The Trigyalon Complex by R.K. Galvez (reading diary txt) 📕

of everything into a strange brownish hue. It looked like excrement. The world had turned to excrement. This was only one strand of it. Tellman, in his dust tomb did not mind the mites. They cleaned his bones and kept his vitals fresh for re-animation.

 

That was how Les got the telegram. Les was relaxing around Kilburn. He was in The Good Ship. He had vowed that he would never go to the Squatshot Club again, or the vile public house, The Christchild and Vonderpump. He always seemed to lose himself, and a whole lot of time would fly by. It was not a family environment. He would not participate in their ritualized consumption. Well, not always.

 

That was why Les decided living in 2007 was pretty tough. He felt a crisis coming on. He knew that was the Great Fear. He had seen the dreams of thousands of currencies turning to dust. He sensed the end. He might be psychic. This excited Les.

 

He was so excited he noticed he had a mystical erection. Les usually refrained from masturbation but he noted as he was fondling his penis, that his elderly neighbor was staring at him. He had forgotten to pull the curtains.

 

Les did not mind staying with Callum Cheevers’ abode; it was ideally situated near the hustle of Holloway Road. But he always decided to shift back to The Good Ship. He was always there in spirit, like so many of the crazy characters that frequented its historical bar.

 

Les secretly missed the Astoria, too. But that was another stream of fragmented events. Les in his rush to complete his astral rituals realized he did not want to invite his neighbor over for another full on session of mystical mutual masturbation. She had taken his copy of Hawkwind’s ‘Chronicle of The Black Sword’; she had also bought herself to orgasm with violent consequences, whilst clutching the pristine album. Les did not like beauty being sullied in such a sordid way; he was annoyed that fine album had been disrespected in such an obscene way.

 

This relationship was getting odd for Les; it was getting worryingly close to full intercourse, Les pondered. She must be at least in her fifties, though still very sexually attractive. Les did not know if he liked women or men. He liked women that reminded him of his mum. This elderly neighbour was called Ms Combtitt. Les thought her familiar for some strange reason, as if he had known her all his life.

 

Les ignored his medication on a regular basis. He finished his tipple in The Good Ship and used the secret doorway to slip into another plane of existence. It was so much easier than using the other exits. He had always been a no exit kind of guy, but he felt he needed to get away.

 

Les saw the dust worlds in his dreams. He woke up in the flat in Islington. It was dark and he looked in the corner, seeing a spark, some form of electric portal. His alarm clock beeped from somewhere. Dust had covered the entire flat. He noticed that some form of strange mulch had grown on the walls, windows and doors. It must have been a result of his dream, thought Les.

 

“Hi Les“, said August-Ham Man.

 

“Oh, you again,” Les mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

 

Les had tried to stop drinking cough syrup for today. He had mixed it with too many other fast foods. His cold remained.

 

The August-Ham Man looked around, surveying the area.

 

“You better come to the basement”, said August-Ham Man, somewhat mysteriously.

 

“Why?” Les groaned finding a takeaway snack that had expired in 2000. It might be useful, thought Les.

 

“The flat has a secret boiler room. You know Norky plans these things. Got a crystal machine he wants you take a look at. You need to go to 2045,” August Ham Man replied. He had thought about it for a while but realized that August Ham Man was inhaling his special snuff.

 

“I suppose I can have a quick look, but I need some sleep. I think I might got to The Good Ship later”

 

“I love this snuff, Les! It’s really exotic – I get it cheap, like a mate’s rate. They should sell at all coffee houses, if you know what I mean. A bit of the 1850s style, why not?  There’s nothing wrong storing the opium with the teabags, is there? You should try a nip, Les, it’ll perk you up.”  

    

“I’m fine thanks,” said Les. He did not trust the queer delicacies of August Ham Man. He had sampled his mushroom mash before and cacti soup and had been violently ill. Despite retaining and sharpening a lot of his pzionik potential, Les had to be cautious.

 

“What’s the mission?” Les said after changing into a tight leather cat-suit. The August Ham Man had seen naked many times and was not “into him” as he put it to les one time. But Les did not care. He wanted to go into Emma Peel mode.

 

“Hey Les, looking like Cat-Woman again,” said August Ham Man.

 

Les felt angry as he realized that August Ham Man was trying to hurt his feelings. Les re-applied his make up and put on a beret instead of his usual turban.

 

The August-Ham Man laughed and licked the walls, howling like a giant mushroom wolf in between licks of the mouldy walls.

 

Les shook his head and said, “This better be a good trip!”

 

Chapter Three Point Three

 

When Les got down to the basement with the somewhat inebriated August-Ham Man, he saw that Professor Norkgrub was down there putting the finishing touches to what looked like the Crystal Dome out of the TV show Crystal Maze. It was a strange dome, changing through various multi-coloured crystalline lights.

 

“It’s the Crystal Dome; well done, you’ve copied it well,” said Les.

 

Norky laughed. So did the August-Ham Man, who looked worse for fear.

 

“It’s not the dome, you fool! That’s different. This looks like it but it’s a portal.”

 

The August-Ham Man started feasting on some of Norky’s nuts. The seeds were having a good effect on him, as his mushroom skin started to look refreshed again; The August-Ham Man was unable to control his lysergic flatulence though.

 

“We need you to get her, Les. We need you to find Zip. She’s being kept as the sexual plaything of a witch called Shi. Shi’s getting at Zip because she wanted to get into a time-stream and kick up some shit. Tell me about it. She don’t want soda out of this time-stream, she wants chaos and kicking up shit.”

 

Les thought this was a bit melodramatic. He was dreaming of chips and beans. And he had been thinking of spam fritters recently. Why was he obsessed with spam fritters. Maybe there was a sign that Icke would be able to decipher. The great Icke solved all these conundrums. There was no countdown for this one, though.  

 

“Les? Hey, Les, you with me?” Norky asked.

 

“Of course I am Norky,” Les replied.

 

“You best get in then and I’ll power it up. We’ll try and get some help to you, but you’ll be on your own for a bit. I would come along but me and AHM have to take this thing apart,” explained Norky.

 

Les nodded. He had been alone many times before. As long as Papus and Regor Nocab left him alone then no time wasting would occur.

 

“So it’s not real crystal then?” Les asked Norky.

 

“It’s synth-crystal. It’s new on the market, designed for easy access and easy to take away. You don’t want us cooking on the streets, do you Les?”

 

The little zoophyte adjusted his tiny glasses and smiled a wry zoophyte smile.

 

“You best stop thinking of spam fritters and hope you can help Zip. I need to replenish a lot of manna. I shouldn’t have gone back to 76. Whew! What a year man!”

 

Les had an idea that August Ham Man and Norky were having a bit of a time sliding session. They had befriends adult film stars and just bigged up the Paul Raymond crew. Norky told him that he had no spearmint for rhinos.

 

Les said, “I better go then. Do I look the part?”

 

Les minced around, strutting like a supermodel and performed some poses in his tight-fitting leather cat-suit. It may have been fake leather as it looked slightly worn at the crotch. Norky did not mention the strange stains that covered the entire suit.

 

“I bid you farewell, I hope to hear from you soon,” said Les, as he entered the crystal dome.

 

“In dust we trust, brother!” Norky shouted.

 

The August Ham Man had passed out, so did not say a thing. Les smiled, wiping seeds from around his mushroom lips. Les smiled; he liked them really. Les was never really a friends’ type of person. He never had friends, only acquaintances.

 

As soon as Les entered the Crystal Dome portal, a strange lysergic gas filled the inside and made it fizzle and crackle. Les had an idea he would be transported very quickly and tried to remember his rune teachings. Les had forgotten everything; his mind had gone blank.

 

That was the last thing Les Barloy remembered. As you do, when it just might be the last thing you will ever remember.

 

[THE TIMELESS DREGS OF ASTRAL EXILE]

 

File 650

 

I didn't always wake up as Regor Nocab. Before my trip to Starbase 24(Starbase 23 remains a mystery for me, which I will use cybernetic forms to communicate with you at some other time in the future...) A long time ago, I was once called Callum Cheevers. I was from Kilburn. I had to be good, almost respectable. In that very middle-class way that most people absolutely loathe; but it really becomes essential to master, or you don't get anywhere in Britain if you're not middle-class. You got to play the game to remain in it.

 

Everyone gets put out when those middle-class networking clubs get cut out. Look at the little whores doing online posts begging for something, selling themselves, looking for work. Crying for the intern generation or selling out those who expect to be "established" by the time they are Twenty-two. I could not do that.

 

Not that I resented turning into Regor Nocab. I had to be a spiritualist scientist of some kind. I had to find out how to beat this death-trip. I don't want to die. I want to live forever. Who doesn't? Maybe not in this body; one would inevitably consider a disposable clone body with my mind transplanted into it. Sounds like a great idea to me. Disposable bodies could really catch on…

 

I need to beat time-space somehow; a career in pop-pornography and visiting scholar in pan-galactic art forms, I had to do something before the stasis thing gotinvented. The whole liberalized system of poverty cycles ended up eating itself. Just hope for the lottery of the system to sort you out. Some scientific occultists decided against this, thank goodness for the charity Occult4Kids. However, I was able to mix my worlds.

 

During my time on the commune, I read dull classical texts and esoteric works, which I found much more interesting than the enforced plethora of Shakespeare, Dickens and Rowling. I also listened to All the Right Things; I knew a bit of my folk, blues, reggae and soul, as well as the psychedelic, the rave classics and more obscure experimental music….I can't remember any of it, but it somehow enhanced my astral abilities….

 

I did grow up on a commune after all. I liked old films…There was always some strange sounds and even stranger aromas around there when I was younger. However, I hasten to add that I was well-schooled in narco-arts, pzioniks and astral sex-magicks. I had a good teacher called Professor Norkgrub. I got the impression I always seemed to know him.

 

Thankfully, within our current dimension-realm-space, I was well-cared for by my hippy commune parents. They were affluent but had problems with their vast generosity. They all lived with their close friends, who they swapped partners with. In between a bit of organic farming. It was very cosy,