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

When I was a child I slept with my parents' friends' children, and my first sexual experience happened when I was only fourteen when a lonely Eastern European baby-sitter(and illegal immigrant) performed a bizarre fellatio ceremony upon me. I was hooked ever since, but I became interested in weird sex with more mature people.

We all lived together and this baby-sitter - I can't think of her name, for some reason - but she had already had sexual encounters with my parents and their network of hippy dependents. Some of them were no longer "friends" and it all got a bit funny. I was pleased to be a bi-sexual wonderkid…

I assumed it was a logical progression; I had always wanted to return to Atlantis. A time when things were innocent and free. Call it a Utopia, but Utopia does not exist. Blissful states can play strange tricks with your mind. As the commune slowly disbanded, a strange agency my parents summoned dealt with all the narcotics purchases and managed to keep the authorities in check with various bribes and threats of blackmail.

It was an ideal existence, one which was destined never to last forever. Everything changed for me when I had my first Angelic time dust experience. It was the first time I have ever done a sundance in my mind; I was more used to moondance, indeed even the occasional raindance. And there was always a rainbow embedded in my mind. Paradise was in there after all…Deep Paradise Valleys… 

..I pzi-phoned a strange acquaintance called Howard Wendle. I him met at Poet's Corner, during a relaxed evening of experimental spoken fart poetry (a quiet evening of lyrically linguistic masturbation, mutually speaking). We had been sizing each other up for a while after the event had ended, sipping our lysergic smoothies. After going to some club, full of sweat, love and blissful mind-controllers, Howard had grown to like me. He squeezed my thigh, his hands slowly lingering upon my buttocks and I wondered if he usually picked up well-groomed dandies; it was my cue to casually put to Mr Wendle if he knew anything about this new Occult4Kids organization.

According to Howard it was being monitored closely by the government and was considered extremely subversive. Howard had influence with the organizers, Mr Goodmann and Mr Goodnow, despite being a slightly moronic and somewhat over-weight drunkard. The other organizers who held influence over this new organization were: the enigmatic Professor Norkgrub, the vampiric Wiccan Historian Vera Swaldey; and Les Barloy, a performance artist and part-time seer.

As far as know, Les Barloy was the psychic force, the realm-seer with the True Will. He had a unique talent for this, it would make Crowley proud. The other two beings were merely academic agents designed to get funding. Les travelled everywhere with his guru, Tnuk Nam, an ancient human from Mongolia. He managed to preserve himself with his weird energy consumption. He was also great for after-dinner magic tricks. 

I wondered if these academic credentials existed, but was keen to test my own astral experiences with their teachings. That was before I dreamed about the basilisk machines. They infected my dreams. I didn't think about other lives, more than imagining other worlds. That was how the cybo-basilisks found me.

File 180

The problem being was I had regenerated within a C.O.G. laboratory. I was no time-traveller and found the term a bit egotistical. Time was only a state of mind, and I hated the very concept of Time. I was determined to be the eternal time-waster. I had wasted enough time on the commune, but it did not matter...

My childhood seemed to last for an eternity and that was a blissful time, I suppose. Those cybo-basilisks had been trying to communicate with me for some time; they probably were all in my mind again, just like last time…I had taken various things to dull the pain….The cybo-basilisks ended up being recycled and reformed into environmentally friendly wheelie-bins. The wheelie-bins were chipped and worked for the government. That was a shame. I could have saved them.

Then Professor Norkgrub came back to see me. He had been contracted on a freelance basis by Occult4kids to act as a consultant and wanted me to be his assistant.

"Callum," Norkgrub said to me, pouring me his strange mushroom-cacti tea.

I sipped the tea, and started to feel the light bubble-brain feeling of lost time evaporating around me. I never had the time in the first place, so what was the point in rushing, I thought.

"Sorry, Professor, I seem to be in a daydream," I slurred.

Norkgrub smiled at me, lighting his small sativa pipe. He inhaled deeply then, in a squeaky voice, said:

"Callum, why don't you become my assistant for this Occult4kidz gimmick? It sounds a bit odd, but they believe all children should be familiar with these historic arts. I think they’re trying to be too objective, you know these fuddy-duddy lefty types?"

"I'm not sure if I'm best qualified to help you, Professor," I replied, trying to be as honest as possible.

"Poppycock and Cockpoppy brother! You know I hate academics, it doesn't matter about the bits of paper; it's the application that counts. You have the vitals, the experience. And you were taught by a progressive occultist after all!" laughed Norkgrub.

"Let me consider it then," I said, thinking I had bought myself some time to let Norkgrub down gently.

Norkgrub smiled, stroking his green crystalline goatee. I forgot to mention that Professor Norkgrub was some kind of plant-like being. I think zoophyte was one way to describe Norkgrub. I had no idea how old he was and he seemed to gain information from other times without even thinking about it. His small root-legs and his hunched greenish brown body had been home to billions of seeds. He was always making people do what he wanted. He liked to spread his seeds.  

I was impressed by Norkgrub's diverse Curriculum Vitae, although most of it turned out to be impossible to verify; Norkgrub had also told me of his encounter with Howard Wendle.

"That drunk oaf?" Norkgrub scoffed, lighting his crystalline pipe with a pristine Lucifer he had been given by some Austrian busboy in 1915. For our kind, Lucifer always referred to light.

"What do you know about Howard, Professor?" I enquired, finishing my odd beverage. My tongue had turned into a sponge of some kind. The sounds had started to form into strange patterns, clearly visible. Little red eyes were forming in my tongue. I wasn't sure that was the desired effect of this beverage.

"Call me Norky, bro! Well, let me tell you: Howard Wendle is a fantastic fanatic! Be warned star-brother, he's not quite right. His chemical usage has depleted his memory, he’ll be totally unreadable. Don’t trust a thing he says; he can’t even text you back for fuck’s sake! He took the wrong steps years ago. He doesn't like a juicy red apple, can you believe it? It's no use trying to adjust him. He wants to mutate before his time, he's just born to go and he wants to live his future states in the past. Now as it was then, you know? You have to respect things and slip and slide. You know? Go with the flow? He doesn't dodge, he wants to take on everything."

"Is he close to the Occult4Kidz organization then?"

"I have no idea, Callum. I do believe Howard has had sexual union of some kind with both academic members. I can't remember if he tried it on with me. Howard's just a scenester, a hipster groupie kind of guy. You know what these people are like. They've always been like it! They'll hump anything. They're Black Mass phonies. They probably still think Denis Wheatley's scary! At least his brother Ben is funny! It's strange that they awarded me that contract -- you know what these dull linear narrative purists are like? Maybe they want some really crazy stuff to happen, who knows?" Norkgrub pondered.

He talked way too much, it was an obvious character flaw, he did not when to shut up. He knew it. We all knew it. He was an intellectual after all, and a completely unreliable Bullshit Decoder Expert. Maybe he was still in an alpha trance. He refused to use any post-modern vernacular. The O.M.G. scale didn't even register within his weird zoophyte mind. He had never been poked.

"Who knows what's going on! Maybe it's a cosmic trap!" Norkgrub shouted, chuckling to himself. I think he was losing it, but he seemed to enjoy these psychotic outbursts.

“Look at Roger Waters – he made a career out of having breakdowns; not just his own but he nicked all of Syd’s too. But for a posh kid, he had a tough childhood, you should read up about it, kid,” said Norkgrub.

I nodded in muted agreement, grimacing slightly at the task ahead. I’ll need to read up on my Edward Kelley again. I think I was starting to feel it. Norkgrub was itching for some kind of strange cosmic love insanity; or maybe another one of his legendary, ecstatic, cosmic party’s. Either way, it didn't sound like fun. Sounded like a lot of planning and networking and back-stabbing honest people.

People were dying in this realm. We need to get out-there and saves these worlds and relocate planet Earth to a younger galaxy. The Agents known as Phil and Kirst were not available; they had to go to Tring. Bloody poshos! I thought Howard was leading me on a bit too much. He had sent me dirty pictures. He was not a shy person; he like pornographic films based on members of the Official British Royal family. I'm just pleased we didn't get up to anything we might end up regretting later…

File 801

…I don't know how else to explain how this world ended. My brain had been washed, due to a lack of dreaming. My condition had been recognized as central pontine myelinolysis. But after giving up my dependence upon ethanol and processed urea, I appeared to be fine…

I switched to Professor Norkgrub's lysergic therapy sessions with Doctor Phun-Kei, Doctor Skewy and Doctor Cockmoore. According to his file, he had been born a recycled robot. The best of ancient technology the Professor relied upon for his dimensional japes. He was assisted by his guru, the Bishop Kunfy of Troklixxo, another strange being from the past. Troklixxo did not last long. It abolished itself when it found out it didn't exist. Bishop Kunfy was a queer entity: a strange hooded cowl covered him, the smell of death and a hint of mastic oil and stale cereal bars. It was not pleasant. But if you looked close enough, Bishop Kunfy's ghostface appeared, tinged in UV Paint.

Bishop Kunfy took me to his office-spacer, orbiting Mars. I rested in the medic-deck there, casually experimenting with whatever took my fancy. I cannot remember how I got there; the chemical makeup of the artificial atmosphere was unusual. Then the whole planet just vanished once everyone stopped punching in their crystal keys. Norkgrub ended up spraying the demonic corpses in crystalline sap, which made them so euphoric they evaporated into aether.

I needed to post the footage online, but my recording devices had malfunctioned. Unfortunately for me, back in 2001, I would never have been believed. I decided to skip to 2017, I might even stop off a bit further but the mind might be willing but the body might just disintegrate. Although, I must say, it was easier than in other earth zones than trying to live one year at a time.

It's so dull doing things that way. I cannot handle the excitement, the sense of not knowing what's going to happen. Shame I can't remember lottery ticket numbers to make a fortune; unfortunately for me, my mind always got wiped transmigrating between different forms over the years. How did I get to Mars?

"Don't worry", said Norkgrub, "You'll be fine, you just need to re-live a few more lives, then it all comes flooding