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

...Why had Titi been scared of the mutant excrement? It was good, vital and very nutritious, that's why. It was the colony preserve. It was better than hallucinogenic organic spices or some expensive coffee bean excreted by a mongoose-cat (Civets are not toys… Some mutants had civet sarnies…)… It was the best shit ever…

Titi was addicted; she called the clean-up team…

10. Going Through PassThru Town…

…Mr Callum Cheevers visits Olde Poshe Lundun via Saturn. Meets a girl on the Hampstead-Ethiopian diet; she doesn’t like kinky stuff. Cheevers eagerly masturbates over pictures of K[censored] Knightley [poor rich lonely party girl, just dancing in the corner on her own; we're all standing in the corner, searching for our...]...Then he travels throughout zonal time dimensions….

…Zip awoke from her slumber; her loose silk robe slipping down her body to expose her pale flesh, her well-formed buxom bosom, a reincarnation of an Amazonian Ingrid Pitt. She admired her body, thought briefly about touching down there, but refrained and searched for some more Nembutals…

…I seemed to have forgotten about this site for a long time! I never make friends for long, you can probably tell [being an extremely queer, enigmatic, guy…]. I was still trying to figure out what that feathered-fiend was about the other time, whenever time that was…My mind is being pickled inside my skull…Pzionik astral energy burning the blood brain barrier…

Thankfully, I vanished down a [lot of] bottle[s] for some time - it was the only way to see in yet another gloomy year on Earth. I can't wait till we get off here - I always wanted to build a space-ship like those kids in that film [I've forgotten the name of, but there's dancing aliens in it, too]. In my mind, life was gravy - I was in the bottle with one of those boats [how do they get in there?]; but luckily for me the sea was spiced with a mystic opiate whiskey.

Yep, I been at it all right; it was the best thing to do - even though I'm losing my sense of the world. I'm thinking of using a mate's genetically modified liver as my own, too. I hope he's not winding me up about it. And I'm not very good with time no-more, as I fall asleep and vomit/excrete/urinate [usually, in that order] myself wherever I go or don't go [uh-oh, not again...hang on...]. Aw, forget it...

...It was real bad on the tube the other day - luckily, I had a carrier bag! They make pretty good pants - I reckon they might catch on, as an eco-thingummy. Sadly, some law-bod got to me before I was able to parade down the platform. I don't remember anything -- it's the classic defence. In fact, it's my real defence. I honestly don't remember anything [thank you weak brain!].

I went back to some grubby pub, hidden in the depths of central London, planted underground. It's weirdly located, and looks closed down [loads of pubs are closing down, all the time, so who can tell? They, those dull political posh people, all want us to have awful frothy coffees...]. It seems to have some strange market in it and it only sells useless-looking relics and runes, and all that Gothic stuff. It's funny in there though, even though I'm real smelly and scruffy I feel safe in this grubby pub. It's so good to have a safe haven, a semi-roof, even though it was always cold here and the rats scampered about freely - it still made it feel cosy.

I didn't realize there were so many mutants and aliens living among us, too. I've really got to get with the whole-conspiracy-freak-out-thingy [it worked for the kid wizard stuff didn't it, and that idea is well old!] They seem to be going places, these mutated-alien-folks, though the pub's meant to be closed down, it's great people[aliens/muties, freaks, whoever] are bucking this awful system we keep following. They want to break on through to somewhere else in their own way -- I bet they're time-bankers. They all seemed happy and the market seemed to get busier by the minute. 

I agree with that new World President of Earth, that we want something that works for everyone [slightly Utopian, of course, but it has to be worth a try? I suppose mere wishful thinking!] It's great he had said what we're all really thinking, particularly about governments. But then again, I wasn't really too sharp over the whole thing. And I fell asleep.

I woke up on the bar, in this grubby pub. It seems okay - the bar was rotting and various bugs were crawling over me, some had trapped themselves in my unknowing secretions. The mutants/aliens/folks had vanished - though I'm sure they were there [you have to - you got to believe me! I hadn't touched anything for five whole minutes - I was almost D.T. body-popping! U.T.I. crunch-style 2008..].... I tried to check the reality of the place; the grubby pub is still here. I lick the walls and the floor, just to be sure. I look around shouting out after those weird folks. But there's no answer.

The place emptied out quick; the runes and other rubbish were still there, though. I wondered where they had all gone. I saw that random bloke with feathers on his face again - staring at me from a cubby-hole behind the bar. I signed to him to get me more booze, but he ducked away. The little punk was playing a game with me. I laughed but I was a bit angry even he ignored me. I must be a real pain...

...But, soemhwat fortunately, I bumped into a really old mate - who's even worse than me and he supports Brentford [I'm not joking!]. He's really tough to understand, as all his gums are all moulding and bloodied looking [he looks like some zombie dressed in a parka, baggies and fake trainers]; but the guy's some experiment that has been unleashed upon the world and some pharmaceutical company must be picking up his hefty tab. He's invincible and always happy, despite sleeping on the floor of his transsexual father's bathroom for over a decade...I do not know how he does it - oh that's it, he's called Buggo Ravu. Apparently, his codename remains the August Ham Man.

He was convinced that was what his name sounded like. Buggo attempted to speak again, his breathe from the black lagoon [mine isn't much better though!] He mumbles something - what I reckon is hello, but as he talks, he swallows a huge mouthful of bile and phlegm mixed together. It looks like a ping pong ball, but it's yellowish-greeney-blackish with foamy bits of white around the side. That must be mad to barf up.

Buggo spends the next ten minutes trying to heave it back up, then gives up and takes out a huge bottle of gin. He looks around [maybe, he can see the mutant/alien/folks, too - I don't bother to ask] - he says the gin's from some alien land, but it sounded lost amongst yet more spittle. At times I reckon the guy's speaking some language out of some sci-fi show to me just to get on my nerves - to bug me. He's a real headache.

I wrestled with him over the gin [which smelt like a well-known domestic cleaning product] but, by pure chance, I found out that some of runes from the market were made out of some type of foodstuff. I was hungry as well. Buggo laughed at me as I gobbled the runes and relics, quaffing them down with the speed in which I normally devour spicy chicken.

It was only while doing this that I realized my mistake - and I was unable to get rid of Buggo. He was trying to talk to me again, but he spat all over me, with his acidic alien spittle. I felt my skin burn, but luckily he may well have popped an annoying blackhead near my nose. I breathed a sigh of relief, warm pus dripped off my nose, as Buggo drifted away...

As I attempted to escape, he's trying to mime footie to me - as if I give a damn about Brentford!My word, such crazy craziness! But he's trying to find out some fixtures - I don't know I tell him to go to find an internet café, or go and surf the public tranny network for some discarded newspapers. One time I picked up the F.T [I'm sure it gave me herpes, but that's another story...].

…I mentioned this to Buggo to give him a small glimmer of hope. Freebie's are a way of life for Buggo, he loves it. He's found a free Elfie Hopkins blow-up doll. It looks so real, but it had been heavily soiled by the previous owner.

I really wanted to get free of Buggo now - my discovery of the edible runes and relics and other pieces of bric-a-brac, where making him salivate. There was so much spit; he drooled so much it was like a tidal wave. I lost trace of Buggo and ended up getting washed down a drain - a massive drain - close to the bar.

I don't know how the hell I got to the sewer, but I assumed it was one of those touristy hidden-London things. The saliva was really gooey though and I seemed to be getting trapped in it. I shouted out for Buggo; but he must've been washed away as well. I was more gutted about the gin. Nevertheless I needed to find a way out; the sewer seemed to be some sort of maze; it went on and on.

I felt dizzy and sick [something I had not felt for a long time, being immune to that sort of thing… The last time I felt vomit in my gullet I had just penetrated (censored)…]… I didn't know what to do; the darkness started to move, it was moving really quick. The walls were even moving and the sludge-covered floor slithered. I saw giant rats: they seemed to be made of excrement rustling around, biting pieces of detritus with sharp teeth and claws. It was only then that I realized that I was out of my depth.

This is where I felt really down in the sewer [non-Strangler-fied]. I regretted eating those edible runes and other mysterious relics. I should've found out what they were. Maybe they really were made out of something inedible. They needed labels, but I wouldn't been able to see them anyway, my vision was close to total blurry now.  However, I felt something pull me up. It was a lasso of some kind made entirely from feathers. I thought it must be angel dust - it must be something from above.

It wasn't. It was my odd feathered-faced friend. He smiled at me, shaking his head in disgust at me, as I wiped the last crumbs of runes from around my mouth. Luckily for me, he had made a rope of feathers. It was really tough, I've still got the scars off it. But he smiled and showed me a way out of this grubby pub. As we stood, breathing the beautifully polluted London air, we felt pleased to escape the excremental rats and other hazards. I was a bit annoyed about the gin, but the feathered-faced fellow gave me a key, he pointed to a nozzle and there was cork in it. I opened it and there was an elixir of some kind in it.

I was about to down it when he shook his head and pushed me towards some other place. It was a museum. He wanted me to follow him. I thought I was still seeing things - but what the hell! I followed him, and it turns out I'm still following him! He's trying to help me find the gateway this key activates