The following story was written to my muse, my fantasy muse, the inspiration for my creative efforts at that time. Who was never swayed, never to become the real muse I so desperately longed for.
After finishing the story I realized the story was about me, about facets of me, as all stories reflect the author in some way.
I wrote it with her in mind, for her. I sent it to her hoping for a reaction or a response which never came. Why I ever thought this story would find a way to change my fantasy muse to love me for real, is beyond me.
Such is life. Such is love. Such as it is. It’s probably just as well.
It’s still seems an interesting story to me and I hope to you.

First Person Singularity

I love you.
I am telling you this because, long ago, we were lovers. But you have forgotten and I have changed. You do not recognize me. And much time has past and you are changed too. It took me a long time to find you again. And here we are, finally, together again.
I am sure.
Let me tell you the story.

It begins on the planet of Atlantis, fifth planet from the sun. Its three moons orbit an incredibly beautiful world with a society that devotes itself to helping individuals express their creative and self actualization potential.
You and I are married, have been for 500 years. Atlantians live to be 900 years old. You are a world famous dancer, totally devoted to your work, happy as a clam in dip with your dance company. You are working to create a completely novel blend of holographic light and sound as you dance and move in the resonating fields.
I am an inventor. 600 years ago I invented a miniature anti-grav motor. The royalties made me wealthy. I amused myself in hobbies, indulgences, a host of idle pursuits and loving you for 350 years. Then I invented the essence rejuvenator a life extender for those who wished to live longer. Atlantians could now live to be 1700 years old. Our wealth put us in the class with Midas and Croesus. And my urge for invention vanished and was replaced with the urge to explore. I explored old things in new ways until all that was left was exploring new things in new ways. And though we had had a quite satisfying relationship, in fact, completely satisfying for both of us for an extraordinarily long time by Atlantian standards, it was no longer enough for me.
I could never hide from you. Our feelings intermingled and you knew I wanted something more. You felt it in me.
We were intertwined in the important ways and free in the important ways.
You were happy with your creative explorations in dance and I was anxious to explore the unknown, so we made the arrangements and preparations and the day came when we parted.
And you flew to Mars and I flew to the stars and the unknown.
I flew off, all alone, in my intergalactic starship. It was a modified Atlantian design with warp engines and my own invention, phase drive, to be able to cross intergalactic space in instantaneous 10k light year jumps. It was built at a staggering cost. It had taken most of our money, for which I thank you.
You knew dreams are worth more than money.
So I flew out of the galaxy and was preparing my first phase displace space jump on my journey to Andromeda, 2 million light years away.
I was in a hurry and anxious and perhaps impulsive.
It is my nature.
On only the third day of my intergalactic odyssey while I was looking back at the Milky Way, I got caught in an anomaly with the irresistible pull of an enormous black hole and I was sucked in, sucked in like snot.

In that perfect Atlantian civilization, I had forgotten that I hovered over safety nets which catch anyone who might fall and really hurt themselves. I had forgotten there might be other principles conceived by minds so alien, so vast, that I couldn’t even conceive of them as minds. But their principles are functioning constantly, in everything and everywhere in the universe.
And whether we know them or not, they are real nonetheless.
I couldn’t get out, I couldn’t phase shift because that would only accelerate the pull, bringing my death closer. So I did the only thing I could, I relaxed, my end staring me in the face, my inevitable end, down a black hole where time, matter and energy are crushed to infinite density in an infinitesimally small spatial singularity. Crushed to oblivion through a tiny hole in the fabric of reality, I felt like a bug being stepped on.
It still takes time to fall through a black hole. It took me a day. I watched it with a mind so disbelieving, so overwhelmed by the obvious truth of my own finite puniness in the face of limitless infinities, that I literally came apart and flew off in all directions the further I fell into the hole. Once my mind was gone, I no longer cared. So faced with the inevitability, freed from the constraints of the mind, I abandoned myself to my fate, plunging down and down that infinite black hole. To the end. Until my end.
I was already dead, and I knew it.
There was a moment, just a single moment, that I saw, heard, felt, tasted and savored an indescribable essential feeling; a feeling of being that I had merged into and belonged in. A feeling that was elusive, beautiful, surprising, mysterious and enjoyable, like jumping through a sprinkler on a hot day and seeing rainbows in every drop of water, feeling the cool water on your skin and hearing laughter as the sprinkler whirred and sprayed drops everywhere and smelling wonderful aromas of the flowers and trees and feeling pure joy. A feeling so clear of being exactly where I belong, where I’ve always wanted to be.
This was being in heaven.
Then I must have been crushed to nothingness by the black hole, but I don’t remember.
The next thing I remember was waking up and being overwhelmed by a feeling of being completely alone, like I was the only person in the universe.
The only one.
And while I could point to nothing tangible, my body, the ship, the stars, everything was exactly as I remembered. And yet, everything seemed completely different.
I was swept by feelings of being all alone in the universe, of being the only thing that was real. That nothing else was real, only me. And I was overwhelmed. Then I felt that everything around me was made of glass and might shatter at any moment, and now nothing was real, not even me. And I had an overwhelming real feeling of being unreal. And I began a different voyage, a voyage of returning to reality.
I had my memories of Atlantis, of you. But they seemed now unreal, like a dream. However they were the only thing that made sense to me and I set my purpose based on finding my way back to you and my old way of life on Atlantis. I desperately wanted to return. And I headed home.
And along the way I would occasionally remember my glimpse of heaven, that incredible real moment. And that moment would give me hope, would keep me going. That exquisite momentary taste of heaven which I knew had happened to me and was completely real, acted as my buoy on the rough seas of the universe, the universe in which I felt completely alone, which was becoming more and more unreal to me.
But as I thought of heaven, I would get perplexed and could make no sense of it or what had happened to me there. And I would think, did I get thrown out of heaven. Is that why I’m here now, instead of there, where I’d like to be. Why? Why? What did I do?
I would get the shivers just thinking about it.
And so with all due speed and intensity I headed toward Sixtus, the nearest inhabited planet on my star charts, for supplies, maintenance and company. Mainly company, the company and presence of fellow human beings. And I felt somehow better thinking that. I had a feeling of the anticipated pleasure, the sense of safety in numbers and the validation of self worth and self existence experienced in relationships with other human beings.
And as I thought about it I realized what it meant to be totally alone. And the only thing that could break my despair was thinking of that moment of true heaven. But then I thought I must have done something wrong and gotten kicked out. But that didn’t make sense. And I felt alone, unreal and in despair. And then I thought of Atlantis and it seemed like heaven in my memory and I just wanted to get back. And I felt an appreciation for things I hadn’t realized before. And my thoughts would go round and round and never get anywhere, so I tried to lose myself in the activity of returning home.
Though feeling lonely and unreal and tired, I felt relief as I approached Sixtus. And I felt better talking with the space controller who directed me to the landing port at the capital city of Dis. And I hoped things would be returning to normal soon. And I felt anticipation at being with fellow humans. I was glad to be back home in the universe of man. And as I dropped down to the city of Dis, I had no idea, it was inconceivable to me, that I was actually descending into hell.

People talk about hell like it’s a club med vacation spot they visited once and had a torrid weekend affair that they’ll remember when they’re bored or dying.
Other people talk about how they’ve been to hell or seen hell or returned from hell, but now they’re pure and they’ve been saved, thank God. Thank God Almighty.
God has nothing to do with Hell.
It’s beyond his control. Higher forces than God are at work in the universe. Forces that conceived God and his Heaven, forces that also conceived Hell and God knows what else.
You don’t go to hell to get purified. And if you’ve been to hell, you’re sure not pure.
You go to hell because you have to and that’s all there is to it.
And you stay there until you can leave and then you do.
And it’s alot like heaven, in its own way.
It’s certainly as vast and incredible. But it’s different.
If I can describe the difference:
Heaven is a place you go where you belong and you can do nothing without everyone agreeing.
Hell is a place you go where you belong and you can do anything without anybody agreeing.
Ultimately what you achieve in both is learning how to get in and out of them whenever you like.
Then they’re like having two spices of life which you can sprinkle wherever you like.

My ship touched down and I disembarked. I was met by an official, a tall man dressed in black robes who introduced himself as Thomas Torque, Sole Magistrate of Sixtus and welcomed me to the planet. ” We don’t get many visitors to our planet out here on the rim of the galaxy as we are.”
I told him of my adventure with the anomaly and how the experience had drained me and I was on my way home to Atlantis.
“I hear it’s very beautiful there.”
“Yes, it is.” I told him and felt a kind of sentimental longing.
“Your arrival here is most provident. There is a small matter you must attend to before you go into Dis.” The magistrate told me as he took my arm and escorted me to a small shuttle ship. As we left the space port he explained, “We have a delicate criminal matter on Sixtus that must be resolved quickly. And we require your services as judge.”
He explained that 500 years ago the Highest Court of Law on Sixtus after years of deliberation had ruled that the judging of human beings by other human beings was not justifiable. They had judged themselves and the courts of Sixtus as unfit, incompetent, unacceptable, inadequate, immaterial, equally culpable and unworthy of judging much less sentencing another human being for his actions. The high judges found the court system and judicial process on Sixtus guilty of inhumanity to man, declared the court system to be perpetually illegal and passed an irrevocable sentence relegating judges to perpetual absence and the system to eternal oblivion without possibility of reoccurrence. Once they carried out their sentence, they attained the ultimate goal of all professions to put themselves out of business. And for the first time in their professional careers, they felt a feeling of satisfaction at finally having accomplished something. Then, feeling quite good about themselves, the members of the entire judicial system went off to find productive employment elsewhere.
“And though we have no court system,” The magistrate said with pride, “we still have laws. However no system is perfect and every so often a criminal comes along. Obviously our laws prevent us from judging him. And yet he requires due process otherwise he will always remain a criminal, carrying the burden of his crime and the stigma of being a criminal. The criminal requires some form of atonement so that he can again become a productive individual within the greater whole. But by our laws we cannot judge him.”
He looked at me to see if I was attentive. I nodded, waiting to hear what he would say next.
The magistrate continued, ” However providence is with us, you are here and our problem is solved. You will act as judge. The criminal will receive his necessary due process. We abide by our laws. The contradiction is avoided. And all is resolved.”
He looked at me like I should be overjoyed.
He continued. “It will not take long. The criminal is in custody. We will give you background information and whatever else you require to make a ruling in this matter. We don’t like to keep criminals in limbo. Time is of the essence.”
He looked at me and saw I was annoyed at having to do this chore.
“It is your decision of course.” then he added, “You should consider it a great honor. We haven’t had a criminal on Sixtus in 137 years.”

I felt I had no options and reluctantly asked, “What do I have to do?”
We arrived and entered a building. “You will stay here tonight. Free of charge, at the government of Sixtus’ expense. We have a suite for you on the top floor.”
Without any formalities, we were there. The suite consisted of a living room, bedroom, office, bathroom and kitchen. I felt good that at least I was being well treated and would be more than comfortable. The magistrate gave me a tour and told me I could order anything I wanted from room service. Then we got down to business.
“Here are the court documents. In the next room is a mind scanner that will allow you to actually see tapes of the criminal’s activities and decide for yourself.” We went into the next room and he showed me how to work the scanner.
“If you need anything else, please feel free to call me. I’m in room 101.” The magistrate then gave me a black judges robe to wear in the morning.
He turned to leave and said: “Call me when you have reached a decision as to a verdict and sentence. Then I can make the preparations while you sleep, so we can be ready for tomorrow.”
I closed the door behind him. I sat down, bit into an apple, and opened the file. I read it through. I went to the scanner and watched in disbelief. I read and scanned again and again. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. And not just what he had done, but what he was capable of. I saw the true wretchedness in him waiting to bring misery to reality. They didn’t need a judge, they needed an executioner. Why did they need me? There was no doubt in my mind. Merely viewing 1/10 of what was here would have been enough to make a judgment. Such vileness of being.
My reactions were immediate and undeniable. I felt only disgust, revulsion, contempt, anger, hate, rage at this repulsive being. I knew I was right. An intense feeling of righteousness flooded me. He seemed a completely despicable being. He was depraved, cruel, dishonest, lustful, mindless, greedy, treacherous, lazy, thieving, drunken, cowardly, dissolute and a brute. He was selfish, contemptuous, beyond control and unrestrained. I scanned the tapes. There was absolutely no doubt as to his guilt. I had already made up my mind. I called the magistrate.
He arrived within minutes. He was staying in a room down the hall.
I told him, “I’ve reviewed the case completely and I have made my decision,
Magistrate. There can only be one conclusion. The only decision is Death.”
He looked at me, not saying anything, waiting as if he expected something more or I had left something out.
I repeated the single word “Death” and nodded. “Absolutely no doubt in my mind.”
Then the magistrate inquired. “But what is your verdict? Did you reach a verdict? Did you find the criminal innocent or guilty?”
It was so obvious to me. I got angry and shouted.
“Guilty of course” I tempered, “guilty as hell.” So it would be completely clear, I said, “I find the criminal guilty and find him so repulsive and hopelessly twisted that I see no hope of redemption and I think he should be put to death. There can be no other choice. He is beyond saving.” I was smug and certain.
The magistrate smiled and seemed pleased.
I sat up straight in my chair, put my hands in my lap and beamed like a boy scout about to receive a merit badge.
“There is one problem, however,” he said, matter of factly, “There is no death penalty on Sixtus.”

The breath got knocked out of me. And It suddenly dawned on me how little I knew about the laws and customs of Sixtus, how little information I had, how easy it was to make a mistake in a world where you weren’t given all the facts, when you didn’t realize the rules. I became suddenly very pensive. And I thought, that might have grave results on strange worlds with alien customs.
I heard the magistrate continuing, “Death is not an alternative for criminals here on Sixtus. You must devise something that you think is suitable for rehabilitation or is justifiable retribution or both in order to fulfill your obligations as judge. Please be specific and write it down clearly and concisely. I will expect a ruling no later than 10 tomorrow morning so that we can be prepared in time. Please return to you deliberations and call me when you are done. Goodnight.” He turned and left the room. The door closed behind him and as I heard the click, it sounded like a cell door being locked.
The sound had a click of finality.
I sat down to ponder how best to discharge my obligation quickly and efficiently and get the hell out of here before I broke some law or convention I had no knowledge of. The last thing I wanted was to be judged by some randomly picked offworlder, with strange alien values and ghastly inhuman punishments. I had visions of being flayed alive for burping in public. Yep I’d better wrap this up quick and neatly and split, I decided.
I got back to work. Running it over in my mind. What to do? What should the sentence be? I couldn’t come to a conclusion. Rehabilitation? I don’t know. I saw some pretty awful things in the scanner. It’s so much easier just to say ‘die, you scumbag.’ After all, he’s beyond help. He’s not worth the effort. Just grind him up for fish food and be done with it. So much simpler.
Unfortunately I didn’t have a choice. I had to come up with something, something I could defend, that seemed justifiable, something that made sense to me, that I could believe in and think was right. Then I would give it to the magistrate and get the hell out of here.
I was feeling very put upon and annoyed by the entire situation. I didn’t know why I had to spend so much of my time dealing with the affairs of this criminal, who was so clearly a completely worthless piece of shit which the universe and everybody else would be much better off without. Since I had no choice, I gave it a half-hearted effort.
I tried unsuccessfully to grasp the criminal as a whole, but when taken all together, he was so completely without redemption, his potential danger too great, that any single punishment short of death seemed inadequate.
But when broken down into essential strains of despicability, the punishments seemed somehow excessive. And I thought of things so horrible, I was embarrassed at even thinking of them. I shuddered at my own cruelty.
But I kept trying to figure out what to do, to do what was right.
And after several hours of trying I realized that it was hopeless. He couldn’t be reduced to a couple of words, there were too many desires with too many twists to devise a suitable punishment. Finally in exasperation, I said the hell with it. So I focused on coming up with some punishment that would insure total control and obedience in any circumstance that might occur; a punishment that would reduce this monster to a simpering, obedient, powerless and socially acceptable wimp.
First he must be made aware that he is powerless, then he must learn who’s the boss and finally he must see that his life depends on it.
My righteousness swelled with a kind of diabolical cruelty and it came to me.
I smiled in triumph. After this he won’t be able to perform a criminal act if his life depended on it.
I congratulated myself as I wrote down what I wanted. When I checked everything, I called the magistrate and told him I was finished.
He arrived almost immediately, read everything carefully and seemed satisfied. “We will make the arrangements exactly as you have outlined here. Everything will be ready tomorrow morning for your inspection and approval.”
Then he told me, “Be ready by eight tomorrow morning. We are eternally grateful for my participation in this unusual, and unfortunately, unappealing affair.” And he left.
And before I heard the door close and click, I was asleep.
And before I knew it, I was dreaming.
But it was a dream where I knew I was dreaming and I felt sure and unafraid and sat back to enjoy it as if I were watching a movie.
So I watched as I soared up thru the roof and over the landscape of Sixtus. I left the gleaming cities behind and flew over a vast deserted land where the silence was so quiet you could hear every little sound.
Guided by unseen hands, I flew over a completely lifeless desert where sand was all I could see in every direction. I flew on, until I came upon an opening, like a well in the ground. The desert was spilling into the hole from all sides, flowing like sand down an hourglass. I swooped into the well and flew down with sand falling beside me like granular sheets of rain. I went down and down until the sand no longer fell. And flew on, down and down, deeper and deeper. And it got darker and darker until shadows were light and darkness was shadow and emptiness was darkness.
Finally I reached the bottom and the well opened up into a cave. And the cave was immense and there were passages leading off in all directions. It seemed like a giant train station. And I could see signs giving directions and names mounted over all the tunnels.
I paused hovering and looked around, looking at what I was seeing, seeing the strangeness of it all, the wonder of it all.
Then I looked up. I saw a ceiling worthy of the Sistine chapel. a vast painted panorama covered the entire ceiling. And as I gazed at its wonder and beauty, I noticed that the work was more than a painting, that the ceiling was a carving as well.
And as I continued staring up at the ceiling, marveling, beneath the painting, in the relief of the carving, I saw etched the words: “Welcome to Hell.”
Then I calmly turned and moved towards one of the tunnels.
Over the entrance was a sign: “Live Exhibits”.
I flew in.
I became a bat screaming through a dark tunnel in an endless cave, dodging, bobbing and weaving while at least 5000 other bats just like me were doing the same. And the air echoed with the reverberations of the combined squeals of shrill batsound that was like a divine choir to my batbrain. And I felt nothing but fun and excitement as if it were a game. Then without warning I dropped down toward something on the ground. And I was filled with absolute delight as my vampire teeth pierced the flesh of the helpless animal as I fed on its blood.
Then I was a lion on a killing hunt. I moved from animal to animal experiencing the lust of the kill, the surrender of the prey.
All the while feeling that this is natural and essential and awesome and beautiful, feeling it as a dance of life and death to music played by some greater mystery.
Then I turned and went down a side branch marked “Human”.
My thoughts became more orderly as I flew further on. And it seemed almost like a museum tour with displays along the walls where visitors could stop and examine works of art.
Exhibits where people were engaged in activities. And the context of what they were doing and the activity they were performing were the essence of each piece of art.
As if life itself were a work of art.
As if each life were a work of art.

And I gazed at the results. I saw human beings no better than animals, engaging in the primitive delights of the kill. There were exhibits where humans were killing humans and reveling in their triumph. I saw a room where humans passionately played games of violence and torture, full of wanton cruelty and barbarism. Where the dead swordsmen would spring back to life after being beheaded or disemboweled. Where ruthless warriors would delight in endless bloodsport with victims that would never die.
I saw and felt a joy in these scenes of violence.
And I thought, this can’t be right, this can’t be real. I thought of the wrath of god, of inevitable and just reward, of karma for such things, of certain justice and punishment.
And I was repelled by the sights despite the joy I was feeling. A joy in spite of what I was seeing, a joy of the deepest feeling, of intense delight, a joy of true participation, of overwhelming pain, of total suffering.
It was as if these humans had never felt such things, that they were feeling them for the first time and didn’t know what they were. That they were sensing feelings with textures and pressures and character and movements that they had never felt before, that each feeling was a moment of precious nuance and new delight. There was no pain or grief, they felt no shame or defeat.
But I couldn’t shake my own notions and preconceptions and I felt like that feeling of joy might give me brain cancer. Then that joy left me to my disgust and revulsion.
Sensing my change of mood, my invisible Virgil guided me down another tunnel, marked: “Torment”.
I saw caution signs that said ” Beware Yourself” as if they were warning people of something radioactive nearby.
I passed many exhibits that I recognized. Such old standards of eternal damnation as endless rock rolling, soap in mouth, repetitive blackboard writing, corner sitting, hanging by your nails, never being satisfied, being chased by cannibals, juggling porcupines, endlessly floating inshit, teeth gnashing, eating crow, being devoured by lice, guillotining yourself face up, growing old but never being able to die and the like. I was appalled.
The people were engaged in such ghastly activities. People finding pleasure or satisfaction in agony thru sacrifice, pity, abuse, lamentation, guilt, and shame. And then denying the pleasure to get more satisfaction.
There were exhibits where self torment was carried to extremes of no hope and complete despair. Exhibits where hopelessness reveled in self pity swimming in an ocean of unfulfilled, impossible, contradictory, confused, half-hearted desires.
Exhibits where acts of self abuse would move in circles of endless variation. I saw how sadism and masochism made lovers of these people. And it was a cruel dance of pain and torment without satisfaction, without end.
And my mind reeled before the obvious choice these people had made. That they were free to go. That there was nothing preventing them from doing something else.
If there was beauty in these works of so called art, I couldn’t see it. What seemed exalted here was stupidity, ugliness, cruelty or worse, I thought to myself.
Why? Why? What are they achieving? or trying to achieve?
I saw how it continued, how joy was not acknowledged at any cost.
Have the artists and performers here gone insane? This is art? Have they no sense of more or something else? What are they trying to say? Do they no longer love joy?
What have they done with their joy?
There must be joy.
It is all there is.
Has it all been hidden or forgotten?
Have the artists and performers gotten bored with love and joy and now indulge in perversity and torment for any satisfaction.
And I thought they might as well be dead.
And I wanted to leave this place, get out, go to sleep.
But I couldn’t move. I was frozen in my dream. It was my dream, but I wasn’t controlling it. The unseen Virgil was. I was stuck. I was helpless.
I didn’t want to see any more. But I couldn’t move. And I became afraid, afraid I wouldn’t move and could do nothing about it. Trapped in my own dream become nightmare.
And I pulled back and I tried to take my mind off all the implications.
So I thought of you and I thought of heaven. I thought of heaven and knew it was there. And I thought of you, my dear, and of returning to Atlantis and being in your arms and making love and forgetting.
But I couldn’t forget and when I didn’t move I felt my fear rising. I was just about to really panic when I slowly turned around. I breathed a sigh of relief.
I looked up and found myself in front of another exhibit.
I looked at the exhibit’s plaque. The title was: “Oh Shit: A Work in Progress”
The creator or artist of the exhibit wished to remain anonymous.
The plaque described it as a work of art in three parts. The whole as well as each part was complete in itself, each involved work in progress and any arrangement of the three constituted a progression.
I was perplexed but continued reading.
The artist encouraged people to get involved in the work either by observing intently or by experiencing personally. The experience would vary from person to person and the person and the experience would be changed by the experience itself whether by observation or more comprehensive involvement.
The choice of observation or experience or both was up to the individual.
Anyone could actually experience any of the works merely by entering any of the three rooms.
The plaque explained that while observing the exhibit might prove most illuminating, experiencing the exhibit would prove most enlightening.

I moved into the exhibit room. There were three rooms in front of me. I assumed the progression advanced from left to right. The plaque had given no clue.
I moved in front of the room on the left.
Nailed to the wall for everyone to see was: “Oh Shit, why me?”
In the center of the room stood a naked man, in that completely frozen and intent position that was either total readiness or paralyzed terror. I couldn’t tell which.
I watched in fascination.
To my eyes he had the power of the beast and the intense awareness of man. He didn’t move, though it looked like he could. What control, I thought. I watched. What unfolded was awful. He was surrounded by beautiful, naked women in the prime of life, who approached him, some trying to help, some to comfort, caress, some to slap or tease, torture or mutilate.
And everything they did to him, he could feel.
He was allowed to breathe and blink but if he physically moved with intent or responded in any way, whether to the alluring caresses or the blows, if he tried to escape, if he became aroused, a gunman would shoot off some part of his body.
The gunman would shoot off an ear, a nose, or shoot off his dick. Shoot him in the leg or arm. But he wouldn’t bleed, or die, but he could feel. He could feel.
Always he could feel.
Periodically, his body would be healed and it would begin all over again over and over and over.
But he never moved, never seemed to feel the blows or the bullets or the caresses. I looked at his eyes, I wasn’t sure if he was really aware of me. I thought maybe he was dead. He was so absolutely still except for the breathing and the occasional blink of his eyes.
And when I looked in his eyes all I could see was fear, confusion and doubt.
I moved to the middle room.
There was a sign saying: “All that’s needed is an audience”
On the wall of the room was written: ” Oh Shit, why be?”
The stage was empty. A program appeared in front of me and I looked at it. There wasn’t much in it. The Title of the play was: “Obedience school”
The production was produced and performed by something called “The Company”.
The program spoke of their dedication to the purity of the dramatic arts. Their motto printed in bold letters was: “We do not do improvisational theatre. Satisfaction guaranteed.” They stated right in the program: “If you are not satisfied with this performance, we will do it again. Until we get it right.” They seemed quite firm about it.
They wanted to open on Broadway, but not until they were completely satisfied with the performances. Until everyone was satisfied. The program explained: the endings are determined by the director/producer depending on his assessment of the performance of the actor and his faithfulness to the script.. The program ended by saying, “When the actor gets his part right, then we’ll open on Broadway.”
When I finished reading, I waited with great interest and anticipation for the performance to begin. I looked at the room. The room was empty. The walls, ceiling and floor were white except for the “Oh Shit, Why Be?” on the wall. There was a floor to ceiling curtain in the back of the room. The lighting was completely even throughout the room. There were no shadows anywhere. Yet I couldn’t see any lights. Then it began…
A soldier came through the curtain and looked out at the audience.
In a deep stentorian voice he announced: “Mike is coming. Mike is coming.”
Then he turned around and walked out through the curtain.
After a few moments, the curtain parted and a thin, ordinary looking, middle aged man entered. He confidently walked toward the middle of the room. He had shoulder length hair and a beard and was wearing only a loin cloth. His body was tan and he looked fit.
Then he came to a stop in the center of the room and did a TaDa gesture, just TaDa and held it there for 10 seconds or so, like a circus performer who had just performed some incredible death defying feat.
I watched his every move trying to judge his performance myself , even though I didn’t have the script.
From TaDa he dropped down and knelt, assuming the position of prayer, his hands pressed together in front of his heart.. Then he opened his eyes and looked directly forward at the audience. He seemed to be looking straight into my eyes. Soon he turned his eyes upward toward the ceiling and remained poised for quite a while. Finally his head and eyes dropped down and he looked at the floor. Then he prayed.
It sounded like the lord’s prayer.
After 10 minutes of that, Mike got up and left the room.
Almost immediately he returned carrying a heavy man-sized cross on his back and shoulders.
Right behind him was the soldier, yelling: “Mike is here, Mike is here.”
Mike was sweating and straining under the weight of the cross. The soldier offered help but Mike wanted to carry it alone. With a great deal of effort he managed to get it to the middle of the room where he set it down. Then he and the soldier lifted it into position and Mike held it up while the soldier nailed it solidly to the floor. When both were satisfied to its integrity, Mike got up on the little footstep and stretched his arms out to either side. And the soldier nailed his hands and feet to the wooden cross, then took a lance and ran it through Mike’s side piercing his spleen and liver.
The soldier then turned to face the audience and yelled: “Mike is dead. Mike is dead.” Then he left the room.
For the next 3 hours and 21 minutes Mike hung there all alone in that room, nailed to that cross, bleeding to death. Blood flowed from the three wounds. He didn’t cry, he didn’t struggle or resist. He seemed resolute. He hung in there. Never making a sound.
I was moved by the performance.
And I kept wondering: Why is he doing this? Why is he in hell?
Wondering as I watched his death agony as he bled. As he died. As blood dripped from his palms and splashed into dark pools on the floor. As it dribbled down his body down the cross and spread out across the floor. I could feel his life ebbing as the pools of blood congealed in their flow. The sound of every drop was like a whistle bomb that would scream in flight and explode on impact. I would watch each drop’s flight in terror and wince with every splash. I could feel the pain and throbbing move from his wounds and fill his entire body. I watched his throes, in this last already lost, yet desperate battle before the end.
And Mike was reveling in every moment of his death, even helping it, in this his self suicide. He was waiting for it. Expecting it. Welcoming it.
And I could feel death coming. Getting closer and closer and closer. When the sound of a far off wind could be heard, I was sure it was Gabriel’s trumpet and the winds of heaven coming to carry him home. And though in agony, Mike was serene. He beamed in confident expectation.
And the sound and the wind came in and shook the room. Mike looked up, confidently. I almost expected a host of angels to drop from the ceiling and carry him away. And I think that’s what Mike expected. And the wind circled him, maybe evaluating him. And Mike beamed.
This was the big moment he’d been waiting for.
And then in one of those moments of surprise when something completely unexpected happens, when you’re not sure of anything: the ceiling of the room was sucked away.
I watched as Mike, too, was caught by surprise. I saw a look of complete shock on his face.
I heard him yell “Oh Shit! God no!” as he was sucked up and away and was gone.
When I recovered from the shock, I looked at the room. It was empty, as if nothing had happened.
Then the soldier came out and yelled: “Mike is coming. Mike is coming.”
And I realized the next performance was starting again.
And I stood there, watching performance after performance until I couldn’t watch any more. Until one more wouldn’t make any difference, wouldn’t make any more sense.
All in all I watched more than 100 performances.
Every performance was identical up till the end, that moment just before his death, when everything was going exactly according to the script, before the end.
Every one.
And Mike’s performance was flawless. Flawless, to me anyway, in the sense that it was identical every time.
Absolutely identical.
A truly amazing achievement, as near as I could tell.
However whoever was evaluating his performance must have had different ideas about flawless perfection.
But what amazed me about the production were the endings, every ending was different, definitely different, surprisingly different. And paradoxically they were not completely different. I had a sense of some deeper meaning and order which I couldn’t fathom. Sometimes angels would come, sometimes God, a pretty girl, Satan, some laughable, all incredible.
As I watched more and more performances I cared less and less about the first part and grew to really appreciate the ends.
And I guess the producer or director or whoever is running the show isn’t satisfied with mere perfection. The performances continued, in spite of what seemed to be perfection in the actor’s performance.
And Mike kept trying, kept always coming back.
He never missed a performance of “Obedience School”.
But the play still hasn’t opened on Broadway.
Maybe someday he’ll get it right.

Finally I’d had enough, got bored and I moved over to the third room.
The room was darkened and empty. I saw on the wall “Oh Shit. Why not?”

There was dust everywhere and looked like it hadn’t been used in quite a while. Just then an old Franciscan monk happened to come in, so I asked him to tell me about this room, this section of the exhibit. When was the next performance?
The monk turned to me and smiled. He said it is a different kind of exhibit.
That I should just go into the room and read the plaque on the wall. That it would tell me everything. Then he scurried on his way.
I floated into the room and saw the plaque. I moved closer to read it.
There in neat, hand printed letters, all in capitals, was the single word, written in gold: THREATH.
I don’t know how long I stared at that word trying to comprehend the whole word as I scanned the letters. My mind refused to read the entire word as a whole. I kept looking at the letters but I couldn’t connect them together. I tried harder, from the left with T, then H and R then somewhere between the E and the T… I found myself in front of a bottle of liquid, on the label the word: Threath. I watched as a hand came and lifted the bottle up. Behind the bottle, taped to the wall were two sheets of paper. One looked official, complicated, like a scientific test report. Next to it was a newspaper article with a picture of a middle aged man and the word Satan across the top. That caught my interest. I read the newspaper first. It described the horrors of Threath.

Threath:
The most addictive substance known to man.
Colorless, odorless and tasteless. Once in the body, impossible to detect.
A single dose and that’s it: Two molecules combining is a dose.
The effects of a single dose once taken cannot be altered or affected in any way except by more threath.
Threath is guaranteed to work the first time, and the same way every time.
It cannot be tranquilized, suppressed, antidoted or ameliorated.
I was hooked. I read on.
Withdrawal. To stop taking Threath, the user must face certain death, a death that may strike at any moment. Only more threath can provide hope.
And the effects of Threath make users feel like they’ve never felt before.
The typical user would say: Threath is so good you have no hope.
I looked at the other sheet.

Specifications for threath.
There were code numbers, reference numbers, and a lot of scientific notation. The summary proved enlightening however.
Summary:
Colorless, odorless, tasteless, just a micro dose, difficult to detect in human body.
When two molecules combine, only in the brain of the adult human body, they create a series of pulses occurring at regular intervals and lasting for specific durations over a course of 37 hours. Pulses are below the level of awareness. Once the cycle is completed, the spent threath dissolves and is excreted from body. Completely biodegradable and has no reactions with any other known substance, biological, chemical or otherwise than itself.
The the paper listed a table of stimulation times, their initiation time and their duration

Effect timing and duration:
start duration
elapsed time 0
20 minutes 5 minutes
1 hr intervals 1 hr 20 minutes 6 minutes
2 hr 20 minutes 7 minutes
3 hr 20 minutes 8 minutes
. .
. .
36 hr 20 minutes 41 minutes
37 hr 20 minutes 42 minutes
38 hr 2 minutes dissolves
excreted from body

There were other notes regarding interactions: . Remains unchanged until two molecules combine in the medulla oblongata of the human being. Once molecules combine does its 37 step counting process and dissolves, unless more threath is taken.
If Threath is taken while there is Threath in the body counting to 37, the new threath triggers the old threath to hyper count and then begins its own count from zero to 37. Threath is the only thing that can affect threath’s counting process once it begins.
There was some other information.
Amplitude.
Foundation cps 16 Duration count 14.5 Fourier trans xxx

Something didn’t make sense.
I turned around

The man holding the bottle of threath was in a lab coat and had glasses and bushy hair. I heard him say “hmm I’ve taken it myself, it performs exactly hmm hmm hmm as you desired.” He seemed exactly like the absent minded professor to me, a completely harmless, innocuous person, who wouldn’t hurt a fly, you know the type.
He poured some threath into two glasses of water.

I watched the other man, he was a medium height. He was the man in the newspaper picture. He was a slightly overweight middle aged man with no distinguishing characteristics, the kind of guy you wouldn’t give a second glance to.
He took a glass of threath from the bushy haired man. He then sniffed it, swished it around in his mouth like it was a fine wine and finally swallowed the entire glass.
The other man merely drank his glass without any fanfare.
Then I watched them in my dream for the next 37 hours. They didn’t look like addicts or junkies, though I’m not sure what an addict or junkie is supposed to look like. Nothing appeared unusual, unexpected or odd. They laughed and talked, slept and ate and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. Periodically they would check their watches or close their eyes for awhile like they were paying attention to some sensation. The entire sequence unfolded and I watched, absolutely fascinated, not knowing who they were, why I was watching this or what it all meant.
Then scene changed somehow and I became involved in their conversation.
The middle aged man was speaking “God, its exactly what I wanted. The timing, the repetition, perfect. Very nice, no ill effects. Absolutely amazing. I could buy you a planet.” He paused and looked at the other man appreciatively.
“Thanks, I always like to do a job well.” said the professor, beaming in a soft way, knowing he had done a good job and that this man really appreciated it and understood what had been accomplished.
I could feel that appreciation, that feeling between those two men and the something inexplicable they were sharing, and would share forever.
Finally the ordinary looking, friendly guy looked over at the professor and said, “I want 100, 000 pounds of pure threath and I need it in 9 months. Can you do it?”
The professor listened and then took a deep breath paused like he was thinking. And while he was thinking, he was going hmm hmm hmm all the time going hmm hmm hmm.
Then finally he said: “Sure, but that’s a lot. I mean that’s more than you or ..hmm hmm hmm anyone could use hmm hmm hmm for a long hmm long time. Well sure. No problem. But I’ll need to scale up and new facilities”.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it all under control.” said the friendly man.
“I’m sure you do.” said the other almost absentmindedly, as if he were already working on scaling up and how to do it.
Then a ripple moved through my mind and it was as if a fog had been lifted and I remembered who these two men were and their impact on the universe.
Standing right in front of me, I recognized them. They were the men responsible for THREATH.
and the whole crazy story flashed before my eyes.
The most incredible series of events in the history of the universe.
Theo Promo.
The inexplicable man.
The man who didn’t make sense.
And absolutely the most unimposing man you could think of. He was a completely accessible and friendly human being.
Theus Promo.
and Zeus, The mad chemist.
Zack Zeus, nick-named the Owl, because of his hornrimmed glasses and his bushy eyebrows and hair and because he would say hmm hmm hmm and repeat it while he was pondering, hmm, hmm, wrestling with some concern that occupied his mind.
And when you heard him hmm, you knew something was percolating deep down in that inner lab where he brewed chemicals like Mozart wrote music.

I shuddered.
Zeus and Promo
and
Threath, the ultimate drug, the junk of junkies, the choice of choices, the zenith or the nadir of heavenly devilish delights depending on what turns you on.
Threath was whatever you thought it was. No one was ever disappointed.
Threath … the brainchild of Theus Promo, huckster extraordinare.
And Threath was born exactly as Promo imagined it could be.
It was Promo who liked to say Threath is so good you have no hope.
Theus Promo. The man with the knack to defy expectation.
Businessman, entrepreneur, statesman, philanthropist, aesthete, hedonist, maniac, practical joker, junkie, dissolute, poker player, dreamer and achiever.

The man who bore the idea for Threath.
Whose ideas and schemes were created, pursued and realized according to principles not accessible to the sane of mind.
For example, his first product success: Halu sticks.
Sticks you could suck, smoke, eat, smell, rub on your skin, and get high, feel good. Lots of effects, always varying, and difficult to really abuse.
You say, the idea is good. No doubt. But can it be done, can it be real? Can someone make it? Can there be no side effects, no drawbacks? No you say, it’s too good. You say, it’s too good to be true. Therefore it can’t be done.
How can an idea be too good?
Why is it that most people think that only ideas that are “not bad or just good” are the ones that can be done, that can be real, that must be. It’s principles that govern thinking. And one principle widely in use now is: That if an idea is more than just good, and I mean really good, then it must be too good to be true. And so most really good ideas aren’t even thought of.
Why is that? It doesn’t have to be that way, does it?
Promo loved ideas. He respected original and effective ones from anywhere and anyone. To him ideas had a life of their own. Ideas were like living beings that are born, grow up and live, then grow old and die. And because of their originality they could lead amazing, productive lives, even being reborn many times and in many forms when they are needed. So when he has an idea. When he originates it. He wants to see it be born exactly as he originated it. He doesn’t want anything less. To him that would be abomination, like having a perfect child and then cutting off one leg to please all the one legged people in the world. And if his baby can’t start out perfect, he says to his idea: just wait, your time will come. And he waits until he can have a perfect baby, till he can find someone who can do it or he can do it himself.. He doesn’t care. He knows what he wants.
He either gets what he wants or waits and, if he must, he settles for nothing but he never settles for less.
Among his many both noble and regular traits, Promo was a junkie, but not exactly the kind you might think. Yes, he indulges in every form of narcotic, stimulant, depressant, mood changer, hallucinogen, he can find. He tries every available form of junk, to taste the various essences, and once he knows them, he tries another, and another, till there are no more or he gets bored or whatever. But he wants something more. He is an artist.
And so, he has an idea. An idea like Halu sticks. An idea too good to be true.
An idea that requires chemistry to happen. Promo is clueless in chemistry. He looks around for a chemist who can do it. And he finds the only man in the world who could possibly do it, a chemist with the feel, with the instincts, without any sense of what can’t be done in chemistry, who is absolutely, passionately and completely in love with chemistry.
Promo finds Zeus. And immediately nicknames him the Owl. They share something intangible and so they become friends.
Zeus is working as a chemist because that’s what he loves to do, for a company that doesn’t appreciate him and doesn’t realize what he could do. In their eyes Zeus is someone, who doesn’t really fit in, who goes off on tangents, doesn’t always follow directions, will not go far because he doesn’t have that “stuff,” that special “stuff” that means you’ll rise up the organization like a hot air balloon. But they keep him around because occasionally he does some good work and for other reasons they have no inkling, knowledge or appreciation of.

So Zeus met Promo. Zeus had never known anyone who truly appreciated what was real in him. What little appreciation he got throughout his life was not quite true, did not seem right or was in exchange for something else. And nobody really understood Zeus or tried to. Nobody understood what he could and couldn’t do, what he needed in order to do what he could do. So nobody had ever let him succeed, so they could really appreciate him and feel good about what he had done for all the right reasons.
The day after the day they met, Zeus quit his job.
And began working on the Halu thing, as he called it. Hmm, Hmm, Hmming all the time.
Zeus never again worked for anyone except himself in his own lab, that is except for Theus Promo with his occasional, challenging and novel ideas.
It took Zeus 6 months to find the essence that would become Halu and another 6 months to refine it. Twelve months is all, then Zeus proudly handed Theus his first Halu stick and Promo smoked it. And when he had finished smoking it, had finished enjoying that first luscious taste of a good idea made real, Promo said: “Marvelous, absolutely marvelous.”
Promo asked him where he got the idea, what Halu was made from or out of. Zeus told him he had finally found the answer in the mating fluid of the South American three toed pygmy sloth.
Promo smiled. He shook his head in admiration. He loved minds that worked like that.

The rest is history. Promo loved and used all his products. His ideas came from deep inside of himself, to please himself and he figured, it might please other people. He was that kind of guy. He knew that everyone was basically the same. And he liked his products to appeal to everyone. He took that as a challenge, a marketing challenge.
Because he knew that everyone has something that appeals to them.
He said that if nothing appeals to you, then you must be dead.
Promo got into marketing Halu sticks like a maniac. He loved devising product slogans. He said good slogans should appeal to everyone, contain a modicum of truth and act like hungry termites in wood. He called them good habits, easily learned, quickly forgotten but always there working, affecting people unconsciously. He said it was too hard to convince people consciously to buy a product. Most people don’t think that well, anyway. And until they do, their reason is suspect. Anyway, he would say, what I want them to do is buy, not be convinced. And I’m lazy. I don’t want to do any more than I have to.
And that was it. That’s how he operated.

And he worked more tricks than an addicted whore.

Halu used different slogans depending on which sense was being stimulated. For the ear, the words were imbedded in jingles with the instincts of termite larva:
“You can’t get too high for too long if you’ve never been high for long. And that’s not wrong. Halu’s right. ”
But the written ads were different:
“You can’t get too high for long and you can’t be still high for too long. And it’s not that strong. Halu’s right. ”
Tricky. Subtle, and it works, and it appeals to the prudent reader and the excessive listener. And those who were capable of both reading and listening, remembering and thinking, appreciated his cunning salesmanship.
Halu sticks became the fastest growing product in galactic history and eventually became the most successful product of all time, moving past the long time leader, Dianetics, after only 10 years of sales.
And Promo made his first fortune. The first of many that he won or lost over his 30 year business career. And in time he would return to his exploration of addiction and the ultimate junk because what he was really addicted to was the idea of addiction not to junk itself. And he wants to create the junk, an essence of his own, a monkey he can share, a jones he can give to others, but something new, with a twist. The Promo twist.
Halu was his first product and Threath was his last.
But Threath contained the mutant genes of an evolutionary idea. It was a product and a scheme. As a product it was perfect. But as a product with a scheme it became perfect and diabolical.
People reach for what they can attain. To their very limit. Some can reach farther than others. There is no blame. You reach as far as you can. Reaching further is foolish.
For Promo knew, that everything is really very simple.
The personal experience of Threath varied considerably depending on a variety of conditions, but essentially it depends on what a person thinks. And not many people know how to think. The users of course had no idea of what the mechanisms operating were and typically were completely unconscious of their own mental processes involved in creating the sensations they were perceiving.
For Promo understood that sensations for most adults are reactions of the mind. He also knew that reactions are a function of expectations. And that expectations, reactions and sensations have very little to do with what’s real, but have a lot to do with desire and appeal. And one of the functions of marketing is creating appeal.
Promo talked about how Threath let him dream in color. He talked about how the effects fulfilled deep desires in a person without having to go through therapy or having to work hard. He said it would be different for everyone and what someone else experienced wouldn’t necessarily be your experience.
And then he let word of mouth take over.
Knowing people hear what they want to hear.
And people would be drawn by what they wanted.
And people told each other of the wonderful and amazing things they felt while threathing.
About how Threath was better than sex and no bother.
The stories the other people wanted to hear.
And maybe they added just a little bit to make it seem a little more interesting.

The stories spread faster than goosebumps at a creep show.

What was the secret of Threath? What was the basic appeal?
What made the difference?
Threath had no high.
No high at all. Absolutely none.
And the answer is not what but who?
Promo made the difference.
He introduced it on one hundred carefully selected Federation planets simultaneously, using direct sales, a media blitz, talk shows, contests and free giveaways to galactic celebrities. Promo was the spokesperson himself. Talking about how he loved and used it (which he did) and the delights of the 37 step high process that was so varied and wonderful, building and building in intensity and then no after effects.
Absolutely none. And it was perfectly safe and non addictive (which was true).
Threath sold like condoms at an aids convention.
He put his picture on every bottle. Subdistributors carried it to the rest of the federation.
And Promo was ready. No one who wanted it had to wait for it.
He had bought two planets. One was the third world in the planetary system Pala which he gave to Zeus. Promo named it Who? Here the threath production plants were constructed. The second world was located in the Theleme system. Promo called it Say What?. It was used as a second distribution and storage point for Threath. Also he built a research center for his scientifically inclined friends to pursue their curious interests.
On every world Promo had storage and dispensing machines that his drones would restock at his command from his huge stockpiles on Who? And Say What?. He had planned well.
Sales mounted.
Threath mania swept the galaxy, everyone was a threath freak. It was new and exciting.
Threath outsold Halu. It was the called the water of life, the greatest thing discovered since moonlight on a summer night.
Threath was added to everything, soft drinks, alcohol, cosmetics, fast foods, sun tan lotions, everything.
Promo was pleased with the developments.
Zeus was given awards for chemical brilliance, for environmental biodegradable safety, for supporting mental health, for creating drugs without drawbacks, for being an all around wild and crazy genius.
Imitators tried to imitate, but their shoddy imitations were soon revealed and they were driven out of business. Many groups tried to analyze the nature of threath but were unable to discover how it worked, how to duplicate it or how to create it.
All to no avail.
Such is the nature of genius, the essence of originality.
The money rolled in.
Promo immediately returned the money to circulation to simulate activity in ways he thought were useful.
He bought rare materials- Ytterbium, zirconium, niobium, lutetium, thallium and palladium.
He bought exotic and expensive better known materials- diamonds and platinum, silver and gold. He had them shipped to Who? and Say What? and gave them to Zeus and his friends to play with, to discover things in.
He completed the mapping of the human genes.
He stimulated research into unsolved problems in mathematics, physics, and the biochemistry of life.
He set up research teams to find ways of moving matter instantaneously anywhere in the universe.
He had think tanks devoted to proving the existence of the human soul.
But his best efforts were devoted to education.
He set up a university on every world in the federation.
The professors he recruited in a novel way. He told his threath distributors to select without prejudice 1000 people from each of their planets for a marketing study into understanding why people did and didn’t use threath. Promo wanted an even distribution of socio-economic level, location, occupation if any, race, sex, and age. He wanted 250 regular threath users, 250 who had tried threath and quit, 250 who used threath sporadically and 250 who had never tried it. He didn’t care about anything else. Once he was satisfied as to the distribution, he had each of them informed that ‘they were selected from the best minds on the planet. and he wanted them to join his university, which would open in exactly one year.’ Then he paid them all the same salary. A salary they couldn’t turn down. A salary higher than the World President. He told everyone, this university is to be self organizing and there were no excuses allowed. They were the best minds and they were being paid to do their best job and that everyone was equal. Then he told them that each of them would be in complete charge of the university for one day every 1000 days and that the others would have to listen to what was ordered and do what they thought was best. And that was that.
He bought an immense chunk of land and built a thousand room office building. Then he set up an endowment to cover the salaries, running, expansion and contingencies for each of the universities.
Then he gave everyone everyone else’s name and address, along with their first paycheck and said ‘Get to know each other. You’ve got one year before work starts. It’s up to you now’ And he left them to their responsibility.
He did that on every planet in the federation, using the profits of threath.
He could have been elected God.
And everyone was so pleased and satisfied with affairs that they never thought about a thing.
People emulated him.
Psychologists studied him to learn the secret of his success.
President’s welcomed him to their worlds.
He was on the cover of SpaceTime and Newsorbit..
Parents named their children after him.
He awarded the Galaxy Prize to be presented at the Plenary Session of the Federation.
And no one suspected anything, no one wondered if it all made sense. They never wondered why Promo built impenetrable, tamperproof dispensing units and where the drones came from. Or where Threath was made, or what it really was. Or what it all meant? Why he was doing these things? or What was he up to?
No one ever thought to think about anything, really.
But no matter what you think, things always make sense.
Promo had been careful.
He knew what he was doing and he watched to see what others were doing too.
Promo’s weird collection of friends, his vast fortune from Halu sticks and his other products, allowed him to prepare for every contingency he could think of.
His personal starship was faster than anything in the galaxy and had a cloaking system that made it undetectable.
He didn’t like offensive weapons but he had the best defensive systems imaginable: force fields, deflectors, distractors, confusors, reflectors, sensors and the like.
He had tamperproof, impenetrable devices for dispensing threath that were subject to his control only and restocked at his command by robot drones with cloaking shields that made them impossible to track.
He had two bases. Zeus’s planet, Who? and Say What? .
On Say What? Promo tracelessly brought his closest friends and critical associates and set them up in the most advanced facilities his money could buy as a place for contingencies where if he needed anything developed, he had the minds and the tools in place. Here was where the cloaking systems were developed, including systems that were used to cloak entire worlds. The drone ships used elaborate cloaking devices when leaving Who? and Say What? so no one could trace them, even if they were trying. He knew as long as deliveries were regular, no one would be concerned.
And no one had told them to be concerned.
It was time to set in motion the next phase of his marketing scheme for threath. And circumstances had given him the perfect opportunity. He was asked to speak before the United Federation Planetary Assembly.
He flew to Topia, the Federation’s Government World and landed in the capital city of Calvin. Promo was greeted by President Mentor Summa of the ruling council, in effect the leader of the Federation of Planets.
The next day he would be officially presented the Galaxy Award and give the opening address before the Plenary Session of the Federation. The speech would be beamed simultaneously to every world.
Promo made the last few changes to his speech.
The speech that would signal a new era, a new wrinkle in threath’s marketing plan.
The part of the plan that would extend the product life of threath from years to centuries.
The part of the plan that would take Threath from a product to a scheme, from elegant to insidious, from divine to diabolical.
The part of the plan that would take Threath from being a luxury to being a necessity.
President Mentor Summa gave Promo a glowing introductory speech. When the applause subsided, Promo looked out at the plenary session of ambassadors and then into the holo vid cameras. He gave a fatherly smile and began his speech:
“Fellow human beings. I have an important announcement that will affect your future. As you know, I am the person responsible for Threath, along with Zeus, of course, who actually made it (Promo always gave credit where credit was due). And most of you have tasted its delights at some time or other.
As of today, as of right now, I am providing Threath free, completely without charge to all citizens of the Federation. Threath will be available to any and all individuals at absolutely no cost on every Federation world.
I am wealthy beyond belief. You have made my life a wonderful and amazing experience and I love you all. Take Threath as my gift.
I can afford it. I have made enough for everyone to last 100 years.
I want everyone to appreciate life and its marvels. Enjoy.”
He left the podium to a standing ovation.

His marketing plan was unfolding perfectly. Threath consumption quadrupled before leveling off. Promo toured the Federation watching with satisfaction. His Threath distributors were conducting subtle media blitzes showing people how Threath could be used, how to time it so the peaks would come at the right time, to give people command and involvement, to make Threath a game that was fun and easy to use but also a skill and most of all to create expectations with unlimited appeal.
People began feeling new things. Threath became something different to everyone but to each it was something they wanted, either consciously or unconsciously.
Threath gave them new meaning. Threath compensated for the drudgery in their lives, gave them excitement and was personal.
Threath was something they didn’t really have to have but it gave them what they desired: feelings of power, of control, of freedom, of themselves. Threath allowed them to gain satisfaction and for a moment to satisfy their desire.
And desire is what makes everything be.
It is what makes nothing something.
And satisfying desires make life worth living.
And Threath allowed people to satisfy their deepest desires
Even if it were for just an instant, a single moment
But for that one moment, they were completely alive.
And when that instant passed,
Threath became as necessary as air.
Threath became the automobile of the United Federation of Planets.
It starts with an idea, the 1% inspiration. It ends with the end. In between is sweat.
The fact is that Threath’s entire product life was determined by how Promo marketed it.
He had originally marketed it as a recreational product. But he knew he could extend Threath’s product life with good marketing and creative thinking.
So Promo wanted people to be aware, to notice something new about an old product, in order to extend its range, to increase its product life, and most of all to have fun. And that is what marketing is all about.
The entire process unfolded like clockwork, yet at every point virtually anything could have gone wrong. Virtually anything could have happened and yet what did happen worked perfectly.
And every detail can be found in the history books. But details do not make history. People make history and history is not what people could have done or wished they’d done or didn’t do. History is made by what people did do. Christ didn’t have to die on the cross, in fact he had to work hard to get himself executed. We didn’t have to drop the Atomic bombs on Japan? But we did. It was a choice. Based on expectations of how many would die on the beaches of Japan. Think how different history would have been if Christ didn’t die, or the A bombs weren’t dropped on Japan. Everything would be changed. In each case, it was the decision of one man: Christ, Truman. Decisions that decided the course of things.
But know that no matter what the decision, something would have happened and a future created that would make just as much sense as now.
Realize that each action, each decision made, each non decision, each moment counts, makes a difference, affects everything and makes the future, your future, any future, all futures.
Anything can happen.
Anything at all.
And all it takes is someone
to do something.
And Promo perceived that many things could happen, some he liked, some he didn’t like or want and, for his own reasons, he decided on a course of action that had appeal to him.
And Promo understood that all plans must have risk in order to have gain.
The trick is to minimize risk and maximize gain in achieving your end. .
Why this particular course? Who really knows? Promo did things for his own reasons that made sense to him and didn’t worry about what sense other people made out of him. And it worked for him, because the inexplicable makes sense for its own reasons.
Promo was not a philanthropist at heart. He was a businessman and an artist. After 6 months he was confident that Threath had become a necessary part of people’s lives and he figured it was time to share the cost.
It was simple and it was beautiful and virtually every government thought that Promo was Satan revealed, out to destroy their universe, the status quo and everything good. That he was evil incarnate.
And only something masquerading as good can truly be said to be evil because when it’s revealed it destroys all good, all trust in good.

He released through the media and his Threath distributors a message to every threath user on every planet of the Federation.
“Threath will continue to be supplied free of charge to every individual.
Threath will always be given away free of charge to everyone, everywhere.
I will not tolerate government interference or any attempts to regulate Threath’s availability. Threath is free and feel free to use Threath for as long as you desire.
I have made enough Threath to last forever.
However if you stop using Threath, death may strike you at any moment.
Stop using Threath and you face death. Your death.
Death that is unavoidable, implacable, and final. That may come at any time.
Unless, unless you continue using threath.
Threath is your salvation. You do not have to face death.
Use Threath and you will go as God ordained, at your appointed time.
So please, use Threath. It will save you from realizing certain death.
And it’s free.
I do not mean to frighten you but to help you.
And it won’t cost you a thing.
I will not try to convince you.
You have to decide yourself.
How much is your life worth to you?
Is it worth facing a death that can strike without warning at any time?
Is it worth facing certain death when you don’t have to?
“The choice is yours.”

And to the governments of every world he issued the following demand.
“In order to continue producing Threath and in order to satisfy the increased demand, I am asking the governments of every planet to pay 100 Billion galactic credits to me, once a year or I will no longer supply your planet with Threath. 100 Billion is less than 10% of planetary budgets. An amount whose only effect will be to reduce waste in government spending. I expect each government’s decision to be announced at the Plenary meeting in exactly 6 months. These things aren’t free. Life comes at a price.”

And since most of the population’s thinking process is by reaction, imitation, their pocketbook, their sex organs or being told, Promo told them what to think in as may ways as he could. Through the media and grapevine he released descriptions of user’s experiences to create and substantiate expectations. An early example: One user described his high as so high, so good that, “it was like being slowly lowered into the blades of a giant Cuisinart food processor set to liquify.”
This is a high? I ask you.
And he continued describing his various sensations in blood dripping, living color. He was proud to say he almost made it through the entire 8 minute experience. But the thought of what the 9 minute high was like was inconceivable to him, and until he could conceive it, he would have nothing to do with it. After that peak experience he said he never went beyond the 6 minute time (second hour) before taking more Threath.
The media loved it. And all forms of media carried the most lurid examples as truth became buried beneath layers and layers of pure, self generated, smelly, man made shit.
It all starts with one insane person.
And once one insane person starts raving, pretty soon all insane people are raving, driving the marginally sane insane, until all but a few are stark, raving mad.
It was Threath or face death.
The thirsty lined up and waited their turn. First came the fearful, the foolish, the gullible and the naive, followed almost immediately by the trendsetters and their imitators. Before nightfall the prudent arrived with the timid and uncertain in tow. The others joined in the next day because everyone else had and they didn’t want to be different or left out.

People were like tumbleweeds and insanity was like the wind.

Each person was forced to make a decision within 37 hours and each person did. And everyone had a choice and everyone made a choice.
Promo was smoking a Halu stick with Zeus on Who?
While most people were not realizing that they had any choice at all.
While most people were convincing themselves that the cost of threath was more than made up for by the fact that it was free.
While most people were waiting to see what everyone else was going to do.
While most people were scrambling to avoid facing death at all costs.
For most people, it didn’t seem like much of a decision once it was made. And most people forgot the anxiety and the uncertainty they felt before the decision. And they returned to their comfortable lives and fulfilling activities with one more obligation that they felt didn’t really cost them anything. Within a week most individuals returned to the blur of their lives and the governments finally had time to look at the situation they faced. The situation was not all that different from the individual except for the fact that they had time, but not that much time. They had to assess themselves, examine their situation and then do something.
Most governments skipped the assessment and moved directly to examining their predicament. It was simple, their power was being challenged. They could even lose control. The future loomed uncertain and threatening. And to those addicted to power and control any potential loss was life threatening. They felt that their very essence was at risk. The greedy saw only their own greed being threatened. And the powerful saw their power being usurped, and the controllers worried about losing control.
They were trapped. They would lose if they interrupted Threath’s flow and lose if they didn’t. They would have to pay.
They saw Threath could hit them where it hurt.
And their natural reaction was to hit back.
The only problem is they had no idea where, or what, or how.
They only knew when and who. They only had one hope: they had less than 6 months to get a source of Threath or capture Zeus or Promo and force the secret from them. The Federation governments wanted to be the sole distributors of Threath, only then would they feel safe, would they be back in control.

When someone wants something, really wants it, or if his life depends on it or he thinks that his life depends on it, then that someone can do amazing things.

And Promo flitted from planet to planet in his invisible starship, watching what unfolded, observing the activity, noting the progress, enjoying every moment, seeing the concern and involvement, the increased intensity, concentration, the devotion and hard work being done, as people, nations and worlds responded when faced with a life threatening situation.
The federation starships combed the galaxy, not sure what they were looking for, but looking nonetheless.
They reviewed old records of star traffic, trying to determine the drones origin or destination or Promo’s likely locations, trying to find Zeus, desperately searching for anything they could use.
Entire worlds were devoted to trying to synthesize Threath.
All to no avail.
Government psychologists tried to pick apart Promo’s psyche in search of clues to the madman’s likely actions.
Coordinator’s planned for all contingencies.
There were plans to distribute Threath if sources could be found, search plans, contingency plans, development plans, every kind of plan you could think of.
But in their minds their only hope lay in the capture Promo or Zeus. Then they would extract the secret of Threath and regain control. So that is where they concentrated. Capture and extraction. Extraction of the secret of how to make Threath, keeping in mind they couldn’t afford to kill either of them. They were ready for anything. They prepared the facilities, brought in the technology, hired the best people, formed the Information Extraction Unit Team (IEUT) and trained everyone on what they had to do when the moment came.
They were ready, except for one thing.
They weren’t ready for what would happen.
They never could have been, they couldn’t conceive of it.
And the Federation searched and the IEUT waited.
The entire federation worked tirelessly for 5 months and 3 and 1/2 weeks. They followed their plans as outlined, they did more than was expected. But they were no closer to locating Zeus or Promo or finding the Threath secret than on the day of the Big announcement. They were running out of time and they knew it.
It was getting close to pay up, shut up and sit down time.
Then they got lucky.

The psych predictors had not been able to successfully stereotype Promo’s behavior. However they all agreed he had certain tendencies, the major one being an interest in the new or unusual, a special fascination for the unexplainable or unaccountable. They also knew he wasn’t inclined to rely on second hand information but that he would personally examine it. He wasn’t an explorer as much as he was an experiencer and that he would be drawn to anything that promised to be an exceptional experience. And they were right.
A black hole had just been discovered near Deneb. They knew Promo liked strange stellar effects. The federation staked the area out, in hopes he might show up.
It was a time of grasping at straws.
Promo heard about the black hole and immediately cruised there to watch planets, debris, light and space get sucked in or so he hoped.
He didn’t know what to expect. But he had an urge, he wanted to toss a coin into this awesome spacetime-sucking singularity, like a black hole was a wishing well.
He thought it would be fun, might even mean good luck.
Which it did.
For the federation.
The federation placed sensors and ships around the hole to detect the smallest change. They were hoping to spot him, to set up a trap and capture him and his ship.
Promo sailed right by the sensors and the federation war ships without triggering even a peep, without them knowing at all. Promo, in his invisible, cloaked ship, on his way to toss a coin into the black hole’s everything sucking field. He didn’t want to get too close, but he didn’t want to have to wait too long for the coin to get sucked in. He decided on a spot and brought his ship to a halt. He donned his spacesuit and carrying his rail gun, he went outside his ship and shot the coin toward the black hole.
Promo is hardly perfect, he doesn’t think of everything or even try to. He is not a detail man, the details are the surprises he delights in, in the big pictures he tries to paint. Promo watched and didn’t even realize that the coin had penetrated the cloaking field and could be detected.
Every federation sensor in the vicinity detected the sudden appearance of something out of nothing and two ships were sent to investigate. Promo saw them approach and climbed back inside his ship. They arrived and scanned the area. They detected nothing. Then unexpectedly the black hole burped some weird energy and Promo’s ship became visible. He had no desire to fight, wasn’t ready for flight, so Promo surrendered immediately.
He was whisked back to Topia under the tightest security ever known. There were two days left before the 6 months was up. He was brought to the interrogation suite in the United Federation Planetary headquarters. With omly two days left.
They were well prepared for this eventuality. Once the capture was made, the next step was to extract information from the prisoner, by any means possible without actually killing him.
Promo entered the interrogation suite. The suite consisted of two rooms, an interview room and a bedroom. There was equipment everywhere. There were two way mirrors on the walls, floors and ceilings.
They had the federation’s best minds, best drugs, best equipment, best planners.
The IEUT was ready and waiting to do its job.
It was all Promo could ask for.

They came at him with brain scanners, sensors, probes, tests, drugs, hypnotists, psychics, empaths, scanners, mystics, channelers, mesmers, sensitives, computers, evaluators, psychologists, synthesists, blackmailers, extortionists, devil worshipers, theorizers, yogas, shamen, witch doctors, diviners, mediums and seers ready to unravel Promo’s mind.

And they tested, evaluated, scanned, radiated, probed, hypnotized, threatened, shocked, communed with, meditated upon, prayed to, intuited, chanted, willed, imagined, ested, spun, waxed, reasoned, touched, felt, sensed, and otherwise hemmed, hawed, om’d and awed over, in and around Promo’s being.
All to no avail.
His answers to their questions were maddeningly the same. “Where is Zeus?”
“Who?” he would answer.
“Where do you keep the threath?”
“Say what?, ” he would respond. Followed by: “Who?”
Always seeming quite amused by this line of questioning.
And the lie detectors absolutely indicated that he was telling the truth.
They had no clue. They kept testing him until they could think of no more things to do.
And they scanned every cell in his body sending the images to hordes of analyzers who studied his every nuance, using sensors to gather data for banks of computers that were used by masses of deducers and postulators to ponder.
All to no avail.
In the end, the leaders of the IEUT sat in silence trying to engage Promo in a stare down contest.
He lit up a Halu and whistled Dixie. And when no one else joined in Promo stood up and said: “Gentlemen, I am tired. If you don’t mind, I’m going to sleep.”
Then he went in, lay down and went to sleep
in the most monitored bedroom in the universe.
There were more sensors and detectors, observers and cameras focused on that room than the number of angels that God can have dance on the heads of all the pins in the universe.
As he slept, hordes sensed, detected, deduced and pondered, while hosts of mental health counselors consoled the exhausted, confused, demoralized staff of information extractors.
And the leaders discussed what to do.
It was all over before it began.

Promo slept well.
Nobody else slept alt all.

He woke up, took a shower, had a snack and walked out of the bedroom.
The leaders of IEUT stood before him. The cameras were relaying the image to the council chamber below where the high command of the federation sat, watching.
“Gentlemen, you have four hours” was all Promo said. Then he sat down and lit up a Halu.
The Federation council went into plenary session.
Promo disappeared into the smokey dreams of his Halu stick, his eyes fluttering under his upper eyelids.
Four hours later, Council President, Mentor Summa, silently opened the door to the interrogation suite and entered.
He walked over and stood in front of Promo. I stood and watched as Promo’s half visible, fluttering eyes slowly dropped down and brightened like the coming of twin suns in an inverted foggy dawn.
And when the fog in his brain had burned away, Promo nodded ever so slightly to Summa and waited for what he had to say.
Mentor’s jaw tightened slightly.
Reluctantly, I uttered, “We surrender”.
Promo said nothing, did nothing except relax ever so slightly. Then he took a drag off his Halu stick.
I looked up at Mentor as if to say, not good enough.
Mentor Summa sighed and started to speak.
I looked down at Promo and intoned, “We surrender, unconditionally.”
I looked up a Suma and nodded. “You had no choice.”
I turned and began walking out to return to the council chambers. I was drained. I reached the door, then turned and looked back at Promo.
He was looking over at me.
I watched Mentor dejectedly walk across the room. I watched as he reached the door and before leaving, he turned and looked back at me.
We looked at each other.
Then I said. “No, don’t go. I want to talk.”

I looked at me looking back at me.

Just then I was awakened by a knock at the door. I snapped out of the dream and opened the door. It was Magistrate Torque. He said everything was ready for me.
I told him “Give me a minute and I’ll get dressed.” I went into the bathroom, shaved and showered as quick as I could. I put on the black robes and followed the Magistrate out of my suite and down the hall.
“Everything is ready. The room is right here.” The magistrate told me. He indicated the door. “This is the judgment suite, the criminal will arriving soon. In the meantime, we can dispense with the formalities.”
I looked at the number, room 101. I twisted the knob and walked in.
The magistrate was saying “I hope you will find everything satisfactory. We built everything exactly to your specifications.”
I was in a hallway leading to a large room. I walked down the hall. I could see a mind scanner set up at the far end next to a conference table with two chairs. I looked to either side of the room.
A chill went up my spine.
To my left, 4 naked women were talking and milling about. One rather seedy looking man was off to the side, loading a gun. He started walking over when he saw me come in.
On the right was a Roman soldier with his back against the wall, smoking a cigarette. Hammer and nails were laying on the ground next to his feet. A giant white wood cross stood in the corner, a lance next to it.
On the table was a flask filled with a colorless liquid.
I looked at the Magistrate. He nodded.
I turned to run.
The soldier and gunman grabbed me and escorted me back to the table. I sat down.
Magistrate Torque began talking. “You are the criminal that you in fact have judged. You have made your own judgment regarding the crimes that you, yourself, in fact, have committed.” He looked directly at me and continued: “If you have any doubts we will prove it to you.”
And he showed me how the mind scanner didn’t show tapes of anything at all, but had been set up to look into my own mind, to look and peer beneath the surface noise, beneath the lies and illusions, beneath the mask into the unconscious. And while I thought I was watching someone else, I was really seeing myself and my own stored experiences there. And I was so preoccupied with judging and condemning, that I never remembered that I wasn’t remembering, that I was only watching and judging. Then the magistrate told me that afterwards when I was perfectly free to remember, I didn’t, because I didn’t dare to, because of my pride and arrogance, because I was smug and self righteous, because I couldn’t admit the truth to myself.
And as the magistrate talked, my memories flooded back. And I knew he was right. I had deceived myself. It was myself I had judged without knowing it. My own real experiences, done by myself but somehow altered in my mind. Somehow censored by my own consciousness. Then I saw I had been compromised by my own mind. I had been fooling myself.
And I knew I was guilty, guilty, guilty.
And I saw I must punish myself and I was horribly trapped. I saw me alternating days in the three cells. I saw feeble attempts at escape that could work but I would fail at.
I saw myself pleading for mercy. Mercy that I wanted from someone else because I no longer trusted myself. But others would see the truth, that my pleas for mercy were not really pleas but punishment for myself. I didn’t really want their mercy, I wanted to punish myself.
That I inflict on myself.
That I had determined for myself.
All by myself.
And I saw that everyone else would know it was punishment I really wanted.
And nobody can ever stop anyone from doing what one really wants to do.
I spun like a helicopter with no tail rotor.
Down and down into the jaws of my own mind’s trap.
Down, down and down waiting until I snapped.
God it was awful. I was more trapped than I could ever have conceived possible.
Everything closed in and I realized what I had done to myself. I realized the duplicity of my own being. I saw the punishment that I had unconsciously, deliberately devised and was about to inflict on myself. And I had set no time limit on the sentence. That it was indeterminate. I would never be released. Eternal punishment. Without end.
I was a piece of bread on the floor of the black hole of Calcutta.
And I cried why, why did I do that, to myself.
I knew that somehow I must have known what I was doing, that it was myself, I was judging and I did it anyway, thinking it was someone else.
Why am I doing this to myself? Am I that cruel? Am I that bored that I mean so little to myself? That the only fun I can have is in self denial and pain.
And I broke down and cried. And I cried, knowing somehow it was completely hopeless and I was helpless and no better than nothing. That I was no more than all I despised, no better than the foulest sinner, the vilest human imaginable.
I cried for myself, down deep, deep down, down deep inside.
Until I realized my stupidity, the pointlessness of self pity.
And I realized: it doesn’t have to be this way, playing cruel tricks on myself. Then I knew, to not change was stupid and asinine. To remain the same was worse than death. And I got angry. At myself. In myself. With myself. And no one else. I saw that no one else was responsible. Except me. I did it to myself. I was angry with myself, every sneaking, lying, selfish, indulgent, and pitiful part of me. No part was innocent, every part had blood on its hands, all of me had willingly participated, every part of me had played false, there could be no doubt and that was that.
Then I stopped and wondered what other little lies, what other tricks, self denials, games was my mind playing even now. How could I be sure of anything I thought or did? How could I trust my mind at all? And I lost complete faith in my mind. My mind was totally untrustworthy, not to be relied upon at all or ever again, in any way, shape or form.
And in my imagination I saw myself, my old mind as a rabid dog and yelled: “Get out and don’t ever come back, ever, you… slinking, dirty, rotten, conniving mongrel.”
And I watched that dog in my imagination become this pitiful animal, with soulful eyes and a helpless look, a “please forgive me” look, a “man’s best friend” look, an “I didn’t really mean it” look.
But I looked at that dog with new eyes, with unforgiving, honest eyes, filled with a new appreciation of the insidious nature of self deception and an understanding of how to deal with in myself.
Still I hesitated looking at that dog. It was my mind’s last ditch effort to survive, hoping that ‘whimpering like a whipped dog’ would reach my heart and make me relent, that I would spare it, not let my anger kill it or abandon it.
I knew what I had to do, but I wanted to watch my old hang dogself, my stupid, pitiful, tormented one trick dogself. And I watched with curious interest as my old self, my old mind, made it’s last plea for mercy. And that damned dog looked up with eyes that promised: “I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.”
And I said: “old tricks won’t work anymore, old fellow.”
And I watched that rain soaked, floppy eared, sad, bleary eyed dog inch forward on its stomach, paws out, tail tucked between its legs, trying to convince me, saying “I’m a reformed dog, I’m a changed dog, really. Please.”
But I saw it wasn’t really a dog. If only you could have witnessed how it promised it will be absolutely obedient, how it will be ever true to its master and it was sorry for eating your pet canary, crawling under the covers and shitting in your bed, destroying every CD you own but then watch while you find your ruined CDs, and wag its tail when you stick your feet under the covers and have the most awful, disgusting experience imaginable. I looked at that innocent looking animal and I realized that my loving life-long constant companion, my best friend with a tail, was really Satan himself, in his most hideous form, dripping hell’s most sulfurous slobberous slime off his wagging tongue. I looked down at that dog and no longer cared to continue the charade.
Frankly I didn’t even care whether he was the devil or really just a dog.
I only cared that I couldn’t stand it any more.
And I shot him.
Right thru the heart.
It was a matter of survival. I couldn’t take the chance.
One blast. And I decided it should leave a hole the size of an orange through him.
And it did. And in my imagination, I looked at it.
And I’m staring at my dead dog now standing perfectly still like a stuffed animal or a statue. Who now looks exactly like Rin Tin Tin standing at attention waiting for orders. And I see a hole running through one side and out the other. Rinny’s not moving and appears to be made out of alabaster. Then I see his eyes blink.
“You just won’t quit will you.” I said
And he doesn’t move, knowing it’s a test. And I can’t think of anything to do. I don’t want to blast him to smithereens, and I don’t want him back either, till I know a little more.
So I say “shit” and kick the ground and just decide to leave him behind, not to kill him or do anything else, just go.

I tell myself, ‘You can’t kill a mind anyway, you can only change it.’

So I walk away, but I want to look back to see if he’s moved. I start to turn my head then I tell myself, what difference does it make? And what are you sure of? and I know the only thing I’m sure of is that I’m looking back. I realize what I am doing and know if I’m going, then go and it doesn’t matter what anyone else does. So I go.
And I feel like whistling. I feel like Huck Finn.
And i don’t know why.
And I just kept walking and I never looked back.
And the court was gone, the magistrate was gone, the punishments were gone, the planet Sixtus gone. Completely gone. As if they never existed.
And I’m free as a bird, whistling and dancing as I walk along in my bare feet, making dust. And I don’t even know or care where I’m going.
Then suddenly I find myself in my starship. I check the navigation computer and I’m heading towards Atlantis and our solar system. And I’m happy because I know the universe is even more strange and wonderful than I had ever conceived. And I want to share that with you.
I arrive at the edge of the solar system and set the controls for home.
But something is wrong, Atlantis has been destroyed, billions of years have passed. Our beautiful planet is nothing but rubble in orbit. One of our moons is orbiting Mars and Earth has only primitive life.
And I can’t live without you.
So I do the most inconceivable thing I can think of, the thing that makes the most/least sense and gives me the most possibilities for attaining the impossible desire I have to find you in this infinite universe.

Because you are what I want.. You are what I desire most.

So I plunge my ship into the heart of the sun.
The universe works in mysterious and unfathomable ways.
And the inconceivable happens.
We are brought together again in time here on earth.
But neither of us realizes it..

For I have changed and you have forgotten.

But once, long ago we were lovers.
We were one and the same.
I am sure and I know.

I am sure and I know and I know not how.