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

I inhale on the smell of various substances emerging from out of his poxy dwelling. I wish I was his friend, I don't know why I hate everything. But I hate it - it must be my way. At least I got a fifty out of him…  

 

A fat bitch like me can say this. He wouldn't expect me to be a paid up spy. I am doing a good number on him; I'll be sucking his limp sweaty cock by the end of week. He thinks I'm some fucked up nosy crack whore neighbour; I've seen how small his dick is, now I know, I know! He's too busy trying to be the Man.

 

I realize I have forgotten his name. Damn it, I hate forgetting. In my line, it cannot be good. But I slowly realised that I'm going to have to detox and lay off the side orders. I go back and get dressed, trying to figure my next move…. 

 

As I dropped my worthless money, I noticed we were in the ionosphere of a planet. On closer inspection we were burning up. I felt a very intense heat, but Galvez was completely charred. He smiled as he blistered and bubbled, as we entered into a rocky outcrop, creating a large crater. Galvez was a globule of smouldering flesh by this point, and he seemed very well, getting up as if nothing had happened to him. Galvez smirked, and peeled off his charred flesh, revealing underneath this charred exo-skin his unblemished flesh before we even made the transition. He had saved me.

 

I was left stunned for some moments. And I was unsure how he done this, but he showed me an unmarked aerosol. It must be magic. I thought it was deodorant, but it was spray-on flesh. It also had enhanced reinforced carbon-carbon for occasional planetary lapses. It turned out to be very handy. Galvez looked around and pointed towards a red sky, and a multi-coloured mountain. We scrambled over the rubble. I was annoyed that my winklepickers were getting scuffed on the infernal rubble. But Galvez did not care - he was determined to make the punctuated juncture.

 

The multi-coloured mountain was not multi-coloured. It was covered in various lichens that attracted light and different types of rays from the mutated suns above. They were portable power sources according to Galvez's mind-log. Galvez pressed a control panel within the rock. An entrance appeared. We entered. It was not dark though. It was dimly lit, and had a pleasant sulphuric smell welcome us. It made it more natural.

 

The floor was covered in reptilian-like scales. A predictable problem, I mused to myself. Galvez was not impressed. They were very sharp, and one scale cut off the end of my boot, narrowly missing my toes. I was not going to complain anymore; I had already angered myself over scuffing my boots - I had given up now. I was pleased I still had my toes. But the floor didn't slither - it suddenly bubbled. The crust was thin. This planet's crust was exactly like a skin.           

 

I felt it needed to be treated carefully. All the mountains across this planet’s surface were connected colonies. Each mountain and outcrop was a city - maybe even a primate colony; countries condensed into giant mountains. It was amazing inside the mountains. It was a great feat of structural design. And, of course, a home for everyone.

 

I envisaged it might be some sort of commune planet of some utopian kind. This reminded me of one of my state-supported and hard-working immigrant friends - called Ravan, who I rarely see now - had marvelled about this happening on Earth. I thought it unrealistic, but quite liked the idea even though I accepted all realities.

 

Unfortunately, according to Galvez, this planet was no commune. It was very volatile to live on the ground level. You didn't last long according to Galvez. Galvez, though sounding unsure, telepathically explained that the rulers - loosely translated as Desc-M's for decision-makers - controlled the planet. They grasped power firmly and they controlled all. I was not pleased to hear it was again another harsh place like our own awful, but much-loved realm.

 

I shook my head in disbelief, but as I did so the floor bubbled and burst, sending a shower of jagged scales flying towards me. A strange crystalline magma burst from under the jagged scales, and tried to pull us under. Galvez quickly pulled me out of the way, as I stumbled next to him. The jagged scales had embedded themselves into the mountain wall and the crystalline magma continued to bubble, groping wildly at us.

 

At this point, Galvez and myself were almost accidentally conjoined, but my movement was hindered by my broken boot. Our bodies had lost their skeletons; we were becoming goopy and amoebic. But we saw we had retained our individual human features despite being like some oozing ectoplasm. Galvez activated another control panel with his remaining finger. We were faced by huge drones. They were constructed exactly like Galvez's chrome bobble hat and seemed to be scanning us. Galvez grunted at them and stared at them. He inserted a piece of stone into one drone with his tongue. The bobble hat drone processed this stone then opened up. They were crafts of some kind. Galvez motioned me to follow him. I was baffled as I did not have a stone. I did not know its significance…

 

Galvez carefully explained his pzionik motivations to my feeble human brain: the stones were souls he had captured and kept in stones for eternity. Some were his relatives he had once cherished. Some were random people he may have liked or disliked. Now they were no more on earth realms. He had kept them stored - pzionik soul-freeze is the term he used. One we can all wish for. We had to share the drone, and we slithered into it. As the contraption fitted us with artificial skeletons, we were suspended in its cabin.

 

Galvez fingered a control expertly and a wire attached itself to his squashed navel. I was hoping it was his navel anyway! In our congealed forms, it was hard to tell. It looked painful, but Galvez did not seem to mind. He glared angrily as he mastered control of the drone. We were now one and able to command the drone to ascend to the higher echelons of the settlement. Galvez explained the planet was once called Treqloozo. On Earth it can be found just off Turnham Green Tube Station and again near Luton. Some have also found it in Caen, Hamburg and Lagos. But this is purely speculative, Galvez hastened to add, as I lost the last of his mind-drops.

 

We ascended in silence, as the drone finally accessed one of the main mountain levels. These beings were not use to leaving the mountain. They had balconies to appreciate the sun, but they constantly had to look down at the slums below them. The harsh, scaled, bubbling floor. It was always volatile. I was shocked that nothing had been organized by the so-called higher beings. The state of apparent loco parentis here was obviously not one of benevolence. Galvez scoffed at my semi-political musings. He was disgusted by such utopianism. I explained I was only trying to be human. That disgusted Galvez even more, but he might have been amused by such low behaviour.

 

For the first time, in a very long time, Galvez may well have enjoyed these bluntly human musings. I will never know.

 

Chapter 67 Cloaking Room Devices and The Head War (Jazzed Up)

 

…Well, as I scribble this I am probably going mad. STOP CALLING ME ELAINE! I thought I should put my "story " down, but it does not seem to be really a simple story. Not in the direct sense of having a real structure and all that. I am not bothered now, I have been awake for the best part of a month and am struggling to recollect and think properly. This might help: slurpslurpslurrrrrrrrrp!

 

In this short time, I have consumed doughnuts, smokes, coffee and various alcoholic beverages, with some common medications. It did help a little. I won't go into details as I don't want to get sectioned again once you finish reading this; but I thought I might as well put it all in...Apparently nothing like a good old fashioned well controlled experiment with psychotic episodes…I am going crazy. I am pretty much use to being alone all the time; but when I decided, a long time ago, in my shitty bedsit in North West London, that I should have got something out of my shitty existence down somewhere...

 

..I know you probably realize that I hate myself, but that's completely normal and nothing new. My blood is turning into green jelly… More jelly?...Hallucinating again…I thought I better put why I do this: I've never been good at scientific research but maybe I think I can try to help someone else like this. But I can't understand why I don't sleep. I really hate sleep. I am awake all the time - usually blacking out in public places. It's quite worrying, but I'm uses to it these days.

 

So after blacking out while putting this entry in, I am now on another DAY...MONTH...YEAR-page.

 

What have I been doing? I have never done anything. Ever. I have tried. I have been on schemes, been on programmes, got fees paid. But I am just a naturally out of it all. It remains the only explanation. WHY WON’T CAPITALISM WORK FOR ME? I WANT TO BE PART OF IT BUT WHY WON’T IT LET ME IN! LOOK HOW QUALIFIED I AM! I HAVE A FUCKING PHD IN DOG GROOMING YOU BLOODY ELITIST SCUM! …

 

…I am not blaming society -- though it hasn't helped, it tried to, maybe -- but I was already fucked up. I couldn't really ever hold down a job, and for some reason I was hated everywhere I went...

 

…I suppose thinking constitutes a crime now, but I honestly couldn't help it…

 

…I grew up in small village in the middle of nowhere, but not too far from the coast and not too far from London. But it was here I was pretty dead inside. It was a bit much. I had nothing to do, I would chat shit to myself all night, then when I got older and got a black and white TV set I would chat to that; there was never anything good to watch anyway. How can you watch it when you have no power?

 

…I would chat so much bullshit I believed it. I even chatted to myself in public, which is fine as long as no- one sees you. As I'm putting this down, Goin' Mad Blues is playing on repeat, but I don't mind the clichéd bit like that; I just can't understand why I remain so messed up. I wasn't made that way, no-one is. It's just a bit tough for me to explain, in fact, it's boring me, but I do not feel tired by it. I wish I could sleep. Thinking of the shitty village I grew up in makes me tired.

 

OK, the village had one pub, one shop, one petrol station and that was it. It was really dull. We used to do all sorts to kill time and wish we had been somewhere, anywhere else. We took existences for granted, considering people dying, getting cancer or killing themselves outside of the genetic codes. And just being unlucky, which was dominant within apparently well-planned casino-esque liberal societies.

 

I had no problems with the short straw - the short straw had a problem with me. So I am here still awake. I now crush diazepam up and mix it with tequila; but it only results in me blacking out when I need to stay awake. I know I haven't got long left. Show me a sign, please? Any sign…Yes, that sounds delightful…

 

DAY...MONTH...YEAR

 

…I had to stop this shit to take a shit and do