Flam Eth Rower, alchemist

imageFlam Eth Rower

    Flam Eth Rower looked up at Balls Bazook after their night of debauch and said, “Welcome back to asteroid 423, Bazook. Maybe I missed you, but probably not, you flot.”

     “How’s the Fin de Monde film coming, Flam Eth?” asked Bazook.

    Last night when Bazook made asteroid fall, they hadn’t bothered with the niceties of chat but ripped and roared into raunch and debauch.

   “Well, Mack is Mr. Vitamin I and the king of wry so we have a chance to steel ourselves to the end o’ the world ordeal.”

    Mack Cobber was a famed fin de monde director. He’d demolished worlds aplenty for the delectation of the connoisseurs of  heartwrenching self-imposed destruction. Flam Eth Rower was a cosmistar of such fabulous, ubiquitous renown that her little million acre asteroid 423 was one of her few places of possible escape from the burdens of adulation to the blessings of adultery.

         As always in Mack Cobber’s productions, there were the crystal moments when the planet-ride participant or participants together could make a change, see a light, save the story. The grueling soap opera truth is that seldom do people make the effort, seize the ingenuity. The planet, Here, where Flam Eth was working these days in the dayreal tangerine section of her tangerine of times was so bursting and ripe with blessings and fascinations that the featherless biped denizens could have wallowed in the sheer muddy joy of it, but instead they usually chose crankiness and belligerence. Or apathy. Or anti-pathy.

    Flam Eth was underground on Here. She did sling some dollops of advanced photonic physics and photonic ethics into the zeitgeist, but her life’s Principia on Justice would appear very late in life if not posthumously. Instead she fed observations and assonance back to Mack Cobber. The idea was to give the director fodder for the last possible chances for the Here dwellers to grok the tender truth, to opt for tending rather than rending. To, indeed, turn the other cheek, to break the necessarily endless spiral of revenge, personal or national.   

     To stoke up on some sublime sloth, Flam Eth had to retreat in remreal to asteroid 423. Few had the combo to the semipermeable membrane of atmosphere which cradled her haven. To the mere telescopes of Here, her asteroid would appear barren and rocky. The semibrane was like a green screen which shielded dayreal vision from piercing into the remreal spectrums. The poor Hereians had some rudimentary science but little and only random psyence.

    There wasn’t much drama if people were just hopelessly overwhelmed. Planet productions were all the rage galaxywide and Here was as popular a reality production as had ever hit the ether. Unlike the Hereians’ cinema productions, the Here production itself would never have a disclaimer in the credits saying “No animals were harmed in the making of this production.”  The jaded appetites of the ethereal viewer (or sensesucker, as the denizen rights people would have it) required the obliv amnesia drug and the presentation of often horrific plights for the not quite hapless hereians.   

   Not being utterly heartless, Mack Cobber liked to leave clues like crumbs for little birds, clues that could lead to An Exit, a startling solution. Not all the ethereals were brave enough to live in the skin, as it were. Most of them were cosmically comfy, far from the density and dimension where fire burns the flesh and water can drown. Like the chickenhawks sending kids to a war they wouldn’t fight personally, the ethereals often preferred distant comment fraught with faux conviction. The folk like Balls and Flam Eth who would enter the fray at full risk were rare. It was bloody dangerous over there in K1, the part of the reality spectrum where physical and psychological consequences were between monstrous and marvelous.


images from ask images

in blurb, www,paulsquire,com

in text, empirecontact,com

fin de monde = end of the world;

k1 = the Here or Earth or VuraVura degree of persistent kinesthetic which we generally experience as dayreal, the sensation of solidity and/or persistence — you need to turn the knob towalk through the door; water is wet, etcet;

remreal = all the other dimensions of density whose physics are often quite different from k1.

vitamin I = vitamin Irony; 


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the education-obsessed world begins today with you .... let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead ..  ………….<^>…………….     

5 thoughts on “Flam Eth Rower, alchemist

  1. It's so intensely inspiring and refreshing to read such an Earth-centered or Here-centered encomium. I was brought up to think that 'Heaven' was later, after, and that this was a grosser station on the way to a finer elsewhere.
    I realize that I was robbed of this druidic level of devotion to Here, “the sheer muddy joy of it.”

  2. All I can say is that glad that planet where the hereists don't get listened to isn't the one I live on. I feel bad for those people especially the chicken hawks there.

  3. esfera,
    Freud single-Id-edly wrecked the necessary & profound exploration of rem worlds for a century with his narrow, clinical pathological versions of 'dreams.' What a shame. It made well & sane people's exploration of dreams & all rem worlds seem fringe & suspect tho rem experience & the accompanying psyence had been treasured for centuries by more wide-ranging cultures.
    Aww, CL, you're one of my favorite hereists for sure.

  4. It would help if the risk were mainly being eaten by tigers or drowned in floods. The insane-added risk of being killed directly or indirectly in useless war is what really galls me. The funds being expended on the unaccomplishable mission in Iraq could save so many lives with universal healthcare here at home, in addition to the trapped young men we send to Iraq for slaughter.

  5. temps, the amount of money (and lost services and increase in ghastly debt) is staggering. We have CEOs making in one day what it takes an ordinary worker in their company a whole year to make and then add the $820,000 per minute of the Military Industrial Budget & the additional $216,000 per minute on Iraq and you are looking in the face of financial madness. We could have bought every man, woman, & child in Iraq & swathed them in major money. Would have doubtless worked better.

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