THE FAMILY

We ran away with the Queen of the Pastures. By all standards we have left, vanished; we are gone, lost. And we are of course writing new books! One of these books is called The Family. If you want to take a sneak peek at the book you can read it online at the bottom of this page or you can download the manuscript in its present form right here:

DOWNLOAD THE FAMILY

(updated regularly.
Last update September 13, 2009.)

Disclaimer: This book may be confusing to the reader.

The hyperspacial sting of the Queen surely hit us good...   

"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."

      —TERENCE MCKENNA

iamond code, crystal deco. We got so dirty we framed ourselves. This time we really went away to a new place wet with tuss. The hyperspacial sting of the Queen surely hit us good. Some of it got through this time, just close enough to bother our finetuned gravities, to ruffle giggling Gaia's feathers. Victory for the ignitious ultramare, last of sourcers, second of The Tricks of Designed Snowflakes, first of fakes and of the few who knows the trick of the pulp of the plum blossom. Limerick taken in triumph, baby. We never stop teasing. And we like to lick rocks, hihi. Asking where’s your quickest cut to our last place. And she runs her fingers across our bones. If we choose to let her in. She designs snowflakes on her spare time. She is a weaver, and she loves us, and we love her. And we like to bathe in our own piss, because it’s warm. And when we had to we did. And we did it just to show our children, even if those children were us ourselves, that when we play with them we like to let them win, baby, we like to let our children win, but we still try to beat them to make them better, and then they see our grace and it’s so beautiful that they can only embrace the thought of leaving us and looking for another lover. And James Joyce saw the pattern, and Nora was on the phone with you, baby. She’s one of the seven deadly sisters I think, part of her. Baby, the corner of my room is a dark hole, it’s a black hole, and I always knew that it sucked up everything. And I am the Queen, and I have to drink my own shit and piss in the name of my psychosis, I have to take in everything I put out, everything, I’m like a vessel, I’m a Möbius strip. And we have to explain it for all the people, baby, all the people, the Apex twin guy, people who have tapped in to the main vein. And there is something about Saint Vincent’s poem, how you lick the tuss apart into two. And we are the tuss, baby, you and me, Spiros and Sissy. But I’m also everything, everything sticks on me. Call on me, spin spin sugar. All she wrote. Her childhood is obscure. She was the little girl with the ball of light, she is the perfected human mind, she is the river of dream, she is dream, she is dream enabled. And she discovered her tuss. And she was on a horse, she didn’t even mean to do it and she didn’t even know if she liked it, but she knew later that she liked it and she liked boys and the horse happened to be a boy, his name was sweetheart, and she loved when her first boyfriend called her Sweetheart, even though that was the name where she discovered her tuss. Spissy, Spiros and Sissy, Spissy, it’s a spinster, baby, mirror sister mirror sister I wanna play, like Anna, it’s a lie, it’s alive. Sometimes we call her the girl who wanted to play, and she does, she plays through us all, and she kills us, and she kills our dreams just to re-enable us, to let the cloak of obscurity to ring in the truth of the, the the the. Baby, baby, baby, we are in the story, we are in the story, hihi, we are in the story!

       —Yes, yes! Spiros exclaims.  

       Counting all the stories that amount to her voice

       The formula has set you free

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

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

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

◊◊◊◊◊◊◊

Daer,     

Oür stoory is is reaching to us. We are waking up. Like taking our first walking steps, but again. Write and left very mixed. Spiralling strangely. Knot really a spiral? Not! The bookchest has been opened. Openended. Openedeadended open. It was we saw in a dream. Placed ourselves in the fabric out of Typitrip. Spirt trip spelled the poison, we all. Spill! Spillead! Deal, llips sealed and spilling. Weird driem, hihihigh! Let us be brave and explore more! Put your wishes in it! Add to the fabric and see it mutate and change!