The Trigyalon Complex - R.K. Galvez (e book free reading .TXT) 📗
- Author: R.K. Galvez
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Log 1
{…Censored for pzionik reasons…}
5. Kommandoh Khemikkal Tankr
Titi Titbull was scared...She had not heard from Freya Slack for some time. Freya was her muse...Titi stroked the inside of her naked thigh with a feather-duster. She knew her neighbour was watching. She wanted to entice Callum Cheevers into her apartment and suck out his alter-egos...She always needed a good hard one, she thought. But she knew one of Callum’s alter-egos. One of them was known as the perverted space-seer, Regor Nocab. He was always relaxing on Venus. That got her narked.
…Titi just wanted this energy; her new agent, Von RapArd had promised her a live PA at the Forum, too. In the end she settled for any pub with a jukebox. She needed this gig. Her new concept album, Silent Fart Frequency was banned before it had been released; she always preferred poppers to bangers, but had started to respect both. She had learned to love the big bangers. She was starting to bang them all out a lot harder...She wondered what had happened to her mentor HardBang, but decided to forget about it...Titi, being a professional person, was intensely selfish...
Titi said, “Rappy, oh Von RapArd, please tell me what I should do?”
Von RapArd laughed. The albino vampire had resurrected himself as an extremely secretive agent; a smooth slick super- schmoozer. He knew all the suck-up tricks.
“And?”
“I can get you the linear narrative gig if you want. It always ends nicely. You know the one where you dilute Dune and call it Star Wars. Imagine all the toys you could flog? You need some more fuzzy freaks in there though, everyone loves pointless critters,” said the pale vampire.
Titi smiled, visibly exicted by Von RapArd's scheming...Von RapArd was clueless; he was from a bygone era. Titi regretted that she had resurrected him. She should have stayed close to the August Ham Man. But his watermelon-fungus head was too annoying; Titi did not need any more poisonous relationships.
“Vonny? Rappy?” Titi trilled.
Von RapArd’s forked tongue slipped out of his mouth; the tongue of a skilled barber-surgeon.
“You can make me famous?”
Von RapArd looked even more pale than usual, if that was possible. He remembered the Hell worlds…
“Everyone can get their fifteen minutes…There's so many tubes you can go to for instant access...It’s all relative these days,” stammered Von RapArd.
“That’s just the way it goes, I suppose,” murmured Titi.
Von RapArd looked worried; she had that look in her eyes...She wanted to break out and do something radical. Pop-art popping.
Titi smiled; she had a vague idea of some of these weirding forms; she wondered who she might be re-incarnated as…
6. The Paranoid Paradox Storms Infused With Quiet Cybo-Jazztronica
…It was a bit of a paranoid theory. How many paradoxes do we get in a lifetime? A possible answer might be a few massive ones and lots of tiny ones? Maybe…Most of these paradoxes are to do with our frustratingly poor capitalist-democratic modes of existence. Truly awful, of course. But I don't want money scrapped, just revamped to credit notes. We can let it slide until after 2015…
In the next realm everyone was in debt, and you had to pay back your debt very quickly. Stating this generalization, I should add that the hourly rate of pay in the realm of TrigyalonX40 was equivalent to one million pounds sterling. Everything was inflated. A bag of nuts might set you back fifty thousand pounds sterling. It might seem incredible in our current day and age, but not completely unbelievable to our fragile human minds...
When the debt-laden individual died, they had to work part of their afterlife providing vital electromagnet particles for power sources; and spare parts for those who requested them. Ghosting was commonplace. Everyone had come out of their shells. It seemed a good idea, until the Greed-Gods got a bit greedy again. This time it was the elected leaders corrupting the system even further.
It was the same old tired clichés…
Part 1605....
Zip looked up and noticed she had fallen asleep next to Les Barloy. The queer psychic was naked, and he had a morning erection. Morning glory would follow with a semantic lava flow…Semen always ended up his mouth…Was he getting lingual? Les thought he was good with his mouth… And he seemed to be unknowingly chanting something in his sleep, almost invoking some foul demonic aura…He had also passed wind…
There was no smell. It was not even a fruity one. Zip was disappointed; one of her kicks was to have someone fart in her face. She got into all that when she was studying in Berlin...
Zip went to the bathroom. What had she done? Zip felt the dried semen around her pubis, and her jaw ached. A chill feeling made her look at herself in the mirror. Her mouth also had dried semen around it. Not again. She needed some spiritual assistance. She realized Les was trying to put her first; he was trying to take her away from this warped world...
560…
Zip did not want to work her afterlife here...Les was right; some worlds were better than others...Her ritual was a minor one to Och; it was not well-known and she had the smell of mastic oil stuck up her nostrils…Where did the vapour rub go?...
7. Mr TuPu Rainbows taps the Spectral Soul
From the Journal of Gamussi Rubello a.k.a Mr TuPu Rainbows [1989-2451].
After suffering from numerous viral afflictions, via J-Altern-8[08 stasis], I decided to use myself as an astral pain-vessel [which has many risks according to the Vindaw sect]. This is quite apt as, despite all peaceful[ish] protestations, the world remains intent upon forcing humans to kill each other….
I try not to be swayed by the "topical" and the "politically trendy"; these groups are usually very naive [even pseudo-Utopian in their own way, minus any solutions - though I'm sure they're too cool to admit it -- though my neo-pagan-activist friend, Mr Cheevers, is about to publish his trendy Cohen-esque political tract on Globalized power called 'We Are All Impotent'] in relation to the nature of power.
…These pseudo-hippified trendies also miss the crucial point that we - and some generations before this awful time - have slowly lost trust in the cumbersome process of capitalist-democracy [when you feel the need for a humanist world government, how pathetic does the U.N. look? It's a shame they haven't been properly supported. But when people say "humanist world government" it usually gets construed as a totalitarian regime – or some foul dystopian system. And we don't even try to unite, do we? If money cannot unite us, then surely all we have left is each other - or we're eternally screwed, right? Some of my former associates, who regularly invoke Tetragrammaton [in a 1960s dilettante self-indulgent way] have commented upon this and revel in this prophecy...]. Our only choices under capitalist-democracy: total nihilism or elect your dictator!
Unfortunately for us serfs, most capitalist-democrat politicians rarely follow truthful humanist values, as they complain about a cumbersome, out-dated, system they are unable to bypass; but are constantly frightened to think outside the confines of a capitalist-democracy - which they feel will bog them down in dreaded "reformism" [also, look at the neutralization of British politics today - most London Boroughs struggle to get over 30% of their population out to vote. I think Haringey got 31% in the recent by-election-thingy, which is the 1% "wow"-factor. There was another by-election somewhere dull with only 29% turnout. Oldham reached a 40% turnout, despite the large postal vote...All self-serving career politicians want this trend to continue, of course...The Status Quo Defence from the usual talking shop terrors...]...
...Poor Georgey is in debt- due to delayed wage top-up payments for his cack job; he can't feed his family despite voting Tory...Debt is his miserable future existence - but he said to the Indy he'll still vote Tory!...You couldn't make it up; the Brits love to say the Yanks are thick for voting Trump in but God, we're just as deluded...A hand up into a shit job is apparently better than a hand out to better your future self, of course...How many spongers are in the UK now, Tory Boy? Be careful not to mention the tax-exile bank accounts...Sadly evidence based politics died in 2018...
… I was still not swayed by my ever-lasting internalized dialogue with myself as an ethnically diverse panda called Mr TuPu Rainbows; I tried to vomit again, but I'm sure I was vomiting nothing. This went on for hours, of course. Time, predictably, haunts us all... Forever…
…By this point I was very parched, but I was intrigued by my attempts to become a vessel for all pain [it was futile, of course; I was born to be useless]. Even throughout my slight ailment, I had pressed upon my personal quest of divination, I felt lost in a world that I had once known; but at the same time I constantly felt alien.
To be honest, I was wondering if it was all in my mind - I had lost my taste for food and wondered when my benefactors would help me [I am no Araks, of course. Invoke Kate-B-Uriel: cue more bitching bewitching breweries, of course; don't forget to praise Mithras...]. Luckily, I always avoided television, social media tedium and other pzi-demoniac-deflective media. I had to - I was a nomad and I knew my benefactors would be annoyed to discover me sleeping in their cybo-bath again [dildo washer included]. The crude occultist known as Rubadub Fyzix had failed me yet again!
ALL TOGETHER: [CHANT] “O PRINCE LUCIFER, I AM, FOR THE TIME, CONTENTED WITH THEE. I NOW LEAVE THEE IN PEACE, AND PERMIT THEE TO RETIRE WHERESOEVER IT MAY SEEM GOOD TO THEE, SO IT BE WITHOUT NOISE AND WITHOUT LEAVING ANY EVIL SMELL BEHIND THEE!”
LUCIFER, LET ONE R.I.P. AGAIN! LIGHTER!
REG SATANAS!
AVE, SATANAS!
HAIL, SATAN!
…Sleep in itself remained a human weakness, and I avoided this vice for long periods of time [depending on what time it was]; but sleeping in a bath always reminded me of embryonic stasis. I always succumbed to that deceptive titanium of sleep...
…LIGHTER! O PRINCE OF…
...This form of slumber also brought back to me fond memories of my early youth - when I was a keen water-sportsman [also see: 'The Early Astral Pursuits of R.K. Galvez 4B.C-28A.D' -- soon to be transcribed from the broken slate edition]. Ah, soft sacred slumber…
…Despite this whimsy, I was also being pragmatic; I decided the bath would be the safest and most hygienic place to lubricate myself with my own mutated urine [which was the cleanest liquid in the entire abode, being an old council house of a dubious reputation...]….It was golden, it was truly golden…I AM THE SNAIL MAN!
....I felt slightly refreshed after this psychotic episode, but I had struggled to control my hunger and scurried around the vile abode and found nothing edible. Luckily, due to my persistence, I was able to gather some moulding soft fruits which had been discarded outside for recycling purposes. At least it was healthy eating, as I despised processed foods. These fruits were mainly oranges and bananas and I forced myself to consume their putrid, tangy, flesh…
LIGHT IT --
…I felt like I had been suddenly re-animated - an organic fruit zombie - as my stomach somersaulted; the soiled fruits rapidly fermenting in my gastric acids. It was as if the moulding fruits had constructed a lysergic mould-bomb inside of my malnourished stomach and were testing its power. This was like shooting ozone all over again. I felt strange
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