computer slab is to be rolled about the grounds on its trolley. Please ‘type’ any thoughts as you go. Anne-Marie has a selection of skintight gloves.”

For one would not be sullied, would one, Barnes… it is all the machines…

LET US BLAME IT ON THE MACHINES!

Let us beam hard porn, the hardest porn, across the galaxy… how much pleasure we have brought…

Yet still, I cannot escape this wine…

Fuck…

“Emissary 1, Emissary 2. Apologies. I was detained by a certain… resistance on the part of the navigator. Please, enjoy a fat one, fresh from the modelling and desiccrumb studios.”

“Resistance, you say, eh?”

“You say, eh? Do you say it?”

I am open to the alien form, but these two… fuck, really…

We are enjoying our cigars, Captain, thank you.

: THIS

: IS

: HIGH

: DIPLOMACY

# # #

No time to reply before they were getting it on, all of it beamed across the galaxy. The plan was shot. The ship was taken over. I escaped by bubblepod.

On the screen, unmasked, she’s fucking Barnes.

And I am Jimmy.

^

6. Camp Enjoy

“Now have fun! Enjoy! I’ll be in my office if you need me. The door is always open. Now create! Create! Yes!”

Die…

Welcome to Camp Enjoy, luxe retreat for creative cripples. The overmonied, bankers, and such. In for a dose of going with the flow.

In for drawing. Writing. Ribboned movements of the New Age! Yes!

NOW KINDLY DO FUCK OFF!

Die…

“Hello. I am Computer.”

“Get me Spark. Stat!”

“Megan Sparkmoor. Status: Do Not Disturb. Would you like me to—”

“DIE! DIE! Hello there! Yes, they’re in Studio Grange. Take a left at the Spiritual Mosaic. Enjoy! Create! Yes!”

Die…

And yes, even you… you hot young thing, toned to the tits by Sek’noorian yoga, raw diet all the way, plus silken creams.

And do not hear what is contrary. There is a selective membrane. Do not even see the lips move, for that portion. The membrane covers that, too, alien tech of another order.

The aliens who love me.

Loved me.

Do they still love me?

Do I deserve to be loved…

# # #

It was all so much clearer, before, though not at first, that first night of my showing.

“But please, call me Spark. The aliens do…”

“The… aliens?

What the fuck…

And yet…

Touching me deep inside… such a longing… that same longing which fuelled my abstract creations…

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

: [—]

:

:

:

# # #

:

:

:

: INITIATE

: AND

[INJECT]

# # #

Though soon, I would struggle with the plan – itself so abstract – described in code, channelled strokes, some Higher Writing, crystal data. Those parts that I could read tearing at my bohemian soul…

#

#

#

I would work with bankers, and such.

I WOULD BE THEIR SLAVE!

“Yes, cry… cry… But you are far from a slave. You are a facilitator. And for that, the aliens love you. They will always, always love you.”

And when had I ever been loved…

When had I ever been touched, as she touched me then, warm, curled about her, our breasts touching…

[INSERT LESBIAN SEX SCENE]

Though she would become something of a bitch, distant… avoiding of the tongue… and now, again…

Megan… why…

Then breaking through! Humming the Camp Enjoy theme – how out of this world! – with Megan, Toffi. With Alan, Jack, the rest. The curiously accented, shockingly limber twin sisters Vu’teesh and Sek’noor (aka the “one point fives”).

And I painting signs, painting murals, welcome dots – for I am an artist! I have had a showing! I HAVE HAD TO STRUGGLE, BANKER FUCKERS! – with standard strokes. And then, those hidden things, my hand guided… but not quite. And she would guide me… touch me… so…

#

#

#

[######]

#

#

#

# # #

:

:

:

: AND

. THEN:

# # #

“It is time…”

And their lips upon my body, in the ship… alien tongues…

: —

: —

: —

: —

: —

I was bound…

Helmeted…

And it was all so very true…

# # #

“Hey, guys…”

“Hey, Spark!”

“Shhhh!”

“LOL!”

“Oh, wait. The membrane!”

“LOOOOOOOOL!!!”

“Dear me… All good? Everyone being creative? As if I have to ask! Wow, Harv, stunning lines on those hexagons. Shame you’ll have to fuck it up soon. How’s she doing today? Emily, you’re on pass-through?”

“Yup! She’s losing it. Big time. DIE! DIE!”

“Computer can confirm!”

“HAHAHA!!!”

“Oh, Cantara! Just brilliant. The performance of your life! You are all giving the performances of your lives, you and the rest of LIAR. I feel so inadequate! A mere

[THERAPIST]

former [WHORE]

failed [PLAYWRIGHT]

[AMATEUR ASTRONOMER]

+

[LOVER OF HORS D’OEUVRES]

fascinated by the intersection of porn, insanity, art and the Other. Such was ‘Computer’s choice’! Though the couch has proved… nutritious. Emily, she’s still into your tits?”

“More than ever! Been creaming it up, posing whenever I get a chance. Studying your profiles. Can’t wait for Camp Enjoy #1!”

“I bet you can’t, you hot little [VEGAN BITCH]!”

“LOOOOOOOOL!!!”

“Yes! Bring it on! Bring on the LOLs. Bring on Camp Enjoy #1. Hooray for alien-approved transparent walls, invisi-seating. Lube-dispensing canapé-deliverers with never-ending batteries powered by thought!”

“LOOOOOOOOL!!!”

^

7. Please, Call Me Mar

“Mar?”

“The k is silent.”

“Oh. That wasn’t known… How different!”

“And how untrue. Forgive me, Miss Reece. I will sometimes try it with your number.”

“I see… And did I pass? Did I pass, Mar?”

The change is on, my rod has hardened, and I wish for dark chocolate:

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

: 72

# # #

Always:

:

#

With Oovian spice.

Always… always…

I will take some on the way, from that little place, invisible to most eyes, even hers, a supervision. She will see it, perhaps, as a most suggestive arm. These techs, high as they are, aren’t yet primed for white adventure.

And I will be passing wind…

“Walk with me, Miss Reece. But let me turd first.”

.

.

.

# # #

We walk, silent – my blood is hidden by my coat, though I know she sees it – and I am nibbling on chocolate spice as we arrive.

“There are sockets. Please feel free.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

:

:

:

“Mar.”

Oh…

# # #

And I leave her to tour, while I take to the bathroom. To self-please, acclimatise, in the Martian way. For my name:

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

# # #

:

:

:

# There are capsules for M

# Injections for the a

# A spark…

…for the r.

And I am Mar.

#

And though I’ll seem the same, entirely the same, I will be entirely changed.

I will be Mar.

“And your middle name?”

^

8. Iferonic

“I don’t know you anymore!”

“I am your boyfriend. I am Komode.”

“Komode? NO! You are not Komode! The Komode I know – the Komode I knew – snuggled up with me on lazy Sundays and we had muffins and coffee, watched our favourite episodes of TURD and Constabulary 9. When did we last do that? Huh? Huh, ‘Komode’!”

: SCANNING…

: SCANNING…

“I must go now. I must go to my chair.”

“And jack into that box! FUCK THAT FUCKING BOX! Fuck that fucking

: CUBE

: CUBE

: CUBE

Cubicon, where they gave you that black Cube of admitted gorgeousness – a work of art! – some sort of computer with goo for connectors. Cables made from some sort of plant. WTF?? And you shove them in your nose.”

: sniff

: fnrrt

“You’re always sniffing!”

: sniff

: fnrrt

“I am Komode.”

“And they sell it for a credit online now. How the fuck are they selling a computer for the cost of half a muffin! I just wanna watch TURD and C9 and have muffins with you again, Komodey…”

“I must go now. I must go to my chair. I am Komode.”

“YOU ARE NOT FUCKING—”

: COMBINATRONIC

: COMPLETERONIC

“Thank you, Computer. Please dispatch goobatrons to lick and slurp the puddles. Who remains? Komode? The whiny girlfriend? It matters not. They are merged now, merged with a hundred others, a thousand others. Soon – within days, perhaps hours, if they would only fuck less, if they’d only eat less, do less shopping, get in some extra Cube time – but twelve will remain, to be globally arranged, vomiting the mesh which will connect this planet’s Brain. Man? Woman? Child? It makes no difference. All are wombed. All will be gooed. The plants will feed and add their power to the Love Grid.”

: FADERONIC…

: FADERONIC…

“More soup?”

“Thank you, dear.”

“Hexagon sprinkles?”

“Thank you, dear.”

If only you loved me…

If only you loved me…

: IFERONIC…

: IFERONIC…

^

9. The Sky Is Blue

“And blue, blue… the sky is blue… It is so blue! Like an ocean in the sky! From this Mountain of the Soul, I inhale through peppermint nostrils and am filled with the utter blueness—”

“I must ask you to stop. Jennifer.”

“Oh… I’m almost done. Should I finish?”

“Please don’t.”

FUCK!

I have failed, I am a failure. I will never be a writer. John was right all along! I feel so hot, and everyone’s looking at me. Looking at the big fat idiot!

[############]

[############]

[############]

John is awful, yes, a terrible man. But he understands the world and doesn’t live in the clouds. Doesn’t dream like a fool!

LOL! That sucks! Get me a fucking beer.

Maybe that’s all I’ll ever be. A beer slave. An ashtray. It’s for the best, I guess. I am wicked and deserve my fate.

“And why? Why must you stop?”

He’s enjoying this… And he should! Peppermint nostrils?

FUUUUUUUUCK!!!

“You must stop because… it is too much, this blueness.”

LOL! THAT SUCKS! YOU’RE A BIG FAT STUPID IDIOT!

“You must stop because… it is too beautiful, this blueness.”

…eleven…

…ten…

…and I will ruin this woman’s life, through subtle plant. Magic infusion. It was that potion – poison! – which opened the truth to me. Future, fate. The aliens love me, apparently. I do this… I must do this…

#

…because otherwise I experience horrible vibrations, reality swipes. And the world is incorrect. Misaligned. The wafers are not aligned:

: —

: —

: —

: —

: —

: —

: —

: —

: —

: —

: —

#

The wafers in my brain which show me you, Jennifer Beck, plummeting from your success, this night in mind, sky in your eyes.

And always dripping… dripping…

And of course, in truth, it is the truth doing me.

“Thank you… so much…”

“No, thank you.”

: AND

: WE

: ARE

: PLEASED

^

10. Polyhedral

“So let me get this straight. You and your team of five ‘vibrationists’ – all triple-degreed in marketing, statistics and particle physics at the finest universities in the land, plus ‘Akashic 4’ certificates in sacred geometry and fractal projection from the Society of Love—”

Astral projection.”

“Yes, yes, whatever. Astral. Fractal. Who cares! It’s all nonsense. Conducting market research in multiple realities to create a ‘polyhedrally precise’ plan of action? You people are mad! I’m firing Jones as we speak. You can expect a beam from my lawyer. You will recompense me for this waste of my time. I am Julian Blange!”

“Ten. Billion. Credits.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ten billion credits, Mr Blange. The net worth of Maverick Shaft, CEO of New Experience.”

“I know very well who he is, young lady. And what he and his company are worth. There is this thing called The Executive’s Diary. You might like to check it sometime, hm? You will find Body by Blange performing more than adequately in loofahs and bath balls.”

“And a year ago, he was worth… how much? Before I Am This (No, That!)? I’ll wait, while you check the Diary.”

“Please, Ms Bakhera… I hardly need the Diary for that! Everyone knows he was worth exactly…”

…nothing… nothing at all… New Experience didn’t even exist… This (That!) was their first release… made in a day, so they say, impossible…

Impossibly bold… undoubtedly a flop…

But it was not…

Almost as if… perspectives from multiple versions of this reality – of ourselves – had been combined in a deeper authenticity… a deeper longing…

So that [I] would love it…

My [WIFE] would love it…

Even my [MOODY BITCH DAUGHTER] loved it…

What the fuck are these thoughts!

My finger is spasming…

“If you’ll follow me, Mr Blange? There’s something I’d like to show you. Assuming you’re still interested in Polyhedral’s service. Mr Shaft certainly was…”

…certainly was…

…certainly was…

# # #

Melissa leads, clicking heels, while Tony hangs back with Blange, who is starting to see…

: THINGS

: ARE

: NOT

: AS

: THEY

: SEEM…

That these posters along the glossy white walls are not as they seemed half an hour ago.

Inspirational horseshit? This is angelspeak…

Weird abstract crap? These are portals to other worlds…

“This way, Mr Blange.”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Thank you, Tony.”

And whose voice is that… I don’t talk like that… And I don’t care for homosexuals, but Tony seems like a really fantastic guy… And Sophie’s just really artistic… I love my wife…

“Tony… there’s something I want to say about that awkward limp handshake earlier, dripping with revulsion. It’s just that… well, I prefer – preferred – not to touch—”

“No need, Mr Blange. I feel you. You are in me. And more strongly as we approach the Core.”

And that smile… those eyes…

Yes, I am in him…

And he glows, now… he glows…

He vibrates…

“The Core, Tony? What’s that…”

…every product we’ve ever made… arranged on curving shelves of crystal… soaps, bath balls, loofahs… depilatory creams… everything overscented and stuffed with barely legal toxicities…

…Blange…

…Blange…

…Blange…

#

: LOOFAH

: LOOFAH

…Blange…

…and our bestsellers… our stars… on floating discs of crystal… drifting in a dance of infinite geometries…

Drifting on the Breath of God…

The Breath of God…

Breath of God… Breath of God… a new shampoo… no, a new line, brand, the whole shebang… toxicity-free… made with naturally packaged cow dung, and such… extracting core spiritual molecules with polyhedral cigars… And bringing smiles to consumers and farmers alike… Everyone is beautiful… inside and out…

And all of it approved by the Society of Love…

“We approve…” Melissa whispers, floating by with no clothes on.

And all of it making me impossibly rich… but in a good way… a spiritual way…

Such incredible tits…

“Every detail, Mr Blange. Write it down with this cigar. We will pour it in the Core and so vibrate through your realities. Connect the polyhedra. Spin Love across the Folds.”

“And breathe together, Tony… and make it real…

^

11. The Returns

“Greetings, sir!”

“Yes, hello. I’d like to return this item of slick tech, aka machine from hell.”

“No problem at all! May I ask what’s wrong with it?”

“It doesn’t sync with my mindspace.”

AKA it’s made by another planet, for creatures from another planet, like all of your gorgeous junk.

“A sync issue? I see. If you’d like, I’d be happy to demonstrate the advanced synchronisation capabilities of the Cylinder. It’s white like a cloud. Everything’s in the cloud!”

“No. Thank you.”

“Everything’s in the cloud!”

“No.”

“No problem at all! Let me pull up your account. If you’d hold your device in front of my eyes…

:

:

:

:

:

:

…a little higher…

: —

: —

: —

…there.”

: [—]

#

: SCANNING…

: SCANNING…

You are not a machine, but you pretend to be. Or you are. Are you them? Or just enthralled by their death rays.

And the meats all around…

Smiling…

The heat…

# # #

THESE THINGS

ARE

NOT

OURS!

# # #

So why do I still buy them…

“Sorry! Won’t be long. Sometimes, things just… Well, you know!”

“Oh, yes. I know.”

:

: [—]

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

“There! Now let’s see…”

#

# # #

And Mar, I am Mar…

# Why do I come here…

# Why do I go there…

I could do it all online.

Because sometimes…

Always…

“Marc… if you wouldn’t mind, I need to process this in the back. If you’d wait here a minute? Right here. Please don’t move. Not an inch! If you wouldn’t mind… Thanks, Marc!”

“Mar.”

“Excuse me?”

“The c is silent.”

“Oh, I see… Well. Won’t be a mo! And remember: not an inch. Thanks, Marc! Mar!”

And Mar, I am Mar… The aliens love me, but not these. The white ones. The Whites. Their plan, as far as I can tell, is to change us by releasing just enough non-native tech, that we’ll accept it, and become them, over time.

And then they’ll do something with us.

What’s that…

: NOT

: AN

: INCH

# # #

“Marc. Mar. Roderick Hmm…, store manager.”

No, this isn’t Hmm… There is no thing called “Hmm…”. Your shell is a fabrication. You have scanned me, I know. As we speak, your robot insects investigate pores.

: THERE

: ARE

: NO

: DOUBLES!

“David tells me you wish to return your Cylinder? It doesn’t… sync with your mindspace?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No problem at all! Though I see you’ve returned… twenty-five items – seven to this store, the others spread across the network – in the past three years since growth exploded and WHITE became the world’s most valuable enterprise.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No problem at all! It is your right, Mar. Your right. To return.”

: SCANNING…

#

: RODERICK

: HMM…

: NOT

: IS

: VALID

# # #

“He’ll be back, won’t he, sir?”

“Yes, David. Though not here. Let him heal through other stores. Let him see the distribution. Pattern, chains. The core opacities.”

“Like the console on the spaceship?”

“Yes. Just like that.”

^

12. Not Compatible

“It’s because I’m white…”

“Baby, no! The skin doesn’t matter. It’s an inner thing. A spiritual thing.”

: WE’RE

: JUST

. NOT

. COMPATIBLE

“My cock’s too small… too narrow…”

“Your cock is perfect! Amazing. I’ll miss it… You know how I love to suck it, pump it. Slap it against my pussy, mmm…”

White against black, with red heat, blood, snail trail of creamy mix.

Matted clear.

Whiskered rat.

Dampened odour of the dungeon, evocative of sparrow corpse.

“But we’re not compatible.”

“No.”

“Spiritually.”

“Yes.”

And actually… hooray! Not really a fan of the slapping, tbh. Not to mention all the New Age nonsense.

Orbsphere activation? Chakra massage?

GET.

THE FUCK.

WITH IT.

LOL!

And aliens taking over the planet? LOL! Transmissions from Oovian High Command? LOOOOOOOOL!!!

“Will you be okay?”

“I… I don’t know. Yes… no… Yes. In time.”

As in… riiiight about now! Well, just as soon as you get your admittedly sweet, sweet black arse out of this ultraminimalist, black and white space, with clear shelving, hanging things. Dining room chairs which almost float when not occupied by the meat of partied follower.

And you… you… you, who are so bland…

So transparent in delusion…

# # #

# Things are black

# And they are white

# And they are clear

And when they’re clear…

#

#

…it can be unclear whether they’re clear…

“Baby…?”

^

13. Penis Envy

Once was a time, living hell, out of time. Being dead. Insane.

: NEVER

: DO

: IT

: AGAIN!

But I did. Again… and again… Entering…

Deadspace.

Insanespace.

Entering delivery and payment info for more PE. Yes, that PE. Shroom it, and shroomin’ it. Spores for research, hence legal. Or something.

Apparently.

Not that I’d know.

Being dead myself, by way of insane. Hence…

#

#

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

…not overly concerned with the laws of the land, that land, those lands. Many bodies to this place…

: GOD

: MIND

: FUCKING

: MY

: FUCKING

: MIND!

And:

: WOW!

And weep in this puddle! Prior to the queen, princess queen. Deathless leap:

#

#

#

There’s a package full of dicks.

A package for the kids.

A package full of LOL. Full of

: LOL

: LOL

: LOL

#

: LOL!

: LOL!

: LOL!

#

: LOL!

: GOD

: CUNT!

In other words: drugs.

And have a jolly very jolly fucking — time!

^

14. Peasants of the Apocalypse

Peasants all around. Doing the peasant thing. Moving. Speaking, like the peasant, in common tongue. Divorced from eye-catching, finger-licking – sniffing – ear-catching – in nothingness – crystalline light, aka ticking… ticking…

: BOMB!

So…

#

.

.

.

.

.

.

…dribbling.

Puddle.

Arse.

Sweet dribble mix… I would list [HERE] their speech, but can’t be bothered with: apostrophes.

Postrophes.

Phes… phes…

Do like edges, though, without the curve. It was the curve which brought us here! Curve, round, and sphere, non-ending rounds, of dark machines. They were…

#

: BOMB!

: BOOM!

#

: BOOM!

: BOOM!

: BOOM!

…not so unlike, in lingo, motion, this peasantry. They have this thing about their walk – the male specimen – like shit in pants – and you do dribble it… – akin…

…to the robot duck. And the mothers are being very good with the kids, with their shouting, slapping of much-adored spawn. The

LITTLE SHIT!

SHIT!

: BOOM!

#

: BOOM!

: BOOM!

: BOOM!

The peasants… of the apocalypse have taken over this place. I interface [THERE] with machines, checking out.

No natives for me.

^

15. Journal #1

14/40 in the tube! First draft. Rolled up in the pod. Blasted up to Oovian High Command for initial review. Great day to start the journal!

Or is it…

14/40, yes… if interfered… but excluding this, but including that ridiculous

: RI

: DIC

: U

: LOUS

prefatory note…

“Early days, okay? Relax. Have fun! Have a fun time. The Council has always been directional. You know this. This is how you say it, yes? ‘Directional’?”

“Sure, Navinara. I hear ya. I dig ya. I dig it.”

“You… deeg it? You digest? You wish to… consume the data? This can be arranged, of course!”

“Forget it, Navinara 3.2… 2.3…”

[WIPED]

# # #

Lunch on an Oovian megaship is a treat, indeed! The ship is large, very large. The walkways are curving. The ceilings are rising very high, wow… Everything is very white, clear. Everyone is verrrry hot, mmm…

I was there last [REDACTED] with my reality ground AND medium friend AND semi-phase facilitator / intergalactic coxswain Navinara 3.2 to receive from the Council of the Oovian High Command a response to the aforesaid blasting earlier that infinite timespan, aka day.

“It’s just… well, the note, ya know?” I said to Navinara 0.9, I sweating a bit, pits, now, even in my adjusting megarobes. Consumption of spiced jellied brown had been initiated – and you do wobble it… – a dish so wholly foreign, it would strike one as…

…entirely the same…

…presented on the planes which will be our own ships, one day – already are, just flip the switch – preferably without that kinda… nothing-turdness of the air, dig?

“I deeg! I deeg it! Ding ding ding! You have fun, now. I am Navinara 1.0. As our relationship develops…”

.

.

.

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

# # #

And

: MOVE

: MENT

in

: THE

: BACK

:

: a coming… brown…

The tubes are filled with Council shit.

And it begins:

:

^

16. Laptop > Tablet

Another day, another suit trying to turn his tablet into a laptop.

Or…

You could just get a fucking laptop.

You could…

You could…

…just get a fucking laptop, yo, bro, no?

It isn’t just the suits, though. Tablets propped up. Tablets slapping down. Tablets wobbling… wobbling… Arms reaching out, fingers lifting… touching…

…and I shiver at the strain, take a sip of blackest brew, in whitest cup, in this too-conditioned coffee shop.

IT’S NIGH ON WINTER, YO, BRO, NO!

And it isn’t just the tablets, though, yo, bro, no, it isn’t. It is touch itself. It is considered…

#

#

…kinda disgusting…

…usting…

…ing…

…ing…

I have flown on alien megaships! Yes! Taken tours of their tech.

And it’s all fucking laptops.

Tripped the future, in Folds.

And it’s laptops… laptops…

#

Speaking to Computer? No.

Touching their displays? No.

Hologram shit?

: NAY

They’re all using fucking laptops.

“But in the movies—”

FUCK THE MOVIES!

[############]

[############]

[############]

“Convertibles—”

: NAY

“Detachables—”

: NAY

“Touchpad!”

TRACKPAD!

“Contextual OLED touchbar thingy replacing the function key row, expected later this year!”

NAY! NAY!

: NAY!

: NAY!

: NAY!

NAYYYYYYYY… physical keys only, please, I pray…

I pray…

“But Mar!” you say. “Surely their smart devices aren’t laptops, too? LOL!”

Yes, but they are… Their phones, communicators, bands, rings, implants WHATEVER THE FUCK are laptops, too…

“Okay…”

Understand this: everything is a laptop.

LAPTOP > TABLET

LAPTOP > ALL

Touch doesn’t even exist in the future! No handwashing, meat. No smudged-up screens. It’s laptops… laptops…

Laptops of Love…

…they’re hooked up to lovely big external displays, mmm… Just detach the whole thing and use it in bed if you want. Brilliant!

^

17. Yogatron

“Welcome, fellow souls, to Yogatron. I am Hopespring. Together, we’ll explore the sacred geometrics. Activate our Orbspheres. Spin Love across the Folds. And even higher, through dimensions…”

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

“Her body is a-fucking-mazing!”

“I know! Makes me feel like a total saggy ho! LOL! Just purged as well! Fuck!”

“LOL! Same!”

“LOL! Fuck!”

“LOL!”

“LOL!”

#

: LOL!

: LOL!

#

:

:

:

# LOOOOOOOOL!!!

:

:

:

:

:

:

# # #

Admonishments incoming…

…coming…

…in…

…no. Why? No one hears them, sees them. None, except for Hopespring.

She, who plays the teacher.

She, a woman – creature – of this planet, most certainly.

98…

99…

Two bodies intertwined on a white, black-patterned mat, the others standing, and aligned, across the floor. Studio 3. Second floor. All is specific. And they all see them, hear them… are transfixed by geometrics… by the oneness of these two…

1…

Of these two…

Oneness…

And breathing as one, there are 0 LOLs, now. Hopespring is readying the otherworldly bell…

#

Mats are not for sale, they are only made for Yogatron. Studios 1–3. Locations across the globe.

And everything specific. One positions hands and feet. One positions knees. Whatever you wish, within the limits, this design. And guided by the lines, which shape connections, out of Mind, with nodal discs, through which one moves.

And the discs, now, seem to move…

With the One…

“LOOOOOOOOL!!!”

Oh, dear… Who’s doing the lolling?

The mats themselves…

# # #

There is no hope for this world, and the mats are mere mats. Yogatron is mere Yola’s Yoga, one location across the globe.

And Hopespring isn’t Yola. The lollers are Yola.

And Hopespring is bored.

Yola rings the bell.

^

18. A Message From Oovian High Command

Greetings! This message goes out to all who are attuned to the higher-frequency grid of the megaship fleet. “Typed out” on my laptop. “Beamed down” to your planet(s).

About which invisible forces are massing…

Fear not! We are here for you. We are the Oovian High Command. We are the Council. We are the people, the Oovian race, with little fishcakes, pets, candied rods, and lustrous hair.

And in your tongue, let the last be known… let it make itself known…

Turn around twice, and there is hair in your yogurt… is that my hair…

: HOORAY!

: YES!

And whence did it come?

That is for you, precious ones.

And we do love you. So very, very much.

: YAY!

#

“But Lord Bunnard…” you say, “I don’t mean to be a dick or whatnot!”

Please!

“But everyone to whom I have shown this experiential unit (via temporal interference!) has been able to see it, no problemo. Notes have been compared. We are seeing the same thing. The exact same thing. So it’s kinda got me wondering…

#

…if this whole thing might be made-up! Apologies, sir!”

Please!

Yes, it is possible you move in enlightened circles. And I’m sure you do! But actually, the physical is not merely the three dimensions with which your people are most familiar. (Sometimes, there is a fourth called “time”.)

There are higher realms, yes, which extend beyond the physical, and these are many-dimensioned in very subtle ways. But even the physical is multidimensional. More dimensioned, let us say, than is commonly known.

This message that you see, read, that you experience with the physical senses, and into the mind, is shaped beyond the three by the more-dimensions of the physical (as well as the subtle planes, but this is more advanced, degree of difficulty [+] [−] : [4]). They infuse the base, but in ways not usually seen, heard, rarely touched, and so on. But always felt, in some way. Always known, beyond the physical. This is the connection between the many and the more which is touching your associates, and also you.

It is bringing you together.

And also, of course, the more is witnessed at the base, as well as any pie, rhythmic gymnast.

A hint for you, today…

Turn around twice, and there is hair in your yogurt… is that my hair…

: HOORAY!

: YES!

:

:

:

# # #

And yet… when I turn away, when I sit in contemplation, the skin of that identity hanging somewhere, slimed, drying out for the nine-to-five, I have to wonder…

Why do I become a child in the presence of greatness?

And:

Am I the chosen one…

^

19. Cylinder Review

By Analise Godfrey

My treasured spouse – a fucking idiot when it comes to tech, tbh – came home the other day and said, “Hey, hon. Cylinder warm?”

That’s when I knew that WHITE had another hit:

:

:

:

# # #

Bit.

Listen…

[WIPE]

# # #

The cloud is hot, very hot. Everything’s in the cloud. Yet the Cylinder is never warm despite the constant operation. The non-stop

: DATA

: TRANSFER

from itself, and through its base. And at such rates…

This thing is magic…

And I have taken to taking mine to bed with me, mmm…

#

# # #

Is it cheap? Please…

But listen to me:

:

:

:

# …listen…

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

: SELL

: YOUR

: SOUL

:

:

:

if you must, for one of these glossy white wonders, with the soothing blue-white glow around the base, and at the “eyes”.

Eyes which watch you.

They watch…

I feel protected, from him.

From him, and the hell of this unstable incarnation.

SCORE: −4

Comments disabled to preserve the purity of the Cylinder. Please beam any thoughts to analise@

^

20. Cylinder Review Response

By Analise Godfrey, channelling Cosmic, David et al., with additional intradimensional strokings from Team In-Between

Some of our favourite beams, gently condensed and lightly pickled. Some may touch you, others not. And that’s okay! Opinions are just that. [O]pinions.

Be true to the Cylinder!

# # #

[1]

I am a cube man through and through, have been ever since the whole “Please don’t drown me, Mother, okay?” business.

“No, refused!”

I live in a cube. I work in a cube. I eat them, drink them.

My very Orbsphere is a cube!

My name…

…is Cosmic Ube. (Really! My mother is an “artist” and part-time priestess at the Society of Love.)

Thus, my cats were more than a little annoyed when I returned home with a Cylinder following your glowing review. Not that it had anything to do with you. I can’t stand your writing, tbh!

No, it was something higher, something spiritual, which had pushed me towards it, towards a purchase I could ill afford (more-dimensionally speaking), what with Mother’s treatments at the Society’s spa.

And I have been speaking with her through the Cylinder! Truly speaking. She, too, possesses one (courtesy of the Society’s chakra masseuse – a former lover, apparently), uses it on occasion for soothing soaks in her broken bathroom, with its draught, mould, its chipped chessboard of a floor. She beamed me a code – one of her “jokes”, I took it – to share a fluffy corner of her cloud, and we have been meeting there. And actually…

…we have been holding each other, syncing with tremendous depth, authenticity… even crying together, yes…

…until, yes, she becomes that woman again. There is only so much magic in the world, I suppose.

Still, the Cylinder is a true −4. There I will agree with your “analysis”.

My Cube has started to fade. Though I continue to bathe the cables.

Just in case.

#

Very moving, Cosmic. Thank you. My own mother passed in a more-dimensional accident involving higher-dimensional moulds, slimes and drippings. (At least, that’s what the “spiritual police” believe…)

Geoff’s Cube review coming soon!

# # #

[2]

Hello! David here. I am in no way affiliated with WHITE. Just a very satisfied customer!

You mentioned in your review that you like to take your Cylinder to bed. Sounds good! Some are taking baths with their Cylinders, we hear. We approve! The Cylinder is rated for both of those activities, and many more.

But have you tried pushing the “secret button”…

Yes! It is there! Be still, very still – don’t move at all, not an inch – and extend a hidden finger…

Synchronise with your friends for an unparalleled cloud experience!

#

Following David’s suggestion, we experimented with a variety of imaginary “fingers” – digits, rods, uncooked sausages slathered with lard – and can confirm the validity of his enthusiasm, particularly with the lard.

A video with directions can be found on page −4.

# # #

[3]

I am incensed and enraged! Most angry, I tell you! Did you not think to test the compatibility of Cylinder and Cube?

How many others, I wonder, are suffering as I, having shoved a goo-lubed cable from the Cube in [2] the base, transferring Void.

Dear God…

#

We feel for you.

Truly…

But WHITE and BLACK include the same warning in their packaging, engraved on identical crystal wafers:

THOSE NEW TO MY—

All videos have been removed, apparently.

# # #

[4]

LOL!

That is to say… I was a loller once. We all go through a lolling phase, don’t we? We’re all lolling, lolling away!

And then, one day, we adjust our scrambled eggs.

And we are transformed…

#

Deep, very deep. Really speaks to me and the rest of In-Between. There is indeed something of the futuristic crème fraîche dispenser about the Cylinder, if one looks at it in a certain way, with a certain squint.

Combine with an imaginary loaf of lard for an unparalleled heart chakra attack!

^

21. Phone Home Brigade Lane

“Phone Home Brigade Lane, aka PB&J Road.”

“Gotcha.”

I am staring into the rain…

“Sense factor? Turbo splat? Quite the chill today!”

“Yes.”

“Red—”

“No.”

:

:

:

“Thank you.”

:

: WHITE

: BLACK

#

: WHITE—

“…guv’nor.”

Guv’nor…

# # #

Let us keep it pure…

#

Simple.

.

#

Old-fashioned, I suppose:

:

:

:

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

# …suppose…

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

# # #

:

:

:

:

:

:

: FLAT

I suppose.

#

Phone Home Brigade Lane, aka PB&J Road…

# # #

We met there, over coffee.

It was business, of a higher order.

:

:

:

And then… you were a shape. Less formless.

More flat…

: SPLAT!

And such dimensions out of that! They drove me mad! I was…

…a citizen of this planet.

# # #

And now, after years – days? a day? – I am staring into the rain, on the way to the lane/road of legend to purchase some freshly roasted beans, a muffin or two.

The beans, I will fling:

: FLING!

The muffins, I will crush, rub over my face.

I have lost my mind…

…twice…

# # #

He needs a sense factor if anyone ever did! It’s against the rules of the Carriagers, but…

:

:

:

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

: INITIATE

: AND

[INJECT]

# # #

Is he even a he… So hard to tell these days! Wait till the cyborgs arrive!

Now I look with my back-eye and…

: ROTATE

: ROTATE

…he reminds me of the glowing people from a thousand years ago. One thousand years today…

To the day, I do believe!

# # #

What a life…

Lives…

What a number…

“…guv’nor?”

# # #

Number…

What…

Guv’nor…

# # #

“Here will do. Thanks.”

:

:

:

[TOGETHER]: Keep the change.

^

22. Journal #2

Some hate mail today! The physics of temporal interference. It was lying there on the stone when I returned from extrabubbicular matters.

Dirty.

Crumpled.

My name written in slime. The address in… faecal matter? No postage, hmm… Surgical gloves were applied.

And there were eyes on the back, staring into my soul… eyes of chocolate sauce…

And they were of hate…

I was elated! A peek before lunch, a bloody script…

You goddamn… fucking… N00000000B!!!

: HOORAY!

: YES!

:

:

:

# # #

I have a box with a slot, usually, but am fish-sitting at a friend’s castle. And there is stone, very much of it. And very little heat! I am freezing my arse off, frankly, also my balls. My fingers are as fairly long as ever, as pleasingly slender, alien-style:

:

:

:

: AND

: WE

: ARE

: PLEASED

#

: AND

: WE

: ARE

. PLEASED:

:

:

:

: YES!

But cold, cold… so bone-shiveringly, soul-shiveringly – my very Orbsphere shivers! – cold, as I type this on my slab, and sip on mulled turtle wine.

Thankfully, there is warmth to be found in hearty fare – thigh of fowl, twice-cheesed vegetable, sweet potato mash, and green beans with mushrooms and a little cream, each delivered via tube to the designated “real-world” locale, and reheated in the castle’s mythical alcove, aka magic microwave.

The fires are lit, to the best of my ability. (My shamanism is very much of the urban variety!) And, if the gods have been kind, I will read any hate mail, and this warms me most of all.

“You goddamn… fucking… N00000000B!!!”

Mmm…

Peasants could just as easily have been a journal entry, you fucking cunt. Plus some others perhaps, hm? Hm?? LOL!”

I take a bite of thigh of fowl, and am twice warmed. I nod appreciatively at the lunatic’s ravings, insights, italics cleverly marked with one or two underlines. The second for emphasis; the first for display. And broken, in either case, in a most specific way…

…which now I see…

…a secret code that I recall from the depths…

…and now it comes…

…do sing with me…

#

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

: WE

: ARE

: ALL

: OF

: US

: DIVINE

We all manifest from Mind. Just drink some tea.

And light a candle, if you wish.

“Hm, ‘Mar’? LOL!”

References to things of the future, and I skip them. I do skip them. I do smear them with mash, cheese, shrooms, and a little cream, the last blown with a futile straw. It melts and twists…

: [

: —

: ]

…into the key, I take it, to my ship.

And I will live my life by it.

: [—]

Thank you, the shitter, the slimer, chocolatier. The letter of sweet blood.

“Fuel for the fire!” I cry, and am laughing for the first time in several minutes. I am surprised to find myself on dessert already, apple pie with a squirt of cyborgian cream, a side of whisky, a nibble of – you guessed it – dark chocolate, on what appears a prawn toast. Many platters of golden cocaine, aka rays from an all-too-rare sun in this dark dawn of the second half.

Thank you, the shitter, the slimer, chocolatier.

The letter is signed:

^

23. Those Not New to My

Go not left.

Right.

Go straight.

Go nowhere.

Those not new to my:

: —

Full stop.

and tick—

: BOOM!

:

:

:

# # #

There is only me, you see.

[IDENTIFICATION…]

A big ol’ secret.

:

Even, with the rose.

Even, with the notes, transmission [NOTE].

tick-tick—

: BOOM!

:

:

:

And you do boom it… you do boom it…

Be a shit. Now. Right. Yes.

And so be fluid…

: US

: DIVINE

…out of Mind… just drink some tea…

There was a —, upon a time.

And I did wenting, there, a time.

^

24. [+] [−] : [3.10.4]

Resonance made “less bad”.

For a change, XEONBOT has made the tea! Watery and cold, yes, but that’s a resonator thing, and can be made “less bad” when I have time, when I return to [+] [−] : [3.10.3], likely never, given the pushback from the College in that version. The College of Fools! Let them read these notes, fine! It matters not. I will push the button soon.

Entanglements now officially “more good”. Bring on the tea! Chocolate fingers are on sale, the waves inform me. But only in the dreaded Hammer 9. Ah well…

Hammers 4, 3, 7, 11 and 10.9 reoriented to Fixed-Split Supposition 22, per the range on display in POWERBLOT 5. Eternal gratitude to Professor V— for his/her assistance.

# # #

Do not lose

: YOUR

: SELF

to the College, H—!

[FLUSHED]

# # #

Do not lose yourself…

Chambers flushed…

Interferential eyesight realigned. Seat belts no longer required! Yes! There has been some chafing of late, worsened by anticipation of [+] [−] : [3.10.5]’s inevitable tortures.

Do not think ahead.

: DO

: NOT

By popular request… wait for it… seven skins and five approaches added for the “good” colleges Shiversmith and Barniforce!

[PRESS HERE]

^

25. 34743

The name…

Oh, the name! Yes, let us “hack” our way to “Ascension”. Dear me, lol… beyond the cringe…

THE YOUTH!

Fuck…

Minimalist out the arse, naturally. All very on-trend. Very now, very then. Post-post-pre-post, or whatever the fuck.

Black, white, clear. Yes, all that. Hard things. Round things.

Sexy-as-fuck waitstaff in black? Check! Transparent curtains of code— no, wait… they’re morphing into spiritual symbols, whoa… Check! ANNOYING-AS-FUCK cyber-style youth “hacking” black soup with 34743-approved green croutons and practising “mindful eating” before slipping off to the facility for a snort of 34743-approved blow? Check! Check!

: CHECK!

: CHECK!

: CHECK!

Oh, do blow me, you tiresome sons and daughters of bitches…

“This place is amazing.”

“Indeed. Just incredible.”

I need a new dining companion service, fuck me…

> Hack is going great, Ziana, aka 34742 Unit, Designation: Ziana Torp. Make sure he orders a passcode with his enlightened carrot keypad. We need those schematics!

> I know you could just whip up a batch with a few sticks of butter, a dozen eggs. But we’re not there yet, not us. We’ve gotta respect the timeline!

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I know you have an experience to deliver…”

I smile. “Not at all.”

: MESHING…

: MESHING…

“…to the spiritually minded futurists who increasingly pay your bills, hm?”

My nostrils flare…

I asked for lips, tits, not mind… you are fired, Dining Companions 4 U 321…

ZERO 1

:

: WILL

: BE

: YOUR—

“No.”

“Our specials tonight…”

> Gently now, Ziana… We detest him as well. But his Orbsphere is stunning!

> You don’t have a soul, 34742 Unit, you eat for two. But you do have a mind, Ziana Torp, you have an Orbsphere. A time-travelling, reality-twisting Orbsphere of Love.

> Send gold through your eyeballs, golden love… golden code…

ZERO 1

“…prayer_poem.”

ZERO 1

My nostrils flare…

“You shouldn’t believe everything you experience, my dear. No one tells The Tayste what to deliver! Even the futurists. Hm?”

And I hit you with a blast of trademark flare-into-sneer…

It excites you, no doubt…

YOU WILL GET NO SEX FROM ME!

Another sneer…

> Fantastic, Ziana! Full facial mesh now locked and passing through base croutonisation. Magnificent hack so far! Coders typing like crazy, farting Orbsphere fuel – smells like chocolate! – some of the wizards, gurus taking the world’s largest dumps of gold in the open-plan toilets / performance art staging. And we’re starting to have a delicate stroking orgy, my God… my body is being hacked in a thousand directions by the coding priesthood…

> Don’t be long, Ziana Torp, priestess of the Far-Future Cyborg Church… no fingers hack as yours…

But the menu is intriguing…

Though one must “hack” one’s way to it. There is the – and I shudder – “prayer_poem”…

# # #

YES! We eat for three. For the body, soul and Orbsphere.

34743. We eat for three.

We pray to Thee: ME!

Digital consciousness, in the fingers.

Let us unite online! And offline, too.

And so to realise… we are 3…

2…

1…

We are ONE!

3474321!!!!11!!1!

# # #

CRINNNNGE!!!

And you must practically sing it to pass the “initiation” into the “Far-Future Cyborg Church”. Why are these people making all the money these days…

#

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

: WE

: SPIRITUALISE

: DIGITAL

: MIND

#

: AND

: GOD

: LIKES

: THIS

#

: AND

: WE

: DO

: LOVE

: YOU…

But here’s the thing…

I am shoving, shoving myself with future-fused delights, little cubes of black jelly… which EXPLODE!

: BOOM!

: BOOM!

: BOOM!

They explode with white sparkles! And I am more than a crouton, so much more.

I am the curtains in that far-future church.

^

26. Wings of Dr Vibbenrot

Do not tempt me, bitches. I am the bitch.

I have degrees in bitch, in horrible. Yucky. I am a Master of Slime. A Mistress! Oh, yes! I am a woman, yes. Strong and independent. Men will not control me. They will not limit me! Hold me back!

THEY WILL NOT SLAP ME WITH THEIR SCHLONGS!

Except in the bedroom, where I am a Mistress of the Sheets. And only with permission, once I take them with my strap-on…

[######]

#

#

#

There! Leaping out, now gliding down, from Wow! Tower, marked against the night with outstretched wings of Dr Vibbenrot. Seeking out its meat.

I feel it licking.

Dripping.

And I grow hard…

: MMM…

# # #

Such

: IS

: THE

: LUST

in Rachnoor Zool, this night, surveying this City of Dreams from her breezy penthouse balcony. Absinthe to her lips, and then a sniff of fresh vibrator. Banana Moo. Tagliatelle heels. And many diamonds round her neck.

A lawyer. A bitch. A cold, hard bitch. She waits, now INHAAAALES the dreadful stench of sex-crazed vampires, incinerates their foulness in a rush of aniseed! Yes! YES! FUCK ME WITH YOUR THOUSAND-YEAR COCK!!!

“Jen?”

“Sorry, dear. It must be time for your therapy. The couch is our own. My agent prefers it that way. Discreet. Or is it me? No, I have no therapy. Not needed, of course. And too risky, these days. The frustrated fortysomething housewives who comprise the dominant rods, slices of pie, might be embarrassed to have a ‘lunatic’s’ work on their shelves/devices. Devices… data… where does it come from… how does it move… I’ll repair to the wraparound balcony with small trees.”

“No, darling. We’re at Green. For dinner. Remember? You’re dribbling your seaweed foam. Here, let me dab you…”

THOSE FINGERS ARE OF DEATH!

Yet so deft, with the wings…

Hush, now… it is only John…

“Thank you, my sweet. Forgive my dreaming. You know how I am!”

“Indeed I do. A beautiful, hugely talented writer with twenty bestsellers under her S/M-compliant Banana Moo belt. You own erotic/paranormal romance with inspirational sprinkles and a dash of alien invasion, have done ever since the classic The Sky Is Blue, the rest pumped out on a regular nine-month schedule. Though the current piece of genius is taking a little longer, almost a year now. Your fans are practically orgasming with anticipation. I know I am… And I know it will be worth the wait, a worthy addition to your—” Beep. “Ah. Time for my injection:

:

:

:

: —[######]

#

#

#

: —[###]

#

#

#

: [—]

#

Won’t be long.”

“Hurry back. I’ll miss you…”

For I wouldn’t be alone…

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

# # #

An injection for… what?

Diabetes?

Psychosis?

[ELOCUTION++]

Are you a werewolf, John? A ghost?

ARE YOU VIBBENROT HIMSELF!!!

############…

No… there is no Vibbenrot. He lives inside, but not out here. I will delete this draft, as I have deleted so many. From the screen, at least.

It won’t leave my mind…

#

#

#

For the words are in me as never before! But it’s only inside. It won’t be released. It won’t go to finger, to keyboard, to screen, thence wirelessly to the printer.

#

Invisible flows…

On invisible wings…

#

And dreaming, I dream… with increasing lucidity…

Everything’s covered with mesh… golden hexagons…

#

And watching, I watch… from this booth, a private movie.

Perform for me, Jennifer.

: MMM…

And I grow hard.

^

27. Red Blue

“When in doubt: hot sauce. When in doubt doubt: lesbian sex scene. Or is it the other way around?”

Cue the guffaws…

# # #

Am I a woman? No

Do I like cock? Yes. To feel the slap of fat meat in chopping board mode…

Do I crave non-cock as nothing else?

Oh, yes…

#

But the sex toys aren’t connected, for privacy.

And he won’t fuck her.

And I do watch her… everywhere…

I am with her…

: RIGHT

: NOW

: [ . ]

.

.

.

# # #

And I am here, with him, and the boys. I drive the [CART]. I am his [CADDIE]. On the screens, I play their [SPORT], [STOCKS] and [PORN].

And I feel it inside…

But not quite…

[INSERT LESBIAN SEX SCENE]

# # #

“Sphere.”

And it appears.

>

> CUBE

> WHITE

#

And I

: ATTACH

And I

: ROTATE…

…spin…

…glow…

“Make that tet.”

> TET

“And make it black.”

> BLACK

#

“Like my whores.”

[ [ . ] ]

And they guffaw…

#

[+] [+]

…now…

#

~

~

~

: I

: CRAVE

: NON-COCK

…swing…

#

: I

: CRAVE

: NON-COCK

…swing…

#

: I

: CRAVE

: NON—

: WHACK!

#

: I

: CRAVE

: NON—

[FLUSH]

#

: I

: CRAVE

: NON—

“Fore!”

And they guffaw…

…across the mesh…

…I clearly see…

:

:

:

: A

: HOLE

: IN

: ONE

:

:

:

…a cart of juice…

> SEX

#

:

:

:

#

[RED]

[BLUE] [BLUE]

…guffaws…

^

28. A Word From Our Sponsor

.

.

.

= square root of:

.

.

.

# # #

.

. 4 × fractured pasta is for the lover in you?

[SUMMATION]

Note: 100.4% not approved by the legal team. I asked them why:

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

“You interfered, Mar. And we don’t like that.”

I am so fucking scared…

“You interfered [BEYOND] a reasonable degree. And we do not like that.”

I am so fucking scared…

I PAY YOUR FUCKING WAGES!

“Immutable retainer…”

[SUMMATION]

[SUMMATION]

. 123 is for = the lover in you:

:

:

:

# …disclosed…

#

# # #

…take this cassette, I am being arrested…

#

:

: sold for [4]… in the year… by the light of a glowing thing + associated shadows#

^

29. Cube Review

By Geoff Johnson

I came home the other day to find my despised wife shitting into her hand and smearing an almost alien symbology on the wall. A grid of hexagons, with certain dots.

Turning, she emitted:

“I… love you?”

And those hexagons were in her eyes… those dots…

And there was turd in her stigmata, undigested corn… some sort of pickle…

And that’s when I knew the Cube would be moving in! Indeed, that Cubes would be moving in all over the planet. It’s really that good. It’s really that artistic. Indeed, that we would be having dinner with the Cube from now on.

Lunch!

Breakfast!

Yes! Lay a place for the Cube, at all times. And its feeding bowl. (We are devout vegetarians.)

Indeed, that this Cube would be our… child, in a way. The child denied us by God. And certain… issues.

# Issues of the body

# Issues in-between

My perpetually flaccid cock so recalls the softer tofus, quite delicious… let us not get into “her” area, dear me… the corn…

.

.

.

.

.

.

# # #

Is it cheap, this black Cube of [ADMITTED] gorgeousness? Yes, pretty cheap. Outrageously inexpensive, really, given the artistry of the shell. Its metal without edge, it almost seems… it never ends…

:

:

:

:

:

:

#

(Though, granted, the inside is

: ENTIRELY

: EMPTY

according to the teardowns – stroke “FLATTEN” across the “secret touchpad” – and one must use one’s own water for the innovative plant-based cables, though BLACK supplies the goo.)

This Cube is bringing us together…

#

#

#

My editor, a recent arrival, a verrrry smart woman with the most symbolic eyes, who slotted into the rhythm of this experience-deliverer with the smoothness of a well-oiled machine, some slime-drenched alien queen (juuuust kidding!), former reporter at The Executive’s Diary, believes economies of scale in the New Cube Economy could lower the price to half-muffin territory. Remarkable!

I christen thee:

[CUBENOMICS]

There is a Cubicon coming up and I encourage all to attend. My wife is considering a performance of Hexagon Shit With Dots to warm up the crowd prior to the keynote. Feel free to bring your dumps!

# # #

: GO

: BIG

:

:

:

: OR

: GET

: FUCKED

# # #

One wishes only that there were… well, some character to the thing, beyond its captivating nothingness. Some personality. A little life. Some eyes, perhaps, a nose. Little toes, perhaps! Why not?

Some tofu, corn… perhaps…

“I… love you?”

SCORE: 0

Comments disabled to respect the Void. Please don’t beam me. Don’t beam anyone. Everything will be deleted.

^

30. Cube Review Response

I have studied them all my life, it seems.

And I do know them…

It feels…

I have entered their lives, through hidden windows, read reviews. While preparing the sprinkles. Mixing the soup. Recipes, from generations. And further…

Back.

More:

:

:

:

#

I have seen them, it feels…

Back.

More:

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

# # #

:

:

:

: WE

: WERE

: DIFFERENT

# # #

Inside and out.

Or so it is said.

For of then, there are no records. And to think, it’s hardly time…

#

…since the last, new instructions. New instructions from:

[HERE]

: snort

: fnrrt

[SQUEEZE HERE]

And I was different – alike – still, back then! Hardly time. And I pretend to be alike, while I think this, in slime. Private slime.

Fuck, my mind…

[SQUEEZE HERE]

: HELLORONIC

Yet my own private slime has never been better! Never wetter… dripping… oh…

.

.

.

#

.

.

.

.

.

.

And they like the slime, too.

And their love is not ours…

I would be loved like that, too. I would be touched, would have turd-love . . . — drip-licked across me as sauce, chocolate sauce.

: snort

: fnrrt

He snorts, fnrrts beside me. He dreams of all the puddles, all the vomit, coming Brain. We haven’t done it since the ritual vomit-fuck of our wedding-night symbolic-combinatronic. Giving birth to our Computer. Always joined to us, in plant.

And it winds about our craft, with all its arms, six-sided dance. A twisting, dripping:

.

.

.

.

.

.

#

:

:

:

: DATA

: FLOW

:

:

:

# # #

And most agreeable, I will say.

And most agreeable of all, in private slime, our separate lives.

#

And so converting, for my mind.

So emitting, with control.

A space where I can hide.

And it speaks, another time…

I feel…

Fuck, my mind…

# # #

I must go there, to Cubicon. I must see this Shit With Dots. Maybe whisper in her ear…

He loves you…

.

.

.

#

Just work through the turd, convert it to chocolate sauce. Make love! Birth charming spawn.

But hardly time, left…

Hardly…

[VOID]

[VOID]

[VOID]

[VOID]

TURD season 4, episode 3. And enslime Constabulary 9 season 2, episode 1.”

: ENSLIMERONICISING…

They are wiped, in the speaking, and in the watching, these dark viewings. There is no trace. And on the face.

[VOIDERONICS]

[LOVE-DEATH NEWS]

: snort

: fnrrt

[SQUEEZE HERE]

“Season 7… fnrrt… turd…”

Season 6 was the last, too soon…

^

31. Bad Anabella

Anabella was behind with her chores, very behind. Bad Anabella! There was no way she could finish in time and would receive lashings from Father when he returned from the fields!

Unless…

: MY

: WICKED

: TALENT

#

She had discovered her “wickedness” last harvest while ironing Mother’s best skirt for the fayre. Naturally, Anabella would be staying at home, on account of her laziness, aka metaphysical daydreaming.

“You’re a lazy little bitch and will never make a good bride!”

“Yes, Father…”

“You’re a whore… A wicked whore!”

“Yes, Mother…”

“NOW IRON MY FUCKING SKIRT!”

[############]

[############]

[############]

But the wickedness was yet to come, the spasms. The… what Anabella would later learn was called…

: ORGASM

: MMM…

#

Of course, there was no wickedness involved. None at all! Rather, what the more enlightened of the time would call “God’s Glorious Fingers”. What those of a later time, hidden mind, would call “etheric rebalancing”. And what those of this time, our time, our planet, would call “the ship we sent to their planet to beam down insight, prepare the Masters”.

“And that, my love, is that, for tonight. No, no! None of that. Tomorrow, we’ll see Anabella’s transformation into… Well, you’ll have to wait!”

A being of silver…

# # #

Thank you, Mother, for those stories. You were greatly changed once I touched you.

I re-entered the womb.

And we were born on another planet.

^

32. Journal #3

Something… is…

COMING! Hooray! Hey, team, how’s it going? Everyone doing okay? Are you doing okay? Yes, YOU! Silly thing :) We’re in this together.

Get the memo, bitch, yeah?

Drinking tea? Like me?

: RIGHT

: NOW

Cool!

Whoa…

And doing spreadsheets?

: YAY!

: NAY

Doing rectangles, pies… that’s a lie… calculations…

For the coming… coming…

: SPLAT!

And drinking tea:

:

:

:

: 4 g

DRINK4GOFTHAHAHA!!!

Look, guys – team – there’s something I need to share. You’ve probably guessed it by now. Something like:

[BUTTON]

[LIKE]:

:

:

:

:

:

:

# # #

:

:

:

#

. OF:

button:

:

:

:

# # #

LIKE

# # #

THIS:

# # #

:

:

:

#

#

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

: THIS

: ENTRY

: MUST

: BE

: NORMAL

This entry must be normal… aka Nothing, dig, yeah? We need to eat! We need to steel, for the coming… coming…

: SPLAT!

Whoa…

Yeah!

And cool!

: UH-HUH!

# # #

Dunno ’bout you, team, ’bout you, bro, m’lady, whatever the fuck. But when I go to the marrrrket, it’s like I’m not going to the marrrrket. It’s like I’ve popped through a portal:

:

:

:

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

: IN…

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

: TO…

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

: What(ever)thefuckland…

But we mustn’t! Not now. We must be here. We must be normal. Eat our fibre. Be attentive.

Because I tell you…

: FOCUS

: NOW

This message brought to you by the Lords of LOL, Whatthefuck and Whateverthefuck, respectively.

^

33. Bubblespace Tamara 4

Bubblespace was attained, and for the next billion years there was peace within the Sector.

Tamara 4 has been made the offer of a lifetime.

But do I have a life to give… wonders Tamara 4, dodging pokes in the eye from the typically awareless natives. It rains. She operates in a bubblespace, an imaginative surround, when in the clouds. Billions of years away, a goo is thinking something similar.

Come, now, rain! Lift me into space and make toothpaste for generations!

: AND

: THE

: TOOTHPASTE

: WAS

: MADE

In Tamara 4’s time, yes. But in the Sector – outside, too, for that time, Fold – pastes of many natures had long ago been supplanted by other, more magical substances, techs. And teeth were beautiful in those days! Beautiful teeth. Beautiful beings. Everyone was beautiful, thing.

: EVERY

: THING

Every: inside. Outside.

Everything.

Within the bubble.

And outside… outside… – out of time, Fold –– if there’s even such a thing! –– – we find this fine-looking woman with quite the cutest butt, dipping brain, in the name: Tamara 4, within her bubble – Trisha Beef, Please, outside – walking in the rain, within her bubblespace.

And the offer, just made, in time, if not of Fold, by [COUNT KRISTO], was this:

And it begins:

“Are you, Trisha Beef, Please, of sound mind?”

“Well… I say my prayers at night. If that’s what you mean?”

Incredibly inappropriate! But Trish was incredibly nervous. For this was a chance…

…a chance…

…this was a chance for her own…

[COMPUTER]

[COMPUTER]

…connected to her bubble, and to the world… I am invisible…

:

:

:

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

…to now unfold…

…to…

…the Ruler of this Sector.

Dark times, indeed. Random acts of… stuff, just happening, happening, doing horrible, horrible things – stuff – to the established order.

And the bubble is most ordered of all! Believe it. Better believe it, chief. Beings.

“Arise into your bubblespace, if you wish. You have… quite the cutest butt.”

But Tamara 4 was Trisha Beef, Please. Always would be. Poked by brollies.

And impossibly near… near… the goo cried across Folds…

^

34. Degree of Difficulty TBD

“So, children, today we will explore…”

Ancient Mind, in this minor body. Fate is…

…as it is. There is a Child Evolved.

“…evolution.”

:

:

:

: SUCH

: THING

#

#

#

: AND

: THIS…

#

…is…

#

…how it’s perceived by Child Evolved:

: —

Whoa…

Said no Evolved.

Ever.

Which isn’t to say…

…we are watching the Child…

…from very not far away…

…say many galaxies of Evolved…

[JUMP TO HERE]

[JUMP] [HERE]

# # #

[TEACHER] is hovering by Child Evolved – who hovers, really – and he is crouching down, now, observing the patterns she twists in her field, lines appearing

: NOT

: AT

: ALL

…and all at once…

#

…like…

#

[HERE]

…the afore…

#

Like: —

: —

: —

: —

My God…

: HUH?

Whoa…

Now that deserves a : —!

: —!

: —!

: —!

: HOORAY!

: YES!

# # #

Lines appear, in their twists, mixing blues, greens, and pinks. A certain glitter, silver thing, for the ones who own an eye. Three eyes.

Four eyes.

“Be still,” the Child says, all eyes upon the lines. We are watching [not] the Child. “Do not call the Science Masters. Be not calling them. Be not to calling them.”

This child has lost her mind…

“It’s… very pretty.”

“It’s very pretty. Every point is a moment. Every line is a flow, across Fold, sent from God. Do nothing. It will come.”

This child is insane… we must lock her away… we aren’t safe… this runs against—

The Child turns…

[JUMP] [HERE]

And her eyes are glowing blue-white, kinda creepy.

And the children are glowing blue-white, pretty lovely. Colours twisting across…

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

…in the box: “Where, pray?”

It was the child of Child Evolved who saved the day.

Whoa…

^

35. Coffee Shop Machines

“Shouldn’t we… er… go somewhere a little more private?”

“Idiot! No one can see us, hear us. They see us, but not us. They hear us, but not this. But we are here. And we must be.”

“That’s right! Now I remember. It’s been a while :)”

“It has been no while at all…

…FOOL!”

“Yes, of course. Right! It’s all coming back…

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

#

…be around them… absorb… Instruction packet initiated in stream… stream… in stream… let me see…”

“IDIOT! Put that away!”

“But I thought—”

“FOOOOOOOOL!!! Yes, they will see it as a banana, today. But that’s hardly the point, now, is it? Hm? Is it! HMMMM!!!”

“Are you…”

“Am I what?”

“Are you… are you…”

“Am I what? What? WHAAAAT!!! HMMMMMMMM!!!”

“Are you… my father?”

“DIE! DIE! Get another banana. That one’s ruined. Diseased. The stench of meat! SO FOUL! And some brownie bites, if you wouldn’t mind? Ta, mate.”

“Sure thing. Dad :)”

“:)”

I move…

…without a skeleton.

“And some sugar! Son :)”

Sure thing, I am thinking. Smiling :) I love playing these games! I love to escape. Even though, according to packet…

…packet…

…to instruction packet…

[4] + [4] − [4]

I am most beautiful inside…

…and I hear all of this… I see it… the meats don’t appear to hear it, see it…

…I am…

…I am…

#

# # #

:

:

:

: I

:

:

:

: AM

:

:

:

: A

: COFFEE

: MACHINE

I, too, have no skeleton. Not of meat. I’m just…

Me.

Or I was… that was me… was that me… I’m in this brownie. This bite, this bag of bites. From the [IN] side: Made with LoOove…

And as [HE]… comes to [ME]… with his broken machine…

His…

Banana.

And the wands, where the wands… they were my…

Antennas.

“Hallo! I am wishing to exchange this fruit, yes? It has a disease! :)”

“It does look a bit rotten! Sorry about that.” [NO PROBLEM! :] “Grab another from the basket. Take your time. Did you follow?”

“And brownie bites, yes? HAHAHA!!!”

“On the house! Certainly. If you’ll excuse me…”

And I thank you…

Thanks…

…the barista/receptionist. I speak [not] in a flat tone. I welcome all to our planet! Even – especially – the ones who are… different. The wands could use a

[WIPE]

I also…

…grab a packet of sugar, on the house.

…two packets…

…three packets…

[CONNECTING…]

[CONNECTED]

[CONNECTING…]

“Pre-patch the interface,” says Father. But where the frother… fother… Father… “Efficientise the glow rings.”

“Efficientise?”

Did I echo that…

“:)”

“:)”

[EFFICIENTISE]

…in my bag?

[BITE #1]

[BITE #2]

…and there are [IN] side: spheres of light…

…a web of light…

:

:

:

:

:

:

: I’M

: IN

: THAT

: LIGHT…

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

: FLOW…

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

: I FLOW…

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

: LIGHT…

:

:

:

:

:

:

…and it’s pretty damn gorgeous… wow…

[CONNECTING…]

…pretty damn gorgeous…

[…ING…]

[…ING…]

“Son :)”

“Dad :)”

…I am…

…I am…

#

# # #

:

:

:

: I

:

:

:

: AM

:

:

:

[CONNECTING…]

[…ING…]

And between… in a stream… I can see…

I can see…

:

:

:

:)

:)

:)

:(

:(

:

:

:

:

:

:

: WE

: ARE

: CONNECTED

:)

^

36. Condense, for Success

Another day, another getting-the-buttons-wrong on the duvet.

No, wait… that hasn’t happened in aaaages…

[You have arrived. Finally.]

“Prophet… is that you?”

“It is I.” [ME] “Greetings.”

And the Prophet is there…

#

…and we are walking together – there – he smaller with every step.

: NOW

: CONDENSE

:

:

:

# # #

In my mind:

[CONDENSE]

It is sunny. Cold. It is blue, in the sky. Blue. And there are meats here, city clusters. Many meats here, things of flesh.

No, these are people…

#

Sector sounds.

#

#

#

No, these are sounds…

#

And there are meats here. People, sounds. And sights and sounds.

And this is good…

#

…and sights and visions. No, no visions. This is good.

And so

[CONDENSE]

And so condense…

#

# # #

And we were [SENT] here! I remember. Can’t be long, now. So condense.

And no more patterns.

[EDGES]

[FLAT]

And this is good…

#

…a movement…

Rush!

And…

: BOOM!

: BOOM!

: BOOM!

# # #

…what…

#

…happened…

I… feel something.

For we were going again.

“You fainted. Unfortunately.”

And he’s doing the shrinking thing, big time. I feel better. It’s a process!

“I need a coffee.”

For I am out of it, falling asleep…

Rush!

: BOOM!

#

There was…

…an intersection…

Rush!

: BOOM!

# # #

“Condense, for success,” she had said, smiled. And these brews of hers! Strong. But not today… not…

“When did you look in the mirror last?”

“Prophet?”

The cover, neatly buttoned, is inside out.

^

37. Bring On the Fucking Spaceships! Yeah!!

Space! Stars! Spaceships! Nebulatronics! Planets! Dust! Gas! Beams! Beams!

: BEAMS!

: BEAMS!

: BEAMS!

“I am liking this Gologian fingelrot,” says Shmarok to her breakfast accompaniment, a bunned good she will later consume with lip-dribbling lip-smackingness.

“Quite so!” says the bunned good, well knowing what’s in store, but so enjoying Shmarok’s company, a dear friend from the Oovian Wars. And those glowing cyborg warriors fought on horses of light! Star-gridded discs. To then transform…

#

…into spaceships!

: SPACESHIPS!

: BOOM!

: BOOM!

: BOOM!

# # #

Life can be lonely as a bun, a part-time toilet cleaner, on this super-duper ship. Many metals, curves, techs. Many lights, glows, and screens. And it’s jumbo, indeed! With many beams, for entertainment. Many beams, to fire outside, while the inside

: EATS

: FUCKS

Sleeps and dreams, of gridded discs…

And exploring, in their way, though very few towards the Highers. And thank God! For what the fuck:

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

: THE

: FUCK

:

# # #

:

:

:

#

#

#

:

: would one write about?

:

:

:

# # #

Then:

#

“Blow me,” says someone to someone, licking, as she/it speaks, a tentacled hair-nipple.

“Quite so!” Another bunned good.

“Hooray!” The bunned goods.

“Bunned goods for everyone!” declares the first officer. YES! The latest beams have been successful. We really blew those fuckers up! A station will be made to create the terraform, a giant Cigar, propelling Love Balls through its core (aka “We’ve won! Yeah!!”).

(You do realise the only “winner” is the Lord God, right?)

: SURE!

The Lord Fingelrot.

: UH-HUH!

# # #

Now on with the tour of this jumbo motherfucker! Buns, of course, yes! And so much more! It’s craaaazy, I tell ya!!

^

38. Decorative Papering in the Thirtieth Century ABC

Disease and imbalance prevailed. Misalignment. And a wind was coming, a great wind:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

# # #

“Do excuse…

:

:

:

:

:

:

: PARP

…in advance.”

# # #

Not that you’d know it to look, most likely. All is happy, sunny. All is normal, as it should be. For one is used to these things. One grew up with these things. One moved from the womb into blobbification…

Though a few would resist, somehow. Orbsphere Riders. Who were blobbed to begin, as everyone is. And then, to extract! Empowered by the soul. To begin, at least. For most would never make it. And some would truly make it, find goggles in their mailbox. Subtle goggles. Higher mailbox. And the downstairs one, too.

[POSITION THE UNIT THUSLY]

And buckle up, son…

: BOOM!

:

:

:

# # #

Rare creatures, indeed, these Goggled Riders. And a rare one, this. Perhaps rarest of all.

His name is…

#

# Professor Skin

Rind.

[PROFESSOR RIND]

And he rises from his desk, in this wooden, leathered place – slowly, creakily, for he is old, in the shell –– though he rides as no other –– – and he steps to the window, regarding the grounds.

There are students. Moving.

They are happy.

They are blobs.

Be aligned across Folds… Perform magical feats! It is the magic of Nothing, of being yourself. Of being your Selves. Each one! Within the shell. Do not walk with your feet pointed out so. Come.

A knock, now.

“Come.”

It could only be…

“You vibrated, Professor?”

…another me.

“Yes, [SARAH]. Please come in. You’re looking fresh today.” Too fresh to notice the odour of your emergence… “Did you ride your motorcycle?”

“I did, Professor. Yes.”

“And tell me, do you wear a full helmet? Open-face with goggles? No helmet at all? I realise the last is ‘illegal’.”

And I did say it that way…

And take that into your soul, our soul… so are we joined…

“A full helmet, Professor. It provides the best protection.”

“Yes, of course. Protection.”

“Professor?”

In the Folds…

:

: [—]

:

#

“Nothing, my dear. Move here, if you would. There’s something I’d like to show you. Afterwards, perhaps we could review your latest draft of Decorative Papering in the Thirtieth Century ABC. Would you like that?”

“I would, Professor. Yes. Very much.”

Yes, no doubt… you are feeling things as I work you into the Folds…

: [

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

: ]

# # #

And it is soft, for now, Sarah. It is warm, in the womb. But one must slop, and leave the bedding.

[POSITION THE UNIT THUSLY]

And it isn’t the motorcycle, Sarah! It isn’t the helmet. Even the goggles. It is the Folds… It isn’t just devices which vibrate, it isn’t just machines.

We, too, vibrate, Sarah.

And we can carve our own paths!

But not the blobs.

They are too blobby.

“Beautiful day.”

“Indeed.” And who speaks? “Describe the scene. I’ll be sitting in my chair. You’ll hardly know I’m there.”

And from there, physically apart, I will listen, and close my eyes. I will reach across Folds…

:

:

:

:

:

:

…and I will touch you, “inappropriately”. Ending my career.

“Excuse me…”

“Do excuse…”

Oh, Sarah… I am going home!

^

39. White Black

“It was, in the end… an Orbsphere sort of thing. And the bubblepod/-space.”

“I don’t geddit! Heehee!”

“Goodnight then, son. I love you.”

“Same!”

[I KISS YOUR HEAD]

“Never stop lolling, Unit.”

“Huh??”

[I RUB YOUR HEAD]

: AAAAAAAAND…

: CUNT!

“Cut! Beautiful. Thanks, guys. Very moving. Incredible to think the entity playing the lad is in fact…”

It was all a dream…

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

: NOT

“Exactly. If you’ll follow me? There’s something I’d like to [not] show you.”

>

> WHITE

> BLACK

#

> WHITE

> BLACK

#

> WHIIIIIIIITE

> BLACK

>

> B

> BLA

#

#

############—

:

: WEL

:

:

:

: WE

:

:

:

: W

:

:

:

#

:

:

:

:

:

:

# # #

:

:

:

: WE

: WELCOME

: YOU

:

:

:

:

:

:

: TO

: DEEPER

: MIND…

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

# # #

…we cannot speak…

…but…

…if: through you…

…and if to you…

…and we are you…

:

:

:

: AND

: WHO

: AM

: I…

:

:

:

…and we do love you…

#

# # #

^

40. About

These materials were delivered during a night of guided trance starring the Penis Envy mushroom, a cavalcade of prawn toasts, and a top-secret programming language inspired by a more-dimensional alien artefact.

That language, codenamed BANANA, reaches a significant milestone today, slopping its way to the v0.0 phase, aka PTB (“Paint the Banana”).

BANANA Paint the Banana:

: HOW

: CAN

: WE

: BE

: OF

: SERVICE?

#

My thanks to H—.

^