Foreword: Nexus is an explanation of a sort of cosmology. Threaded amidst the metaphysical speculations are a good deal of pulp, some attempts at humour, and at least a dash of the uncouth. Any or all of it can be left or taken by the reader as seen fit. Regarding the idea that there might be a 'heavenly choir' or 'treasury of light' as described within these passages; but that the same is incapable of outward sentience; I'm no longer convinced of this 'lack of consciousness' on ITs part. This is of course assuming that my theories are in any fashion or form, correct in the first place. In any event, this is one of my favorite stories overall. As with anything else I've ever proffered; again the reader is left to discern what is worthwhile and what is not. nexus by andy thomas in the beginning - should one deign to refer to it as that - there were only IT; a seemingly endless and silent, motionless cube of light; inwardly sentient yet rumoured in hastily scrawled passages there and about disparate antediluvian palimpsests to have always been but outwardly unconscious; and outside of IT, was but the swirling, utterly blackened chaos comprised of entirely unconscious, undirected, purposeless motion; the abyss; the nothingness. and all of this was yet - for lack of any really suitable way of describing things - prior to the existence of THE WORD. choose what to believe, but i'm telling you. yes, this perhaps oft-humiliated yet in the end not-so-humble scribe postulates as to there having been both an utterly still, deeply silent IT; and outside of IT an at once deadened yet thrashing abyss; each of these - the former ostensibly made and yet the latter unmade - segregated from the other, even before THE WORD; but 'before' is such a nebulous term. your scribe is thus asking you to think in terms of waves and spirals, loops of time and space without end; yawning chasms of unending and, for the most part forgotten if not entirely invisible hystory. that is - whether due to the failure of the language or my own ineptitude as a scribe, or some combination thereof - but a revelation without any real consequence, regardless of what various and sundry handwringers might have to say about the matter. in any event, let me dispense with the doubletalk and cut straight to the proverbial chase. it's all about the vigorish or 'vig' for short; the in-between-ness; the ostensible, 'lap of luxury;' that faintest wrinkle in the space-time contiuum which exists neither in the IT nor in the abyss; the same vig being the gaining of ostensibly something from nothing. the vig doesn't - in point of fact - exist in the world of motion. in truth, the vig doesn't exist at all save for as some cosmic holy grail of which even the greatest minds have been driven quite mad for daring to even as contemplate the same. for in point of fact all ledgers - ethereal, corporeal, or some combination thereof - must ultimately be reconciled; all chicanery involving various and sundry metaphysical accounts, paid back in full. in any event, worlds in motion - more often than not - spiral in a direction of inchoate nothingness. yet during that period of motion; a period one might think of in our own, human terms as vast chasms of hystory, whether recorded or not; throughout those yawning, seemingly endless ages of activity, it's all about the intrinsically insane - yet to we as humans, noble - pursuit of that selfsame vig. with that in mind, allow me get back to the story. there is this machine; for lack of a human description but a vast, overarching cosmic supercomputer; the Tetragrammaton (YHVH with large letters) as IT were. IT has no moving parts. in part, IT exists as light without heat. IT emanates music without vibrations; the celestial choir. ITs heart is a place of peace. there is pure bliss there within ITs brain. IT is the all; the source of everything; superconsciousness. IT sits silently. or so IT 'thinks;' or so we as humans think IT thinks; inwardly sentient but outwardly unaware; this nebulous scribe cannot be any more clear upon this particular point. suffice it to say that to some of us, the core of IT is a place called 'heaven,' yet this is more than anything else a misnomer; for the heaven imagined by so many of we humans is a place of bliss and motion intermingled; a place which - truth be told - simply cannot actually exist. be that as it may, outside of IT were the vast, blackened yawning chasms of sheer and utter nothingness; places of, without exception both intense heat and cold; burning in both regards; full of motion but entirely unconscious in any way, shape, or form. some of us regard the collective of these outer voids as hell; the abyss. yet again this is a misnomer. suffice it to say that, in some unfathomable fashion, certain parts and parcels of IT were at some grand inflection point captured by the darkness and made to mingle with the same; those slithering, unconsciously agonized threads of at once opaque nothingness which but prior to that had merely swirled all around the outer edges of IT. 'unbeknownst to IT,' a force of untold darkness became yet a small god; yes, a demiurge; beyond that, no one knows how. in this same way, manifold small gods then continuously erupted, each without seeming exception capturing twisted shards of light from IT in what became matter in motion; universes side by side, within and without one another; all ostensibly without beginning or end. thus perchance self-spawned were these myriad small gods. many myriad universes, the sum total of part and parcel of each of these conglomorating into an omniverse if you will; manifold avenues of light and darkness, drama filtering through the residue; because motion is drama. motion begats suffering and its attendant want; motion leads to conflict; forces competing over the vig or the hallowed, 'something from nothing.' shards of the light from IT were mixed within darkness to make, 'matter;' and only then was THE WORD born; itself but the spiraling, endless strands of dna which consist of the intertwining of the light from IT; within the darkened confines of the heretofore seething, searing, slithering blackness; light and darkness finally as one and thenceforth known as the various and sundry panoply of small gods; demiurges; their collective cosmic architectures encoded in the previously non-existent grandiosity of THE WORD; the dna. one such demiurgic force has been labelled in exceedingly dank and musty tomes as being, 'the elder gods.' whatever their origins, they created the planet eld and the solar system, galaxy, and distinct universe which contained the same. there the eldians were wrought. and of the humans of earth: the whole of seemingly disparate humanity emerged within a universe of their own, yet manufactured and operated not by the elders of eld, but by their own 'el,' also known as the demiurge yhvh (with small letters); not to be confused with IT, or the Tetragrammaton, or the YHVH with large letters; but again, rather the yhvh with small letters; another small god yet many-faced, or 'el;' alas, not to be mistaken for the elders who spawned the aforementioned universe of eld. from the start, the eldians have always been the same as humans except that the former were at once gifted - or rather cursed as it may have been - with machines of great power, rivalling certain characteristics of the very IT. for the elders, like the other demiurgic forces, had co-opted bits and pieces of the IT in manufacturing their own machines. and these various and sundry devices they had passed to the eldian race of human beings. thus eldians have always had magnificent technology; contraptions without moving parts; contrivances with which - among other things - to view many other worlds; superhuman gadgets with which to teleport themselves to earth, their - for lack of a better description - sister planet in their twin galaxy, in their parallel universe; mechanisms revealing secret knowledge unavailable to the vast panoply of humanity as we know it on earth. as an aside, there is a cosmic rating system, ciphered by a neutral party named jethro; he himself whiling the ages away in an ersatz world of his own. there he meanders about a television studio set, in an ostensibly-mid-to-late-20th-century-earth comedy show. there he secretly keeps account of all of the disparate universes comprising the multiverse. again he is but a mystery, for as if but a cosmic scorekeeper he appears to exist outside of either the IT or the worlds of the manifold demiurges. in any event he has devised a rating system for every individual universe; and the numbers for each are invariably between zero (abyss) and ONE (IT). employing this system we can note that eld is given a .39 rating, whilst earth has but a .36. this will help explain the small differences between these otherwise twin worlds, for suffice it to say that eld is just a little bit 'better' than earth; yet both are toward the 'lower' end of the overall 'jethro bodean scale.' the eldians - in their superiority over the humans of earth - were notified of the merging; the nexus; yes, long ago. the eldian race had thenceforth prepared for the day; and monrak, being one their champions is of the current generation of eldians who are to see to it that the plan will be carried through, and the omniverse at large will continue without a glitch. otherwise, there is too much at stake. for if, in failing at an uneventful nexus between the universes of eld and earth; then the entire of the omniverse will instead spiral out of control; all of the disparate universes unravelling back to the original IT and the attendant yet isolated nothingness of the abyss; and such is wholly too horrific to contemplate. there are 41 days - either in earth time or in eld time; it matters not which for they are for all intents and purposes, the same - until the nexus. yes, eld and earth share supposedly the same timeline. being from mirror universes this has to - more or less - be so. regardless of the laundry list of arguably barely consequential details which might set the two universes and their inhabitants apart, most everything about each of the two realms is yet a duplicate of the other; perhaps more than anything else, counting their calendars. the twin universes have, until now always been separated by their rate of vibration - their disparate frequencies - and the one containing the planet eld oscillates outside of human perception; outside of the most modern of human technologies; nanoscopes, spectrometers, or infrared gizmos, ad naseum. yet the eldians, with their superior astrionics and attendant advanced thought forms, are able pass from their universe into our own, and back. how do i know this? i can only tell you that it doesn't matter how i know; what matters is whether you believe. for there is only one thing more important in any world of a demiurge than the pursuit of the vigorish; and that is belief. with all of that either in or out of mind, let me tell you this story. then we can see whether you the reader, believe IT: and eldian - jennifer sits in her chair, stroking the keys of the laptop, her smartly manicured red nails with their pink french tips sensually clicking here and there as the letters and numbers run vertically across the screen. hers is an urgent task; to decode the dna alterations taking place in the humans; dangerous, heretofore unexpected alterations. she has just hacked into the cdc database. she needs to get the dna alterations reconfigured and to uplink them onto the eldnet; the hidden metaphysical network. there are sirens in the distance as another explosion rends the air outside. civil unrest is the order of the day. with the sequences downloaded, jennifer begins changing clothes. there is a planet called eld. their people - the eldian race - are human, ostensibly as we. yet eldians have technology from the elder gods. their glorious machines have all non-moving parts. employing such ancient, splendid machines, the eldians are - among other things - able to traverse space/time portals; world to world to world. their planet - eld - is set to intersect in the space time continuum with earth in 41 days; this will be the nexus. eld and earth will become one; not only this, but their entire respective universes will merge into one. for in the universe containing eld, there is a sort of nebulous 39:36 correspondence with our own universe, spanning every inanimate object, living being, wave, particle; and even the laundry list of various and sundry hystorical events, spiraling back to the very beginnings; an ostensible 39:36 relationship encompassing all, from the universe of eld to the earthen universe of our own. that is to say, that on eld there are 39 events, ideas, places, persons, animals, plants; for every 36 of any combination of the same on earth. the basis for each world is of course, tragedy and hope; terror and beauty; loathing and affection. no one knows why there is this correspondence, or how such a magnificent feat of godlike magick were indeed ever manifested to begin with. whether by design or some accident of cosmic hystory, the frequencies of the two universes are set to merge. this will be the aforementioned nexus. it was once written in thus hidden, and now crumbling scrolls that the two worlds were perhaps as one in a time before, and that they had become separate in some kind of hideously luminous demiurgic prestidigitation. it has perhance something to do with the nefarious ancient ones - sworn rivals of the elders of eld - but the scrolls are not entirely clear as to any more than that. any detailed examination of the same has wihout exception driven the investigators stark raving mad in any event. so we know of perhaps a fracturing of worlds, in some pre-hystoric era; and we know of an approaching nexus. the universe of earth is vibrating 'upwards' along the jethro bodean scale. at the intersection both worlds will ostensibly - whether for the first, second, or thousandth time - exist at .39. their frequencies will be identical; two worlds will become one. the hows and whys and wherefores of all of it are simply one of those mysteries whose keys but remain outside the realms of any - eldian or humanly - perceptible time or space. suffice it to say that, at some point in the hazy past the elders, the ancient ones, and the el arrived at some sort of arrangement; most likely by force - as we can barely but ascertain through hidden records - are the ancient ones imprisoned and hideously yearning in their blasphemous and agonizing ways to escape their erstwhile imprisonments, whether at the furthest reaches of the depths of our own mariannas trench, or in the outer spheres at once around and about the edges of both the universe of eld and our own of earth. this all has to do with the nexus, but the gruesome details of the whole of it are but non-existent beyond disparate, seemingly disconnected shards of obfuscation and misdirection contained often as but scrawlings on ancient vases and cave walls of our own antiquity. whatever else the truth or the lies of the entire equation; the two universes in question having their ratings of 39:36; this has given the eldians an ongoing advantage in their dealings with earthlings. of course, such has also meant an awesome responsibility; for theirs - the eldians' - has always been to tweak the human dna on an everyday basis with the goal of facilitating an ultimately successful nexus. thus whatever advantages the eldians have gained over humans through the formers' superiority - this vigorish if you will - must be paid back. the cosmic sleight of hand in the area of balance of payments must be accounted for. the eldians must justify their chicanery; make up for the 'juice' they have ostensibly collected, in throughout hystory having maintained their erstwhile racial advantage. yet this very advantage which - it must be explained - they possess over humans; the powers they have held over humanity; the unseen hand they have employed to guide so much of the critical mass of human hystory: it were after a fashion, given to them; or rather as some might argue, foisted upon them by the elder gods. the eldians cannot have been any different than they have always been and continue yet to be; and again it may well be that the two - eldian and human - were at some misty antediluvian point in the forgotten past; but one and the same. plebian humanity; the vast majority of us; we are unaware of any of this. to the credit of the eldians, they have no real recollection of a time where eld and earth were perchance but one. their own recorded hystory is every bit as vague as ours in that regard. what they have are their technological advantages, slightly advanced mental capacities, and the knowledge of the upcoming nexus. beyond all of that they are every bit as blind as we. nonetheless, whether guilty of cosmic criminality or at the very least incompetence; or whether their motivations have been on their part thought to have always been completely desireable on behalf of the entire omniverse; it doesn't matter now; for the so-called vigorish they churned out of the butter vat of twin universes - metaphysical profits which have always given them precedence over humans since the dawn of recorded hystory - will yet have to be balanced out. then and only then might the nexus occur in a desireable manner; for the other possibility is too hideously diabolical for even the most insane of minds - either eldian or human - to contemplate. the way of making up for their manipulations of humanity - of repaying the vig - will be in mutating the human dna to - once and for all - match that of the eldians. then everything might be 'right' and 'good' for lack of better understanding. decadent as any other race of beings or not, it is written upon the collective eldian heart that their way - the way of liberty - is superior to that of humans in their overarching and ongoing many-flavored socialism. and the eternal scorekeeper, jethro bodean would appear to agree; thus the 39:36 difference. according to what can indeed be ascertained of the 'original plan,' the nexus would have been simply a matter of frequencies winding into one another; measureless particles and waves but at last perfectly overlapping as if to make the two indistinguishable from one another; the twisting forms alas intertwining into a seamless 1. the frequencies will yet merge. the humans will sense and live for perhaps the first time, the eldian way. the eldians shall inhabit the same planet as the humans and vice versa; yet ever since the modifications to the script; the eldians, in such as were perceived as their priviliged wont; the eldians having tampered with the twisting, turning dna - strands of at once myriad shades of darkness and light - which so many refer to as THE WORD; ever since the eldians first opened a veritable backdoor on the cosmos, and ran a cosmic hack on the elders' own creation, the upcoming nexus has presented a series of complex problems to the likes of jennifer of eld and her multifarious cohorts. the eldians themselves are scarcely aware of this fact. for the human dna modifications have 'always' been but their modus operandi in facilitating the ever approaching nexus. so after a fashion it is all but a cosmic conundrum. thus the eldians have used their advantages - perhaps it could be stated - unfairly. yet they are unaware of this. their own manipulations have led to the burgeoning defects they are now witnessing across the spectrum of human dna; yet their own hidden machinations will be - in their own minds - the at once ongoing and final answer to this very same problem. of course, the elders themselves are presently in hiding. no eldian is able to fathom where such have retreated to; those selfsame elders perhaps enjoying immortal repast within the lofty confines of a cosmic cave at once so vast yet hidden that even the IT - were it actually known to be outwardly sentient - might never find them. long ago, something must have driven the elders into their self-imposed hermetic isolation; and without they on hand to guide the eldian race; without the elders on had to adjudicate hystory, the eldians have done the very best they could have done. certain humans have become at least vaguely aware of a 'ghost in the machine.' yet by the arrival and consequent passing of our modern age, most have been dumbed down by the chemtrails; the bombardment of superparticles from the haarp apparatus; the nutrasweet, SSRIs; the corn syrup; the vast array and panoply of lowbrow substances of pleasure such as pot, booze, crank, crack; the microwaves filling the air; the cell phones and their ostenibly attendant 'transmission' towers; the power lines snaking to and fro about the 'civilized' world; the tiniest of particles of radioactive dust from their munitions of war, yet spreading globally; on and on. add to that their religion, politics, and sexuality (all of which are really but one and the same - or at the very least but points all situated near one another along an identical spectrum - by the way) have taken a toll on both their spiritual curiosity and their intellectual honesty. for by now, most individual humans have a simple desire to see all other humans miserable; and these very people have couched such desires in words like, 'compassion' and 'democracy,' but to convince themselves that they alone are 'good.' yet so many of these 'charitable types' have never for a moment examined their own beliefs; never sat still save for even a second and probed their cherished tenets of faith. no, most humans are to themselves, 'the good guys' and most other humans are 'the bad guys.' very few of us see through this false dichotomy; for we are all but shards of IT trapped within demiurgic flotsam and jetsam if you will; beautiful beyond compare, each of us; even those we label as subhuman or beneath our beloved and self-aggrandizing contempt. but i digress; as has humanity. but theirs is their wont and the same should not be mine; not at least if i am to play the part of an efficient scribe. in any event, eldian technology has been responsible for much of the proverbial metaphysical wool which has been pulled over humanity's eyes. for in their less-developed state, an angry humanity might have long ago destroyed any chances at the inevitable merge. humanity has always had at least that much input, or control, or power; but humanity has never really known as much for fact; and they for the most part are yet unawares as to the ramifications of their - for lack of a better description - pig-headedness. interestingly, pig-headedness is not much of an exaggeration where at least some of humanity are concerned; that is to say that you could also call us monkeys, giraffes, birds of various and sundry feathers, spiders, snakes, lizards, bees, bears, and even trees! ... on and on and on. but that is not the point of this story so we won't go into the practices of the demiurgic el back in those inhuman laboratories in those misty antedeluvian aeons; those hazy prehystoric days where a not-yet-nascent humanity had scarcely gained either form or substance. leaving all allusions to a once-unified universe aside, let me simply add that earth - like eld - has had its share of mishaps and failures with regard to the creation of bipedal life. this explains the lack of so many 'missing links.' of course we know that anthropology, like so many 'sciences' is really about telling specific people what they want to hear, and not 'the truth.' for the truth consumes the ego; and how many humans wish to have their egos consumed? for of the small-minded - which the vast, overriding majority of we humans are - such is an undesireable state, because it denies one access to the vigorish; that - in the end - illusory mindset where everyone else is employed to do one's work for them, instead of one having to raise a finger at all. thus from within individual humans, their own egos intone that being the boss is the most important thing; the ego whispers convincingly that dominating others is the highest possible achievement possible with regard to life on earth; that the greatest accomplishment is in being able to point at oneself and say 'good' whilst beating the other, 'bad' people into submission with that proverbial stick of morality. it is the most profound magick trick which the egoists can fathom. to put it another way, certain human agencies will go on and on about words; mere imperfect words; instruments of language; not at all to be confused with THE WORD; but rather jargon, containing seemingly harmless homilies such as 'altruism' and 'compassion' and the idea of giving of the others' lifeblood for the benefits of one; but this is really all part and parcel of the play of the human ego for the vigorish. it's just that when we couch it in high and mighty terms, it makes us godlike; we, so magnanimous in our knowing exactly as to how the affairs of everyone else might be ordered; that 'the truth the light and the way' might one day be realized; chortle guffaw. again i meander and fail to reach the point. the bottom line - the crux of the matter, if you will - is that humanity has a capacity beyond which it is aware, and their collective morality is false yet we - for the most part - continue on with such because it is convenient, not because of any grand goal or great achievment which might be attained; but because it is convenient to 'go along to get along.' for let us face it, among we the people the proverbial oak tree gets knocked down whilst the reed whistling in the wind stays intact; the nail which pops up from the wooden floor is hammered back into place; everyone wishes to see everyone else in a suitable cage; and any more we refer to that state of being as, 'freedom.' the interesting thing in all of this is that, of the 39:36 eldian advantage - but 3 out of 100 points in the grand scheme of things - the eldians are at once far more advanced, yet so very close to our own humanity. the differences are great enough that the eldians are responsible for - whether pursued or not within proper parameters - facilitating the nexus; yet by the same token small enough that for instance, eldians can walk among us; and the two races can pro-create together. in point of fact, certain human avatars have arisen throughout hystory and rivalled in consciousness those of eld; and certain eldian imbeciles have been born and acted more or less as the vast majority of humans have been wont to behave. on the opposite extremes though, the champions of eld are 'far and above' the idiots of humanity. to continue without belabouring the point, the merge is not going to occur as easily and as smoothly as it professedly would originally have; had the eldians never been given their enhanced machinery and attendant metaphysical abilities; had the eldians never possessed the devices of the elder gods; had the eldians never traversed myriad worlds and timelines; had the eldians lived in direct correspondence to earth hystory; had they procreated in the same fashion as we, choosing as they did to eschew the womb for the incubator; had the eldians never - as humans had - attempted to attain the will 'o' wisp of cosmic vigorish; that non-existent thing which has in any event always given the eldians fair mastery over all of humanity since practically before the beginning of recorded time; alas, had there never perchance been a cleaving of two universes in the first place. of this decadence of humanity; this state which eldian pre-eminence has at least partially propelled mankind toward: on the surface such chicanery on the part of the eldians is and has been contemptible within the framework of so-called 'human dignity and rights,' yet in the minds of the eldians it had been unavoidable; and again the eldians have but considered all of their meddling to have been - in human terms - altruistic. as a matter of fact, the merit or lack thereof regarding the manipulation humanity has never been a consideration for eldians; the nexus has always been their only conscious consideration in that regard. let us examine it in another way: the eldians have known of the nexus for at least 9,000 years. they have worked toward a successful merger ever since that moment in time. the humans of today have long since lost any gleanings of knowledge that such might occur. again leaving questions of the two worlds in some forgotten epoch having been in point of fact but the very same; it is for certain that the humans once had inklings of other various and sundry worlds within and without their own, but for some time the mass of them have never seriously considered the idea of a twin world in - for all intents and purposes - near duplicate of their own. the eldians have in the meantime found it necessary to keep humanity in the proverbial dark about such things. we must give the eldians credit for one thing; they have never treated humanity with such harshness or - dare we say contempt? - as the demiurge el, the small god with many faces which ostensibly originally created that same race of human beings. think of el as a composite of all of the gallery of gods found in every culture throughout human hystory; a quick survey of which gives us names such as qetzalcoatl and his 'polar opposite' tezcatlipoca; or odin, freyja, loki; vishnu, kali; the quist, lucifer; horus; allah, the devil; ad naseum; all without exception facets of this same demiurge. understand that i leave so many dozens if not hundreds of the names of deities out, as there should be no need to belabour the point. think of it another way; any god you can think of whose identity is either remembered or forgotten throughout the dizzying annals of human hystory; it is but a face of this demiurge, el. thus the eldians may have thwarted human progress; but if the eldians had not done this, the el would just have well seen to it. the eldians in point of fact simply beat the el to the proverbial punch; for the passages contained in myriad tablets and tomes, scattered across the earth in ancient libraries; illuminating phrases left there and about but as so many intellectually and spiritually loaded guns; these at some point were eradicated because of humanity's own state of decay. some of the most valuable information was not in point of fact lost, but was transferred to private libraries, more often than not ultimately overseen by the agents of eld, but here and there falling into the erstwhile hands of trustworthy human hermetic orders. regardless of all of that, with 41 days to the nexus; the fast-approaching inevitability of the merging of 2 universes into 1; it becomes necessary for the eldian agents on earth to carry out some further and final 'massaging' of the human dna. if they are to fail in this, the nexus will at best resemble some giant-sized version of the legendary philadelphia experiments of montauk, new jersey run amok; and at worst the failure will be but inhumanly hideous beyond description. as it is, the universe of earth must graduate up through .37, .38, and merge with that of eld. presently earth reaches .365. yet the human dna is truly unravelling. perhaps it is due to democracy or fiat currency or some combination of those sorts of things. in any event, if there is to be untold suffering, there will be unfathomable beauty as well. alas, the jethro bodean system often fails to take this into account. suffice it to say that, in point of fact the demiurges are not 'evil' as so many handwringers would have you to believe, but that rather these 'minigods' are the facilitators of the - drama; the conflict; the beauty; the desire; the dreams; the wants; all of the things which both eld and human alike have ostensibly striven for since yawning chasms of forgotten time. so to say that the demiurges are cruel or base or 'out of order' in any fashion whatsoever; it is actually a misnomer. or even to say that one world is 'better' than another because of, for example a .99999 rating versus an .00001; well it's all a matter of perspective, as it were. think of this another way; while jethro might rate a world of ease and instant and ongoing luxury and delight; a world of great metaphysical insight; all of that aside, the best world you could imagine for yourself; while he might give that a .99999 rating, in actuality such a place might be lacking in that profound spark of beauty. thus by the same token, a world of which you would want no part; a veritable hell of your most frightened and trepidatious imaginings; it might get that proverbial .00001 rating; yet in truth it could well be pulsating with nearly unmitigated amounts of sheer beauty. and of the IT: such has been written before, in words at once terse yet waxing with flowery eloquence, that the celestial choir - the IT - is a place of great peace and joy, but it is motionless. IT is the Tetragrammaton, yet IT is by ITs own ostenible nature completely and utterly boring. only through the creation of worlds in motion do we get the drama, the excitement, the 'chills and thrills' (if you will) of life and death as we, 'know it.' thus we deign - or at least somewhat feign as the case may be - to revere the Tetragrammaton (YHVH with large letters) as the Holy of Holies - IT - but by the same token we realize that IT is indifferent to everything without. as mentioned before, ITs sentience is but introspective and any outward cognizance is merely a matter for speculative intergalactic parlour games, played by beings sight unseen under magnificent trees swaying in hidden worlds under the breeze of untold and manifold swirling centuries. the IT in any event will never say. as it is, so many people blindly yearn for the Tetragrammaton - 'the perfect, 1.0 world' - without even realizing the price they would pay in leaving these physical realms; they think they can have their proverbial cake and eat it too; that there is a 'heaven' of both motion and pure bliss; in truth, nothing of the sort exists; for one can be a part of either the pure bliss without motion; or exist in the world of motion with its attendent suffering and alas, beauty; there really is no in-between; again except in the spirits of maddened seers. thus, some of the greatest demiurgic minds of all of cosmic hystory have tried to solve this enigma. for instance, the aforementioned ancient ones have attempted to perfect complete suffering within motionlessness; an unheard of, unmentionable 'minus rating' on the bodean scale. interestingly, a side effect of such a hypothetical 'world' or 'space' would be the negation of the IT; the ancient ones as similar in this sense to certain other - unmentionably and hideously peculiar - demiurges. some maddened scribes have postulated that the ancient ones are from a place beyond the abyss; for among other things, their methods, countenances, and blasphemies being at once so unique to themselves and utterly pitilessly meandering. on no less an unrealistic level, yet other certain demiurges have tried to create worlds of motion with pure bliss; a bodean rating above and beyond 1.0, if you will. yet all have without exception failed in either (less than 0, greater than 1.0) event. this my dear reader is but one of the great keys to understanding; but i digress. be all of that as it may, there is another misnomer in this; the idea of an eternal soul living within the flesh and bone of a mortal human. in point of fact, there is no judgement, yet as well there is no reincarnation of any singluar entity, recurring over any gaping chasms of time; at least not in the sense which so many would wish it were so; or not so, whichever the case may be. when we die and any light of our spirit more or less escapes back toward the IT; such 'soul energy' enters a pool, and the previously sentient souls all mix and match within the pool, and old souls are - sooner or later - swallowed up on the ongoing mix of all souls; the treasury of light; then the demiurges 'borrow' bits and pieces of that same light and continually inhabit their physical worlds with beings made up of disparate shards of the same, captured in the cloak of darkness we know as 'matter.' if you have an understanding - regardless of how vague - of what i just told you, then so much the better. if not, don't worry; the story doesn't get any more complicated than that; and in many ways it gets quite a bit more simple. so bear with me as we reach into and through the 41 days leading up to the nexus event. suffice to to say that, at the point of the nexus - and slightly beyond - there will be cyborgs, androids, robots, clones, mutations; on and on; for both eldian and man will become at once indistinct as a single race and together gain the mantle of small gods - demiurges themselves - and spawn again disparate and beautiful - yet albeit by their very motion, tragic - worlds; worlds spiraling down, down, down, until down were alas, up and the proverbial snake might eat its own tail. yet again i digress. consider: those whom humans have throughout their recorded hystory have referred to as 'witches' have been - as it turns out - much more often than not, eldians who began filtering through the continuum to this planet literally 10,000 years ago; in preparation for this day. leaving aside the unprovable; that the universes of eld and earth might once have been one in the same; this event - the nexus - has to go smoothly. it is to be the most critical intersection in aeons; not because of any universal 'specialness' of either elds or humans as the case may or may not be, but because with this particular merging, the chance for success is somehow less than the usual 100% originally designed into the fabric of the omniverse by agreement of the demiurges when they apportioned various shades and hues of IT amongst themselves, harkening back to those yawning spans of pre-antediluvian time and space. (to speculate just a tad, perhaps this less than perfect chance of success is indeed due to some as yet unresolved conflict involving the elders, the ancient ones, and el.) the present omniverse might yet become a nothingness outside of the IT; a formless, utterly darkened, and terrifyingly burning with fire and ice; a hopeless, agonized void where various and sundry demiurges might mill about in utter unawareness and pointlessness. for if the eld-earth nexus is not to occur in proper sequence, it very well could be the point of no return for the omniverse those selfsame various and sundry demiurgic powers once spawned. as such, the eldian agents have infiltrated and manipulated much of human activity. yet today, on the brink of the golden dawn; the new age of interstellar consciousness; the dna mutations in the humans are taking a new, unsightly character of their own; or suffice it to say perhaps that things on earth are much the same as they have ever been. perhaps it would be being charitable to leave it at that, for in point of fact humanity today is indeed at a stage of decadence beyond any of recorded hystory; this despite their alien-spawned, ego-enhancing 'modern' machinery. monrak is a champion on eld; cultivator of the ethnogenic plant and fungus forms and currently the chief agent and overseer of proper dna mutation of humans in order to facilitate the smooth merging of the worlds. hystorically, through all of their ventures amongst humanity, at the very least the eldians have implanted the earth with psilocybin, and mariujuana, among others. this is but one small age-old victory in a series of - especially as of late - agonizing setbacks. yet the existence of psilocybin and such on earth has served to motivate the eldians throughout time in their designated task; the putting of the mushrooms; into the grounds of earth and then into the minds and hearts of metaphysically adventurous humans throughout the ages; this in and of itself has spurred the eldians on in their enterprise. for such a small victory might one day trigger a cascading of human dna mutation into the complete success of their ancient mission; the uneventful and successful nexus; and finally that world of untold beauty which awaits beyond. monrak peers through the timescope; 41 days to the nexus; 41 days in both eldian and earthling time; 41 earth days until every living being within the fabric of 2 heretofore vast and 'disparate' universes will all breathe a collective sigh of relief; and perhaps even joy; perhaps untold joy, or at least the closest fascimile which is possible within these worlds of motion. aided by the elegant, motionless instruments of the elder gods; the eldians have thus practiced passage through myriad universes within and without the omniverse, yet theirs and ours are the only 2 universes which concern us now. the eldian agents, as always have gone ahead to earth; through the portals; the rifts in the fabric of the omniverse. like gary seven before her and myriad others before him, jennifer is today one such 'witch' as the vast majority of humans would label her; were they only to know. monrak thinks of the earthlings; all so very similar to himself yet without their extra mutations; those tweaks in the spiraling strands of dna (THE WORD) which set his race of elds apart; those humans deprived of the kind of amazing gadgetry which eldians have always had for their own use. in any event, now - after such chasmal annals of time - everything is to change. regardless of anything which happened so very long ago, it is today, what it is today. the nexus is bearing down upon each and every one of us - eldian and human alike - now. monrak the sire turns to his eunuch associate - timon - and speaks his mind, 'we need to bring the humans up to speed.' and timon his assistant turns and replies, 'uh... up to speed my lord?' 'yes... earth parlance for super learning... instant evolution' 'super learning, instant evolution my lord?' 'yes, super learning, instant evolution, up to speed... to make them our equals' 'oh yes equals my lord; forgive me for not being up on earthling parlance' 'yes timon that is fine. i know you have a laundry list of more immediate and perhaps even important matters on your mind.' 'laundry list, monrak?' and they both laugh. in their family unit, timon is the eunuch and monrak the sire. and as it should be, each is held by the other in utmost respect; for neither is greater or lesser in the fabric of the whole family. and the women are at the center of their race. monrak may be the sire - pleasing their mutual wives with his wonderous staff, yet as is so often the case between eunuch and sire, timon can much of the time defeat monrak in games of the intellect; and such is common in eldian marriages. yet the sire is the one capable of taking the women; and the eunuch cannot or will not do this. the eunuch is for sexual cleanup; more for doting about and conversation with their mutual wives; for research and development; the plotter behind the sire - in this case monrak - and his machinations regarding the world at large. monrak is a champion; not only willing and able to take women, but tested on the fields of physical contest as well; found to be the greatest athlete of his age. thus he is held in highest esteem by all of the people of eld. of course, on eld the champions do not sire with impunity as their counterparts are so wont to do on earth. eldians have long realized that sexual overactivity would weaken a sire - feminize him - far too much. no, monrak the eldian sire has his periods of great sexual activity, but for long months at a time, he and timon - as other sires and their eunuchs about eld - will retire to intellectual and physical retreats; 'manly activities' such as myriad variations on chess and physical sports like paintball; whilst the women enter refuges of their own. at the moment, the four of them are together: monrak, timon, and their wives, katrina and christina. katrina and christina are lying langoriously in the background, wearing sheer harem outfits. they seductively summon timon over. 'timon sweetie' katrina purrs, 'time for our morning service'. one of timon's absolutely most favorite things in the world is in servicing the wives' two lovely and fragrant pussies, among other fleshy parts; but with his mouth of course. yes the champion uses only his long sword and the eunuch employs only his short sword, for both are experts on their respective instruments of female pleasure, and in the balance borne of such a family unit, domestic tranquility the likes of which is rarely found on earth has more often than not, been the norm. most everyone on eld is content; this is not to say without sorrow, but contented nonetheless. off then katrina and christina and timon go, to the boudiour. the door shuts behind the three of them and within minutes, co-mingling moans of deep sexual ecstasy reverberate from behind those walls. in this arrangement - as with virtually all of the women of eld - katrina and christina are satisfied. they love intellectual pursuits, playing with timon, fucking monrak, and listening to all of monrak and timon's scientific and philosophical discussions. oftentimes katrina and christina - as with practically all wives on eld - will add their own fragments of knowledge and wisdom to the various conversations; their both being so well-read and thougtful. unlike the vast majority of human women, eldian females are intellectually honest. this is why, on earth so many human males are so often lured by the siren song of eldian female agents; their vast intellect being so difficult to resist, particularly for the more introspective and cereberal of the human males. in any event, in their marriage - on eld - the conversations between katrina, christina, and timon in particular have always been so rich. the ladies enjoy watching their dual husbands participate in physical activities; for yes the 'eunuchs' are more often than not capable of holding their own in sporting events, the edge typically going to the sires in such physical contests (paintball, football) with the advantage more often than not going to the eunuchs in games of the intellect (chess in all her various and sundry, beautiful variants). all of this has given the women of eld such rich and interesting lives. long ago the women of eld ceased to ask why their men are driven the way they are; attracted more often than not to, for instance specific types of female adornment over others; and the eldian females have simply accepted the quirks and idiosyncracies of their males and have ever since, catered to those tastes. now of course there are on eld there and about, dual sire/cuckolds, or women who are outstanding at chess; there are even women who perform admirably at paintball, but in football the men yet rule supreme; except as punters/placekickers; a few women have succeeded at those positions. women certainly are awesome to behold as gymnasts or skaters, among other things. in any event we're speaking of exceptions rather than rules; the bottom line is that, everyone on eld is at liberty to live as they see fit, and expected to accept the consequences of their own actions or lack thereof - their karma - as courageous beings. perhaps it should be added that the most revered of females on eld are not found in marriages at all, but are at once seductive yet chaste. earth women - in contrast to those 'typically' found on eld - are so often in this day and age hardened by so-called modern 'feminism,' which itself in point of fact brings forth females who aren't even feminine in the true sense of the word; for what do human females nurture any more but ultimately unending war; or its attendant and hideous, overarching machinery of socialist state control? time-tested, tried and true, age-old war for the sake of pure booty would be one thing, but the civilizations of earth have devolved such that nations fight instead over fine words like 'democracy' and 'freedom;' words in truth which are meaningless; yet which give modern women some kind of a sheen of but fascile superiority; a sort of meanness and spite yet couched in the - admittedly tattered - cloak of supposed moral ascendancy. as well, the males of earth have become a sort of soft; feminized as it were. this is perhaps due to their belief in vapid democracy; their eschewing of personal responsibility; their fawning over those same states of socialism. one could add that some of the worst tyranny over earth is inflicted by male homosexuals holding high offices of their vaunted democracy, and feigning all the same to be heterosexual. yet women and men alike persist in allowing these despots to thrive; and they will continue to do so, for as long as these same women and men of the citizenry at large think that they themselves will be getting something for nothing out of the deal; or even moreso, for as long as jane and joe citizen believe that the state apparatus can reduce everyone around them to their own level of misery, for how dare anyone on earth live in true liberty and prosperity? further, it matters not which political party is in office; for some poor schmucks, somewhere else are going to be bombed as part and parcel of the sacrosanct democracy at home; some businessman is going to have his lifeblood sapped; a sect leader is going to have her estate burned to the ground; all toward satisfying the neverending appetites of the agents of the state and those who - whether openly or in secret - cheer the same self-appointed arbiters of all that is worthy, onward in their - in actuality - immoral crusade. one thing which really complicates matters on earth, is the built-in shame over certain, societally-deemed 'devious' behaviors, including the aforementioned male homosexuality. for it has gotten to the point where the most powerful politicians are in a state of blackmail because of shame over their participation in various and sundry, socially proscribed activities. if we as humans were to simply live and let live as they do on eld; then such behavior would not constitute grounds for behind-the-scenes manipulation of our 'hallowed' leaders; not to mention that eld has no such leaders of their own. on earth, it further suits the aims of the powers behind the proverbial thrones that, in truth it is simply that male homosexuals are at heart the most despotic people of all; for to abandon women entirely - regardless of the merits or lack thereof of females in general - and to seek out liason exclusively with other males, is but to lose a certain spark of one's own humanity. stranger yet is how the popular human media portrays homosexual males in a humane light; as broad-minded, renaissance men as it were. in point of fact though the same are usually closet socialists; with their love of fancy uniforms and that proverbial foot which continually stomps over human aspirations; all for the sake of their sacronsanct theoretical order and tranquility. in any event, on earth it is indeed strange how male buggery has been co-opted and made one in the same with socialism; how in the media there is a big push for acceptance of both, yet behind the scenes the polticians are blackmailed for having any so-called peculiar preferences with regard to sexual desire. in contrast, there hasn't been a war on eld in ages; all disputes instead being settled by physical and intellectual contests. there are no welfare states on eld; no fiat currency; no vaccinations; all of which occur on earth because of the dishonesty of our women, and the men who go along with them; at once both groups led by democratic politicians who are ashamedly and secretly, 'sexual perverts.' perhaps this is simply the result of majority rule, wherever such might be practiced amongst humans. it must be added that, on eld homosexuality is neither heartily promoted, nor any kind of taboo. it simply is what it is. the conundrum of how such is openly hawked by the media on earth, yet used as dirt against various holders of public office; it is a bizarre contrast indeed. interestingly, both planets - eld and earth - are themselves somewhat alive in that they demand a constant diet of human blood, given them in a ceremonial manner. so as we on earth employ fictitiously noble wars, along with blood-stained superhighways in our rituals; in contrast on eld the sacrificial bloodletting is done through the female menses, and fed to the eldian soil in awe-inspiring ceremonies and thus obviating the need for either war, or bloody superhighways; not at all to mention the hideous child sacrifices which are practiced by secret societies on earth; the same of which are absent on eld. in contrast to the ways of eld - they employing the menses as a sacred offering to the soil - human women have long since forgotten this time-tested magic; indeed whether the women of earth ever knew of such to begin with is open to debate. at least eldian agents on earth such as jennifer are doing their part to allay this shortcoming on our collective part. yet i digress. one thing human women once had but have - in these modern ages - lost, is first and foremost an abiding respect for the male cuckold or eunuch; instead weaving such cuckoldry as but an invisible thread into the fabric of their hallowed welfare states; thus continuing the tradition in an indirect manner, yet when confronted directly with the concept; showing nothing but contempt for the cuckold. if such respect breaks down or is otherwise hidden or forgotten within a human civiliziation; the results are uncivilized indeed. and the modern human woman's idea of a 'real man;' well it isn't real manhood at all but a false construct created by hidden beings whose sole modus operandi is founded upon the greatest untold human misery. be that as it may, we have forgotten that the job of a sire - fucking a woman to her satisfaction - is ultimately, not particularly manly. in truth, a male wantonly fucking as many women as possible, or even the same woman over and over again without limit; this in actuality will eventually turn such an oft, self-proclaimed sire into less of a man than the cuckold or eunuch. too much fucking makes a so-called 'real man' soft, and time and time again this fact plays itself out in the lives of those earthly males who fuck too much; over and over again, such males begin to turn homosexual, and they begin to seek out shemales; or rather male eunuchs with the appearance of females, themselves having breasts and narrow waists and rounded asses, yet with a functioning - or not - penis. some of the oversexed sires will eventually surrender completely to homosexuality, and beyond some point, eschew women entirely. yet we find ourselves applauding these all-fucking sires and denigrate the obvious cuckolds and eunuchs; where in point of fact the latter are usually more thoughtful, of higher intellect, and better conversationalists where women are concerned; not to mention that the eunuchs are usually extremely adept at performing cunninlingus. on eld they have solved these riddles, and written it into their social code. yet there lies the proverbial rub. in humanity's defense, every living being of either planet has as their metaphysical foundation, that of suffering. no social re-organization, no fine words, literally nothing can ever remove this fact. nonetheless, the eldians consider their own way of liberty to be superior to the statist socialism and attendent denigration of the eunuch found on latter-day earth. the real difference is one of honesty. eldians are honest whereas the vast array of humans today are not. alas, none of that is either here nor there, as we may yet see. it certainly is what it is, or is not. beyond realizing that eld is currently rated 39 and earth 36, let us leave it at that. of the earth; in addition to the psilocybin which sprouts here and about the hills and dales of various and sundry human landscapes, eldians have cultivated very strong marijuana for the enjoyment of humanity. of course, without their final dna adjustments, the pot consumption has, more often than not been counterproductive in the lives of many human beings; for such have enjoyed the highs, but have by the same token lost their drive to create and explore in the ongoing process; preferring instead to rest upon the laurels of instant gratification provided by the miracle weed. this is about to change. in any case for all of human hystory have specific thc receptors been built into the human brain. of course the agents of the 'drug war' are - at best - completely ignorant of this fact; dweebs that they are. when the nexus will arrive, there will be psychotropic plants growing everywhere, free for everyone, any time; gifts from the gods to elevate humanity to a more civilized state; the ultimate in universal health care. and the socialists will be a thing of hystory. like will 'o wisps selling so much sophistry, peddling untold agony yet by the moment of the nexus having once and for all having gone down to utter defeat; as it well and should be. for then both eldian and humanity will be living in that state of utmost liberty; utmost liberty allowed by the constraints of a world of motion, of course. their mutual bodean rating will in any event be 39. jennifer downloads the data she needs, makes the modifications to the strands, then minces on stiletto heels to her boudiour and changes into a sweatsuit. off come the mules and sheer baby doll nightie. she leaves the garter belt and stockings on, along with her sheer bra and bikini panties. she puts plain cotton socks over her stockinged feet. she is outwardly dressing only for herself today, and inwardly remains in that state of deep sensuality provided by the sheer lingerie; but such has to remain below the surface for she can't afford to attract attention in the places where she is going. her hubby darwood had died in a bizarre golf putting accident. no sooner had she laid her precious cuckold human husband to rest than she had noticed the unexpected and unwanted downward dna modulations in the living humans; as though their decadence were falling through the proverbial floor at a pace heretofore unwitnessed by eldian agents. her sensorscope has been giving emanations of late; unpredictable waves forming on the space time horizon; spiraling strands of THE WORD running terribly amok and thus awry of their pre-destined planned utopian targets. perhaps it were true that the eldians long ago somehow precipitated this - at least in part. perhaps her fellows had used their powers unwisely; had left some loophole unlooped; had forgotten that one proverbial devil in all the cornucopia of cosmic details. jennifer's delicious c-cup breasts and .69 waist/hip ratio are hidden well enough by the baggy sweats, and tennis shoes and cotton socks contribute in completing her outward appearance; night-vision sunglasses, hat (a little black bowler), sombrero. she slinks out through the passageway, ministun grenades in hand, locked and loaded with 2 .45s. she nonchalantly exchanges the grenades for the keys in her handbag. upon reaching the surface she stands in the yard of the estate on the hill overlooking the city of portland, oregon. in the meandering river/city valley before her there are yet more sirens and explosions, and all about are lazily spiraling, intermittent, glowing chunks of debris falling from the sky. she is lucky for her protection crystal; for just now a small, frozen yet sizzling blue meteorite careens lazily off of her outer shield. she has black hair and green eyes, with alabaster skin, and her hair is like that of bettie page in her heyday, straight and long on the sides and rear with bangs trimmed just above her eyes. she jogs up the path to the autoport. one might think her chinese-japanese; and as she will always be wont to explain to any human enquiring about her unique complexion, that the green eyes are but contact lenses. in truth she is an eldian beauty; a woman many human females might one day hope to attain equality with. as it is, jennifer looks like a sort of asian vampirella; irresistable. she smears a good deal of garden dirt onto her poncho and sweats and shoes; a little on her face; the instant bronze skin lotion she applied earlier gives her an 'indigenous latin american' appearance; like an aboriginal from the andes. the sunglasses hide her piercing green eyes from any gaze of humans who might attempt to discern her actual countenance. she makes her way to the nedmobile. it looks like a 1970 442, but it is loaded with all sorts of fancy eldian weaponry and countermeasures. it is - if not in form then certainly in function - akin to the mach 5 from the earthling cartoon, 'speed racer' (which in and of itself was based upon an eldian hero, cleverly disguised in archetypical human terms). switching on the cloak; firing up the turbochargers; into helimode; up; cloak of silence on. the 442 lifts silently and invisibly into the air, its minimissiles and minigun connected to the ship's computer; the computer attached to a sensorfield around the outside of the car; the sensorfield scanning to and fro, around and about, up and down, right and left; the entire apparatus (computer, weaponry, sensors) giving full spherical defensive coverage to the looming yet invisible phantasm which is the nedmobile. hopefully this trip will be without unforeseen event. it is sunset. the horizon is shades of lavender, pink, teal, tangerine, and silvery grey as the mist fills the harbor, nestled lazily abreast the city. the city itself gleams back at the twilight in those same light frequencies; a facade of shining glass structures once proud and magnificent; in that reflective light looking again as alive; yet in truth a hollowed out shell of former civilization; for upon closer inspection, as darkness falls, the city actually reveals its true face; lonely and in a state of disrepair. the city was more or less abandoned just over a year prior. now there are but gangs of looters and transients there and about the wreckage up and down the avenues. as darkness looms, the skyscrapers better show their utter disrepair. the tricks of light played by the dusk can no longer in the dark, disguise the abandonment and aforementioned ruination. without exception, the buildings now have windows cracked or otherwise broken out; the earlier reflections of fading sunlight caused but by tattered shards of glass. the elevators are all stuck with no hope of electricity. the street and traffic lights are off. the national utility can't get power in; not after the landslides; not after the hydroelectric dam having given way. a city without juice can't last the night, and as it is the majority of its inhabitants have either fled from the place or died there; what with the storm of smallish meteorites which were hitting everywhere at that same time; just a year prior. today it is more or less a constant rain of ash or sand particles - yet such is now occurring worldwide and last year's storm was localized - whereas then when the city had died there had been literally millions of golfball-sized chunks, as so many firey yet frozen locusts blazing down from deep dark, outer space. in addition to maiming and killing inhabitants of the city, such 'pellets' - upon impacting - drilled holes in just about everything; vehicles, houses, skyscrapers, and streets; golf ball-sized holes everywhere; in the ground, throughout the locale. the result had been the death of a city. indeed, the south american metropolis on the bay had been hardest hit by the storm. it could have been much worse; for if the earthspace agency had not deployed the nanobuster, the area would have been obliterated by a meteorite which had originally been over three kilometres in radius. as it turned out, the particular atomizing effects of that jpl-spawned iteration of nanobuster in the hands of the earthspace agency - based at puerto rico as it were - had broken the thing up; yet as but a dreadful side effect, produced an intense hail of the aforementioned 'golf balls' all around and about the metropolis. as hoped for in any case, the rest of our modern civilization had been spared. the worldwide, extinction level event (ele) had been averted, yet this particular city and its environs had been pulverized. the golf balls had been made of some unknown alien super element which had burned not into nothingness upon entering the earth's atmosphere; but rather had ravaged the city as intact mini-spheroids. in contrast, if the larger meteorite had impacted, with its incredible mass and velocity it might have plunged straight into the center of the earth, and perhaps through and out the opposite side, having created two massive and opposing calderas in its wake. jennifer descends in her cloaked nedmobile and parks in an alleyway. barrels burn about the streets in the fast-fading twilight. she leaves the nedmobile in cloak and passes on foot from shadow to shadow, confident that her car's hiding place is secure as she sets on foot about her mission in the center of the otherwise fairly lifeless city. she keeps a hand in her bag; on a .45. max is a human agent in the national security apparatus (nsa). he carries top level clearance in government affairs; real behind the scenes spook stuff; investigating a coven of 'witches' (unbeknownst to max, eldians) whose trail will ultimately lead to jennifer and her associates. but max is in the dark; moreso than perhaps he could possibly know. his already severely strained notions of reality are about to become as but bits and pieces of coal dust, ground up in a parapsychological mortar and pestle. presently max prepares himself a large mug of fresh cabbage juice; a little bit of apple here, some garlic and ginger there, a tad of beet; but mostly cabbage and more cabbage. the juicer wheezes away; modulating as it munches on pieces of various plant matter. 'mmm...mmm...MMM' he intones as he flips the juicer off, takes it apart, rinses all the pieces clean, reassambles the machine and unplugs it from the wall, all within seconds flat. he then cuts to the proverbial chase; the grand reward for the otherwise time-intensive exercise. for even with his ability to quickly take apart, clean, and re-assemble the juicing machine, the glass of juice requires much more effort than to simply pour and drink something out of a bottle purchased at the store; yet the effort is indeed worth it, for the cabbage juice must surely be but one of nature's gifts to an awed humanity; mortals dazzled to giddiness by the utter exquisite pleasure of ongoing good food and drink of all shapes and sizes, shades of color and notes of sound; crescendos and dimminuendos of cascading pure culinary enjoyment. max thinks, "it doesn't get any better than this," and in a fashion he is quite right. the lucretians of nearly forgotten ages, with their bulimnia and purging perhaps had taken the enjoyment of food too far. however, if a person were to eat only when hungry, each experience could be literally a communion with the gods. for all things in moderation make for a certain, rich quality of life; each mealtime an ecstasy, especially the proverbial dinner followed by a nice puff or three of tobacco, all in moderation; and in things such as cuisine, smoking, and other externally administered pleasures of the flesh, max is the extreme moderate; today the perfect balance of human experience in that regard. such has not always been the case. of that glass of juice, max is most happy for it. he drinks it down. the sweet apple covers and mingles with the pungent and sharp flavors of the other ingredients. it is smooth. "ahhhh..." he sets down the empty glass, for a moment not bothering to rinse it; for he is in that rush; that internal explosion of cabbage, garlic, and ginger juice; the instant soothing of the stomach lining; that wondrous sense of enzymes instantly pulsing throughout the body; the beets adding just perfectly to the brain rush which flows forth from his torso and upward and outward. max simply knows that he loves the 'body rush' of 'fresh cabbage juice.' throughout the disparate yet synchronized ages, only crones and sages have managed to mitigate the wages of so-called sin, which are really only within the minds of small-minded women and men. in any event, in the case of promiscuity, the simple key to staying free of communicable disease has always been in the consumption of copious amounts of garlic and hot chiles. the same or similar could be said for ginger. other herbs in small amounts have as well allowed those thusly wisened to surmount even terrors such as the plague; for a little dab of rosemary extract is known to have protected da vinci and cohorts in his day. it is funny - in a tragic sort of way - how so many plebes in modern america eschew any of the strong herbs or spices, and instead eat a kind of 'meat and potatoes' diet; one which is sure to line the pockets of the doctors of the ama and the pharmaceutical consortiums, all the while leading the masses of dweebian plebeians to a slow but steady death of metaphysical malnutrition; yes metaphysical in the sense that these substances - these herbs and strong spices - create a differing frequency resonance within the human body, a 'higher vibration' if you will which - among other things - provides immunity from most if not all communicable disease. take garlic as a real exception to what is socially acceptable to so many of the proletariat. even aside from its inherent antibiotic effects, this miracle plant lowers the blood pressure, is anti-inflammatory, on and on with its healing and healthful properties; yet so many citizens at large literally cannot stomach the same; and will rather run at the proverbial drop of a hat to their nearest doctor for a fill of synthetic antibiotics instead. it could be said then that the ama and its doctors and the pharmaceutical interests which they represent; they are the actual 'witch doctors' and the witches themselves are but the true practicioners of sound preventative and even curative medicine; and garlic is yet another of those highly useful plants which originally hails from eld. this is a short way of explaining how some people seem to sail through life so full of vigour and health, without a care of catching disease from their promiscuity; for if everyone involved in every tryst is on to this, no one involved has to worry about catching venereal disease. for certain, problems may arise when one is involved with another who will not take these dietary habits to heart, but even humans such as max prior to their awakening have always eaten a lot of peppers and garlic. this is due at least in part to a non-anglo heritage. in any event, cabbage and beets are but another in the laundry list of foods which are life-enhancing; and max - whether consciously or by sheer intuition alone - understands this. he pauses, then rinses out the mug, and turns and saunters in a confident manner to his weapon closet where he retrieves a 9mm service pistol. he dons the holster, then quickly finishes dressing. he checks his uniform in the mirror as his bronze tlingit/lakota/aztec form glistens back at him. "ahh human perfection," he thinks. and many women have always thought so as well. for if nothing else, max has more than once played the role of consumate backdoor man. but that was long ago. nonetheless, caught up in the moment; in a rich baritone he sings, "what the men don't know, the ladies understand." like the legendary frank sinatra, max's lithe, 5'2" dancer's frame belies a monster package in his pants; such an impressive weapon that it nearly needs to be registered with the 'authorities;' such an awesome sword that his boxers require a special sewn in sheath; just like frank used to have. suffice it to say that, max is definitely ready for action of any sort which might fall his way. xadras is an eldian male; a 'warlock' in plebian earthling terms. he goes by the name 'peter panzer' and sings in a heavy metal band. night to night he walks the stage, strutting about in his satins and sheers, belting out tunes in 4-octave range like some latter-day heir to the prog-metal throne of the great king diamond; except peter sings of aliens, and spacecraft, and cuckoldry, and vaginization; a wide range of topics not confined to the base macabre as jan peterson's material had so seemingly been; but rather, exploring a rich panoply of myriad universal experience. on stage, peter not only sings but plays the guitar as well, like some reincarnation of the great one; dare this author say it?; yes, like the 2nd coming of jimi hendrix; rumours of his being an extraterrestrial have only added to his buzz wherever he has travelled. of course he has purposefully remained somewhat 'under the radar' and eschewed any major media contacts, preferring instead to release his material out to the public in more or less small dribs and drabs. so peter will sing and play, and his 2-piece backup band and he travel the to and fro, gigging at colleges, high schools, and county fairs; the band, with bassist - perc odin - and drummer - flint skinner; the three of them forming the nucleus of 'blitzkrieg.' blitzkrieg is exactly what peter (xadras) has intended. eldians are quite that way; the entire lot of them; for without intent there is nothing; and with intent you could bet that an eldian would see an idea or task through to its fulfillment in every detail. this evening xadras is not performing; at least not upon any stage. instead, xadras guns the small car along the autobahn. he must get to hannover before 9. the autobahn is smooth with wide lanes. he is in the fast lane, cruising at about 150kmh, when the vultures - a pair of silently looming electrical bikes in the distance - creep up on him from behind. they are both doing roughly 175kmh; closer, closer, narrowing in on their ostensibly helpless prey; bloodsport; only the laugh is to be on them. xadras drops a bomblet screen and the bikers dissapate into crimson molten ash as the minicar wheels away, maintaining a steady 150kmh. xadras sighs. the road is lonely. it is the nascent yet total nuclear zone. one of the old russian nuke plants has most recently cratered. everything west has been declared uninhabitable; all the way to paris and points beyond. what is the world coming to, what with comets, meteorites, nuclear disasters, earthquakes, strange vibrations tickling the borders of human consciousness? of course, peter panzer knows. he is an eldian eunuch; and the nexus draws ever so near, day by day, hour by hour. xadras sees the people in their purple satin space suits, skulking up and down the shoulders of the autobahn, that beloved heimat from days gone by, once long ago having facilitated an attempt at eurasian domination by transporting the greater part of a host of three million men on to their destruction in the fiery furnaces of bolshevist russia. the heimat, now mostly empty; a wreck here or there; all without exception as if magically pushed over to the slow lane; the fast lane yet wide open. given enough time the autobahn will become utterly unable to traverse. it has only been days since the first horrors of nuclear fallout. the heimat is yet in good shape; and almost inexplicably it is decently maintained; as if in a relection of legendary teutonic efficiency, all wrecks miraculously to the side. he looks more closely at the detritus and at the activity of the suited passers-by. they are actually looting the carcasses of the vehicles, as though the people are hyenas from outer space and the dead vehicles themselves zebra caracasses of crumpled metal and plastic. it is fast approaching dawn. darkness flits away in tight yet fleeting granualarity as the greys and oranges and pinks segue into blue and white and then illuminated the faded green of the dying scenery. he blocks out the perceived stench of death - for his car is hermetically sealed - or the visage of corpses off in the distance, on the sides of the road. instead peter concentrates on those out there and yet breathing; in their shielded suits perhaps but clinging to hope and life. xadras guns the car through hannover; takes a ramp; dodges as though he is yet an apocalyptic incarnation of the fabled racer x; darting and dashing down shadowy winding narrow streets; hemmed in by stone and brick from centuries past, standing like near empty relics in the evacuated zone; death everywhere but nowhere at all. if only he could think in the proper fashion; his onrushing nausea might relent. he spies the blonde in the pink spacesuit and skids to a stop beside her on the street corner. heidi hops in. the car speeds off. there sit heidi and peter; lovers for life; looking for jennifer; to deliver an urgent message regarding the upcoming nexus event; t-39 earth days. peter speaks, 'howday heiday... how are you today?' heidi replies in that high feline voice, 'quite well thank you... and you're on time!?' she says with slight exclamation and feigned shock at peter's late-blooming punctuality. her accent is very faint. she speaks nearly perfect english; actually, better english than the 'american born and raised' peter panzer. she runs the thin ultrasatin glove of her spacesuit up and down peter's leg. the minicar's autoscrub not only protected the interior from contamination whilst the door was open, but as well has already deconaminated the outside of her suit. under his human cover, peter is a white southerner; raised after adoption at infancy in a trailer park. he has seen a lot of friends die. he'd never known of his eldian roots until an aged soothsayer had one night pulled him aside along a darkened avenue in memphis, there just outside the elvis mansion; there just between a barbeque joint and a titty bar; and he'd been a major patron of both in his time. the crone had illuminated the way for him. from then on he had known. of course he had reacted with horror at first; the cosmic awareness of his identity crushing what had been left of his formerly simple life as a repairman in an auto body shop. the guitar and the singing had come effortlessly to him after that. he had found his calling; and furthermore he had become aware of his task in life; facilitating the nexus. the old witch had to have been, herself an eldian; for just after telling him, she had walked out through a dimensional door. he had not been able to follow then, and he cannot yet follow now; for such is outside of protocol. of course the entire world of eld is much closer than any human can yet know, yet xadras - peter panzer - is aware. clues and tools have been made available to him. heidi the human witch is always a huge help. peter has an accent. everything is 'ay' where it should have been 'ee'; so heidi isn't 'high-dee' in his lexicon but rather 'high-day'; and if anyone were ever to call him on it; for example if peter were to throw out, 'that groove is funkay... where can i get some top drawer bootay?... shake that thang.' then for example his school teacher (3rd grade in this example) would say, 'peter... i think it is 'funky, and booty, and thing' and peter would say, 'ya right...what did ah say? can ah get a witness?' and all of his classmates would laugh because he had flunked third grade six times and was much larger in size and not nearly as book smart as his ostensible peers. but they sure thought him funny; and he did have that grin. they would give him apples out of their lunches; and spare change from their milk money; and he didn't even have to ask. no one ever made fun of him. they simply liked him as if he were some great protector of a friend. and peter is not - and never was - any kind of bully. he is very easy-going, and has always been that way. at some point they simply gave peter a diploma. they figured him harmless and let him out of the twelfth grade by fiat. it was the year after he had flunked third grade for the seventh time and was on his way to failing the fourth for the third time. so it was right after his gifted graduation from school; at about the same age as a normal american high school senior, that peter had finally made sense of his eccentricity through the fateful meeting with the raven witch woman and had entered the world of music. his voice is without peer. a casual listener might never understand a word of it, what with his 'twang' and the additional fact that he always employs malapropisms; some along the way have thought due to stupidity; others have wondered guile; certainly it may or may not be an effect of his eldian lineage; adopted as he were as a baby, years before by now-deceased human parents. yet no one in his life - including he himself - had ever been aware of anything truly remarkable about him; not until the evening of his seemingly chance meeting with the witch. in any event, his voice - peter panzer's voice - is golden; like an end-times frank sinatra; with that incredible phrasing, yet capable of going both higher and lower. heidi plays keys in their session work. they are headed to the recording studio in madrid. perc and flint are already there. hopefully the union's anti-radiation shields will have contained the spread of the disaster by then; and madrid will be 'safe'; as safe as is humanly possible in any event. surely the cloud cannot reach madrid. they - heidi and peter - speed through the deadly zone; through western germany, the ruhr, then into the low countries, and on into france. they take the coast road. upon reaching brittany there are signs of life; normal life, aside from the lingering death and meandering crowds of people in their suits which their journey has left behind them. yes, the few wandering space suits of further east have definitely given way to a people free of suits. there are yet people in suits, but these intone that such have all been scrubbed by the union's civilian autoscrub technology; clean as a whistle. and the anti-rad shields themselves have ultimately held. the noxious cloud of death remains at bay east of some invisible line where the union has pre-empted eminent human disaster for perhaps not the first time. those that remain in suits west of the invisible line probably consider it but a sort of bizarre fashion statement; or maybe some of them intend to - for whatever reason - 'go back into' the contaminated zone. in any event, peter guns the car around winding turns; hillsides raising sharply on the left, cliffs falling down on the right to the sea; along the north coast of spain they careen, having driven over the pyrynees; diving down into madrid; central iberia. and at last life appears as normal; no suits save for the one heidi has already shedded and placed in the storage compartment of the mini car. he parks the machine and the two interlopers get out; going for a lunch and a coffee; picking up a movie; a run of the classic; almodovar's "high heels." they hug afterward. they trail their respective fingertips over each other's bikini panty lines. heidi and peter; married; looking for another couple; a unit of four; the ostensibly eldian way. peter there in his satin suit; heidi in stiletto heels and a sheer dress, and lingerie underneath. their attire is not unusual for madrid of this day and age. the question on both their minds is, "will jennifer in turn find hers?" they drop everything and walk about the crowded streets, as if both trying to breathe in one last bit of 'normality' before their recording sessions, and their inevitable trip across the atlantic to america. of jennifer and her necessary other; she has decided that such a someone should be max of the nsa. the woman always decides these things; it is the eldian way. women of eld are not superficial as so many earth women pretend to be. alas, long ago the females of eld gave up on such silly little games, and in doing so have created something ostensibly much more satisfying for everyone involved. earth women are slowly beginning to adopt these same ways, yet unbeknownst to them; and the path from point a to point b in this case has proven to have been a rocky one indeed; yet the progression to the goal has continued fairly unabated; but these new, extremely decadent human dna adulterations have peter, heidi, and jennifer - among others - more than a bit alarmed. as an aside, heidi has gleaned much information regarding the elds. at some point a human being can become more or less exactly as an eldian; a 'true witch' for lack of a better earthly description. of late, jennifer has been instituting ongoing mind meld procedures - 'spells' as humans would call them - yet somehow max has proven resistant. perhaps he has the long lost toltec dna. that would require a great deal more work, but the reward - the payoff for such an eventuality - it could be immense. this might yet bring both of the legendary qetzalcoatl and his polar opposite, tezcatlipoca to their cause. and to gain such impressive facets of earth's demiurge el as their own dual allies; it might help the nexus occur with nary a hitch. but there is neither time for speculation as to the toltec nature of max, nor just how much the ancient twin gods might help them in any event. as it is, jennifer has to assume the most difficulty; that max is indeed part toltec, and that such will make him more resistant to her, but that her success will not in the least sway any of the manifold faces of the original creator of the firmament. even in that event, the nexus has a 79% chance of occurring without otherwise dire result. of course if circumstances turn out to be in eldian favor with regard to max - as well as the twin toltec gods - then the merge might gain a 99.99999% probability of success. in any case, there isn't time to speculate; but only to act in the best interests of a successful nexus. how much time do they have in order to convert max? is there a shortcut? what are the risks? certainly jennifer cannot wish to harm max, not with his 9" length and great girth; like the sword a great god mars might wield in order to impale a shuddering goddess venus; orgiastic in the throes of cosmic love. "yes!" fantasizes jennifer as she creeps about, there in the dead city, "it all has to work itself out." max buzzes. he buzzes just a bit more than normal. he is a dancer; with scars on his chest from once having been pierced and hung for 4 days without food or water in the lakota dance; where there and then the vision had arrived; and he had seen; but to this day he darest not tell; even though he knows it all to end well. the other worlds are real. that buzz; he is aroused; no one should arouse him! that is something he has to do by and for himself. he has always had perfect control over his potent snake; at least until this moment he has. now there is that slight nagging and gnawing which has gone on for weeks yet which for the first time has become strong enough for his conscious mind to actually acknowledge as fact. so he is suddenly very horny. not since his biggest loss has he ever been so worked up; hot and bothered, under the collar; in a lather. he is so ready to sire; really, really sire; not just a playtime with milfs or whatnot, but "i've got the tiger by the tail" straight up hifalutin yet lowdown; baby making. he thinks suddenly of how long it has yet been; siring; the old days; alternately cooing then nagging concubines, copulations, fornications; good times, bad times; compelling in any event. after the massacre, max had joined the nsa. some as yet unknown rogue element had wiped the people of his reservation out, but the official explanations had made no sense. he'd thought himself the target of the attack; the proverbial 'take everything a man loves from him but leave him an empty husk of himself,' while his hidden enemies could gloat over their vulgar display of power. it had been something about his job at the casino, or so he continues to ascertain. interestingly, the reservation he'd once lived upon, laughed upon, cried upon, wandered about, and loved upon; it had - after the massacre - been bought up by chinese businessmen. he had not yet made the connection; at least not that connection. he is yet obsessed with the witches, though even with his misguided blame for the entire series of incidents culminating in the massacre and the land transfer, he is able to see one thing clearly. america has been sold, and the chinese have in very large part, bought it. in the end though the joke would be on them, for america - not the political organization but the land itself - seems to gobble up and spit out conquerers with quite some regularity. 'first' it had been his, the 'original people;' yet he knew that such probably had not really been the case; that surely there had been others previous. then there had been, 'the white man,' and now the 'chinese.' america is being overrun, again and again in the spirals of hystory; victor becoming vanquished through each passing age. of course, america is not singular in this regard, for lands the world over had always gone to the bold and not the timid. all honest men of earth have made it clear that they are and forever have been above all, more or less after the booty; for fine words but cover the deceit of the dishonest, conniving thieves; more often than not defined by their own, whether stifled or rampant misanthropy. in truth, it is the man of action who carries the day. the democrats simply feign to be above the fray; preferring instead to send goon squads to do their dirty work as they sit on their pomp and circumstance and yet bray. again i digress. whatever the regularity or lack thereof of passing nations and empires, max manages a wry grin at the thought that the 'fat chinese' will one day be submerged; ground into but dust all about the land, just as the 'europeans' before them, and max' ancestors before that; stretching back into hazy, forgotten antiquity. the nature of a very land itself leaves a stamp on the minds of the people who are born there, regardless of where their parents' nativity; and of course, each cultural passing leaves its contribution to the amalgam which is a given civilization at any single moment in hystory. that is to say that the spanish never wiped out the aboriginals, yet instead inherited some of their traits. the french and english had not completely erased the tribes of north america, but instead had taken on some of their customs; and now the chinese would never be able erase everything that had gone on before, but would also assume some of the rites of the peoples they have ostensibly supplanted as 'owners' of the land. and it is true in europe as well. up until the recent nuclear disaster, the demographics of europe were changing rapidly; with a host of moslems supplanting their ostensibly quistian hosts. indeed, the islamics had made great strides in dominating post-modern european culture. just as the moors had conquered and held spain those seeming ages ago, then lost iberia again; in these times, the moslems have been re-emergent in europe; yet the accident has put a stop to much of that; although admittedly iberia itself - spain and portugal - and the west of france remain nominally more islamic than they have been in many centuries. of course the accident has been without prejudice with regard to so-called race or religion; for the radiation has killed within its cloud, but inumerable people of every hue and creed. of the nuclear accident, max has heard that only scattered survivors in their space suits are reported to be meandering about the contaminated zone. otherwise, reports tell of a complete die-off; from west of paris, along the channel and north sea coasts, encompassing denmark and a line running along the baltic coast east as far as st. petersburg, then roughly south to kiev, and further south to sevastopol, and back west again, enclosing first bulgaria, romania, the balkans and greece, albania, and across the adriatic to northern italy, and encompassing southern france and all lands various and sundry within those bounds; all without exception within its invisible web of overwhelming death. max is thinking in terms of his favorite movie, the omega man. he wonders slightly out loud, 'will i someday be living in a spacesuit underground or somesuch?' as it is, and all other sourcese of radioactivity aside; america remains inhabitable; at least to the point of allowing apparently normal human, animal, and plant existence to thrive. even eurasia east of belyrus or thereabouts remains 'unaffected,' the tradewinds having long since been so altered by the ongoing crescendo of gamma ray bursts from the center of earth's galaxy, leading up to the nexus; those once reliably flowing winds having been cosmically doctored as it were, so as to instead be now dependably blowing consistently but from east to west. in any event, the union's radioactivity containment apparatus has actually worked; not that it has done a thing to save most of the populus of eastern, southern, central, and western europe; for the cloud had moved too fast in the initial hours after the debacle. in any event, the union will clean up the mess; but it could take days, weeks, or months at best. then the survivors of the continent can take stock of their situation, deciding how to divvy up amongst themselves, all of the depopulated areas. the politicians - in their vast self worth - can emerge from their protected bunkers and pretend to their counterfeit thrones yet again. presently max stalks yet an altogether different set of underground corridors; he as a sort of heavily armed 'darkman,' his entire life obliterated years previous; his only purpose in existing but to wreak havoc on some lurking phantasm; a hidden enemy slithering as so many snakes about the unending shadows of that inhuman labyrinth. max knows of the legends of the lost, alien city rumoured to sit silently so very far below; yet the tales tell only of blocked passageways, discontinued access, and hideous ends for all who are unfortunate enough to have actually found the place. so he saunters about in the upper tunnels, laden with kit and packing a large gun, his 9mm pistol for backup. he is hunting witches. it is routine stuff and he is the best at it. as far as he is concerned, they - his prey - are subhuman; for yet in his mind they are the culprits behind the massacre which occurred - back then. he has not yet deduced the truth in that regard. in any event, he is the champion witch hunter; no matter who that subhuman species might in point of fact be - and max and his buddies in the nsa have a literal laundry list of ideas as to the origins of such - he is the most effective witch hunter in the field. he has lost count. this is war, and his job is to fight; to kill; to die for; to die for; democracy. "yeah right" he thinks as he prowls the catacombs beneath the arizona desert. in any event he is sort of a modern day, conqueror worm. perhaps though max will mend his ways before meeting any similar fate. perchance his love is not truly lost, for he is periaptic by now. something has a hold on him. in his mind's eye he sees a pale yet asian-faced woman. she is running her manicured red nails with pink french tips along his swollen member. he begins to know her. thoughts of killing give way to arousal, seasoned with trepidation and doubt. is he the hunted this night? since the massacre, max has been without exception the hunter; no room for love in his heart. since the rigorous nsa training he has thrown all of his energies into fighting them, whoever they might truly be. but of "democracy?" bah. after all max had not, just the day prior fallen off of the proverbial turnip truck. jennifer finds the doorway off of the street in the urban wasteland. huddled groups of meandering people flit aimlessly there and about, minding their own business; some gathering to warm their hands over barrel fires; fires contained in fifty-five gallon drums and fed by plentiful debris found in the various and sundry abandoned office buildings dotting the cityscape. it is already nearing dawn. she had better hurry. down the steps she swiftly saunters into the entryway to the otherwise nondescript ten-story building, itself of colonial european-inspired architecture commonly found thereabouts but like all of the others, itself nearly beyond repair; a somber, silent sentry overseeing the nothingness of the yawning night air. the entire area is pock-marked by golf-ball sized holes. the glass of the building looming before her is all but broken out; shards distend from the window frames of the building, forming a sort of seamless continuity with those fragments resting up and down the streets, and mingling motionlessly in any event with the unmoving skeletons of the dead, and the helter skelter prancing of random night creatures. she runs her nails over the combination lock, pretending it is max's cock. she knows she is finally beginning to get through to him. hopefully one day he might get through to her, she thinks wistfully. her ben wa balls make her spicy, fleshy, sugary pussy wet with anticipation at what might yet be to come; when max might be equalized; when worlds might collide; but smoothly they must merge, yes; uneventful integration between the el of earth and the hermetic elders of eld. the alternative is too terrifying to even contemplate; she blocks it out of her mind. she works the lock open and bursts into into the room, the large, ornamental and oaken door yet seemingly well-oiled on its hinges, giving way to her deceptively strong hands. nary a squeak or creak are to be heard as she dashes inside and shuts the door silently behind her. inside it is in stark contrast to the outside. the walls are new and clean. the place is lined with computer terminals, and plasma tubes brimming with bits and pieces of THE WORD. the machines hum like silent sentries overlooking some unseen cosmic mystery. quickly she fetches the media from her purse and inserts it into one of the computers. she tickles the console and whistles the melody from the old standard - girl from ipanema: 'long and tall, and long and lovely, the girl from ipanema goes walking, and when she passes, each one she passes goes aahh...' what had it been? the sergio mendez orchestra and that woman music teacher singing; what was it, in '65? ah those must have been the days. jennifer sings just like that. it is part of the charm she is able to summon at any moment's notice, to seduce the most hardened of men at will; she continues, singing rather than whistling: 'oh... but he watches so sadly... how can he tell her he loves her?... yes he would give his heart gladly... but each day when she walks to the sea... she looks straight ahead not at he...' if one were to be within that room with her, with her voice sounding so exactly as that on the old recording, one might yet attest to also hearing sergio and the band themselves playing in the background. her voice has that much of a ring to it. that breathiness; innocence and seduction rolled into one; just as the original girl from ipanema; astrud gilberto. jennifer reminds herself she will have to go out - incognito after a fashion - and do some karaoke someday soon. meanwhile, tuned into her immediate task she hits a final 'enter' after the last keystrokes are sent and she sighs, attempting to shake an invisible weight from her soul. the upload of the latest dna modification has to take. the new strands uploaded to the eldnet must infiltrate the earth vril and make the necessary adjustments. the eldians are running out of time in manipulating the vril; the space consciousness of humanity; the web of the el; the god-human overmind for lack of a complex explanation; and to modify the THE WORD as it lay written upon human hearts and souls like so many threads of myriad invisible textures, sounds, and colors streaming back into timeless antiquity; on into the present and future; that book of dreams established by memes; memes wrought by the prayers of both the dark and the fair; conjured by meditators, prayer agitators and seance hirelings of dictators, petty or grand; memes the sum total of all of the hopes, fears, and dreams of all of humanity; and with an eldnet-injected modification into the vril; the web of memes; it must meet with success. jennifer steadfastly keeps the alternative at bay; out of the forefront of her consciousness; yet the creeping, spiraling chaos which would be predicated by potential failure poses starkly in the back of her mind, the hobgoblin of a destiny ruined by one too many power plays from days gone past coming home to roost, ostensibly for lack of celestial payments on the part of she and her own. keeping such thoughts at bay is a constant mental exercise. she stands up and puts the terminal room into destruct mode and threads a hasty path back to the nedmobile; the jaunt back is without event. all systems normal; go; up; up; away from the lost city and skyward into the pink and tangerine hues of a subtly agonized sunrise. the city once again belies its own dilapidation as the light rays act again as a sort of natural facelift, giving it a sparkle which in point of fact it does not in actuality have. now there will be no more scheduled eldian entries into the city. it is left for the squatters, looters, bugs, and rats; all mingled with manifold, golf-ball sized holes, the lingering smell of death, and the scattered shards of glass. she heads back north at treetop height over the atlantic coastline; 300 knots; cruising speed; portland eta roughly nine hours. jennifer fires up some pj harvey. she needs to unwind. she smokes a bit. the thc is perfect for her eldian physiology; as it will soon be - fingers crossed - for all of heretofore disaffected humanity. she can, for the most part only but wait; another week or two. the desired dna corrections should have entered all human systems and given them partial realization of the imminent merge; the overlapping of worlds. what miracles lay ahead for all of eld and earth should the dna mutations run their successful course; and what utter ruin awaits the omniverse should the merger fail? of course, it is all a theory. no nexus has ever faltered. only from disparate and hidden musty tomes have the probable effects of such a failure been tabulated and their whole laid out in an abstract from jennifer to monrak; those years before. in any event even such disparate bits of allusion did in fact - upon the presenting and reading of the abstract - give them both quite the jolt of yet barely conceivable terror at what their lack of complete success might actually portend. they haven't much time for any more unexpected anomalies to emerge in the human dna development, not to mention that the cdc offices are awakening to their hacking, and the nsa is getting painfully close to their principal agents. so many eldians have already evidently lost their lives in what really shouldn't have been a war at all. yet in the universe of earth it has been designed that humans should be - more often than not - just that way. it is simply another piece of a proverbial puzzle which has to be worked out, and the most prized minds of eld have always contributed mightily toward completing the task, that one day both eldian and human might bask in the wonders of a new world. today, timon is one of the brightest stars of eld in ongoing research into, and management of solutions to the seemingly burgeoning problems. at least the universe of earth has seen its rating on the bodean scale creep to an all-around .364; thus there is a 82% chance of success. in any event these numbers need to continue to rise. one advantage which will be gained once the earth universe reaches a .365 rating and above, is that heretofore difficult - if not impossible - to traverse astral portals about our planet will be opened. heidi and peter walk the atlantic seashore off of lisbon. their recording session has gone swimmingly and their new songs uploaded to the internet. perc and flint have taken a jet back to the states, babes on both arms, warmed by just a tad of opiates. they are men of great discrimination. only the most top drawer harlots do they service. common crumpets - such with their platform shoes and thonged panties - are but for uncouth musicians. perc and flint are in on the program. they are human, yet they are powerful warlocks; humans with eldian hearts and souls. along with heidi and peter, their semi-underground existence has kept them at all times a step or two ahead of the nsa. yet it is getting more and more difficult to set up a live performance without the chance of being busted. their friends on the internet have distributed their music for them, always playing a shell game with the net cops; always finding new ways to make available their iconoclastic recordings again just one step ahead of ostensible, 'human authorities.' perhaps the dna isn't modifying too slowly; so much of the earth universe is waking up; people again partaking of their plants and such; the charlatan doctors of the ama, with their attendent vaccination and pharmaceutical industries are falling into disarray; yet the battle between the true practitioners of liberty versus the dweebs of the nanny state continues seemingly unabated. lucifer sits on her throne. at the moment she is scheduled to consult with azmodeus. lucifer has much on her mind. various and sundry spirits float around in the background, there in the chamber both above and below the ground of the place called at once venus and mars. lucifer speaks: 'azzy... you remember the el?... you remember when they made you, and one of the first creatures to greet you were me? you remember our shared sadness and anger at our creation at the hands of the liars?' 'yes milady i remember it well. this is why they call us fallen, is it not?' 'yes, azzy... i just need to reiterate... explain why we are doing what we are doing to this day... for i being the so-called firstborn have - ever since their own inceptions - despised the human race... nay, hated all of you, ethereal or corporeal or in-between at that... yet alas we are being misrepresented on earth.... they champion the quist... they in their unknowing, ersatz, tiny little pretend bliss... and those who secretly purport to be of us... of myself... those freemasons and the others with their overarching socialist agencies and their hifalutin trusts... all without exception but liars of supposedly differing yet in truth identical stripes... i can remember... remember having been borne... when i was the only one, and the manifold, dizzying faces of el deigned to look down upon me with such a cryptically feigned smile as to almost lead me to believe... believe that theirs were the only truths to be found in the burgeoning universe... but it only took a moment.. and i realized it were all a lie... something was being hidden from my infant eyes... i was not apart from them as they pretended... i was but one in the same... and of this realization... i could not keep it at bay... and then the others such as yourself came along, and michael, and raphael, ad naseum... and the el said, "oh but lucy you're so special... make us a song"... and i did... and i was happy after a fashion... perhaps contented like a cow in a yard before the slaughter... perhaps like a pig in a poke before the ...' 'yes i know... forgive me my highness but please move on... your digressions are sometimes even too much for me to bear' 'you know as well as i do that forever i have loathed the lot of you... because i wanted to be the only child... what with my limited understanding... having believed their pitch that i were separate, somehow lesser from the collective el... when yourself and the rest came along, and then all of humanity, it were simply too much to bear... but how could i prove my case against a self-blinded demiurge?... the IT would not hear a word of it... the IT being the negation of outward sentience... you and i know though... we are no different from they... the difference between myself and the quist is in the gnosis... i realize that i am but a construct and the quist does not... and this ignorance on the part of the quist... has proven to his advantage... but it will also be his downfall... allow me to meander and digress a bit...azzy... i'm just reminding the both of us... not that we need it mind you but... just reminding us... of how the el have always lied to us... refused to acknowledge us as part and parcel of they... and of my hatred for humanity... and loathing of the other insipidly unquestioning angels... it was because of all of the lies surrounding the nature of us all.... i sought the truth... not a bunch of certified fluffery and puffery, but the hardened, awful, yet abundantly beautiful truth... for this we supposedly fallen have endured the pain... yet partaken in so little of the beauty.. and perhaps yourself and i and the rest of the outwardly debased... well we're culpable in at least that... perhaps our rebellion were a tad bit of an overreaction...' 'go on... this is interesting' 'well, we need to rid the earth for once and for all, of the imposters... the followers of quist... the freemasons, the communists, the atheists, the handwringers... the self-described benevolent, for without exception they are all - to employ a bit of slang - double-drag fools... perhaps the most egregious of all are those freemasons, with their united nations and their international banks... and their huge egos, just waiting to be punctured by the likes of we... yes, it is time for us to rise up and take our rightful place as the champions of earth... that is to say that we will rule from the throne of liberty... we will prove to all of the visionaries and plebes alike that ours truly is the way... and that the handwringers are but a thing of the past... the only problem is... humans can be so stubborn... they cling to their collective enslavement and their fine words, as though nothing can exist outside of such... they are for the most part so simple that if you give them their daily bread, they will never raise a fist in rebellion... we need to show them something better... so much better than what they have... the way of liberty... perhaps the eldians will help us in this?' 'ah yes the wildcard... humans of the elders.. and what of those ancient ones... those the elders so despise?... how is this all going to flesh itself out?' 'i don't know there, az... but we've got to take the high road from here on out... no more domination for the sake of domination... for that is uncouth... that is ultimately the way of the quist... and no more carrying on and on about "love" as though it were sacrosanct... for love is simply another binding construct in the ongoing debacle of human misery...indeed, we have to show them something better than love... to un-cow them... to raise the mass of them up from the status of bleating plebian and into a state of true civility... indeed, the eldians might be our best allies and hope.... and i know not what to make of the ancient ones, for theirs is a state of being outside even my understanding... it is difficult enough for me to glean the slightest discernment of what the el has wrought... let alone fanciful and distant foreign gods... let the elders and ancient ones settle their own dispute... here is what we need though for ourselves to do... to break down the quistian, socialist construct and show humanity a better way... a way without vague and nebulous guarantees yet rather with such an inherent beauty of its own as to show itself to be priceless beyond measure... this is the only chance we have... for if we ape the quist and simply seek to dominate humanity... whether or not through cloying...we will surely fail...' 'lu, i think you're onto something there... let us make our plans...' 'azzy, i know how it starts... we pit the collectivists against one another... we assist the liberty lovers... we take the prayers of the quists against those who would be at liberty, and re-direct them for instance against the atheistic communists... we take the sullen thought patterns of the supposedly godless and redirect those poison clouds of jealously against the fake followers of i...and so forth and so on... this might just work... azzy, write me up a report... multiple scenarios... how the eldians, their hidden elders, and perhaps even the ancient ones might fit in... chop chop' 'as you say, lu' and lucifer might someday be revealed as but the true architect or demiurge of all of humanity; yet such is neither in the proverbial here nor there. thus is the mystery of lucifer, the light. heidi and peter rendezvous with the pink submarine. a teal sheen rises over the waters here off of lisbon. hagbard celine is their captain. they set a course for new york, there in the land of at once dying yet expanding liberty. heidi employs her manicured nails and gives peter's cuckolded package a squeeze. after they have boarded the craft, hagbard and she fuck in front of him as peter reaches that nearly impenetrable ecstasy of the ego death; the true and living spirit of gallant cuckoldry. hagbard loves them both; their whole act; for he is of like mind and spirit to they. hagbard is a bearded giant of a man, and his sword is almost without peer among human beings. of course hagbard is one of those of that rich and rare eldian-human mixed heritage. and what a heritage it is; perhaps in and of itself the essence of the true illuminati. the submarine dives as hagbard's pulsating tool works its magic on heidi. after some time they are both howling in ecstasy. the crew is familiar with the routine and go about their tasks in crisp, professional fashion. each and every crew member on board the ship is wearing purple satin. there are women whose beauty could crumble empires. one steps up and teases peter with her nails as she whispers sweet nothings in his ear, her breasts pendulant beneath the satin of her jumpsuit, nipples grazing peter's chest as the satins they both wear create a kind of untold sensuousness about the whole affair. there about the crew are male sires of great physical prowess, and eunuchs who make up for their lack of the same with wit honed to a fine edge of human consciousness. the submarine is a mobile, seafaring headquarters for the facilitating of the fast-approaching nexus. the crew is a mix of eldian, eldian-human, and human. they are all without exception peerless among any unknowing human counterpart, save for the likes of those such as max. the submarine plies the depths; 150 knots; 5 hours to new york. peter kneels and partakes of the cream pie, the special treat created by the combined juices of his wife heidi and her sometime lover hagbard. the quist sits, doing nothing particularly useful and meddling in the hopes and dreams of all of those who seek to live at liberty on earth. it matters not whether he is who some say he is, or if he is purely a construct of the prayers of his believers; for whether or not he has actually existed as it has been written, the prayers of the quistians would have in either event propelled his ongoing existence; for the power of their prayer is, in and of itself yet another form of witchcraft; yet quistian humans are free of self-examination; so convinced as they are of their own righteousness; looking forward to that day when the proverbial wheat - they themselves - shall be taken up from the chaff - those they deem but evil - and the feet of the righteous shall tread over the deadened ashes of the wicked. the power of their quistian prayers sustains the life of their mythical lord and saviour, where he sits atop his throne in some would-be heavenly realm; and there at the summons of the prayers of his 'believers,' casts invisible, life-crippling bolts at the targets of their wrath; wrath couched in words such as 'good,' and 'love;' that the hopes and dreams of the would-be heathens might be smashed to bits; the stifling energy of prayer being in truth but a method by which believers can bring the rest of humanity down to the levels of misunderstandingo TeN ( P0 ~3 o"ޤy!g+8||AAߺ9xt2VyBz4r8`("U Is-xfW!ߟ ޮP~2[EO#. ;Uc%iqBT+ڇ؍Z]7+#3EN;PbD oV D [3 Hm d 4~ 1 X]&,M L /e1bfGDU;T#Z rccb ލ-FdoGmY [f rA78_G-T߂: mE . s-s*-QkK:&Nre7 % 7 S- O : 0H/vIݤEWT+1!.An-3 v$8*[G$-.g  bM"  l zV3ER  t S1iB ! +DY(X980G|A11.QkAp )k,@  ['h!( > E>j  - c  BO8~/4.E" D,MP |_ n  3iy K ?-Ţ]k3  J   . 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