"You are not worthy of Delawar Dost," said the golden-masked attendant. "Worship elsewhere, perhaps in your next life you will be more deserving and you will earn more precious stones. Only then can you bask in the gentle love of Delawar Dost. You are an insect and you crawl on metal wheels. Go! Now!"
More wretches queued up behind her.
“You cannot enter Delawar Dost,” declared the golden-masked attendant. “You are all stained and diseased! Get hither into your wastelands! Or go to the mineral pits! If you mine enough minerals then perhaps you will be earn enough spirit coins to ascend to the level of the noble slug!”
From atop his tower, Delawar Dost smiled upon all of his statues.
* * *
In a bedroom, in the Privilege Sector of Delawar Dost, a young Prince smoked a pipe of hashish.
“Everyone is equal! We’re all connected! Enlightenment man! We are all Delawar Dost!”
On his wall was a symmetrical mosaic showing all the levels of spiritual ascendancy; from worm to insect, insect to rat, rat to cat, cat to ape, ape to person, person to gold-plated, dancing and gleaming orb of light strumming a lute.
All the animals and people on the mosaic danced to the circular song of the gleaming orb. Chanting a chorus through tile smiles.
“We are all connected!” said the Prince. “We are all one! We’re all the same!”
He watched the mosaic dance and sing.
“You'll only understand it when you get it! You better dance to my tune don't forget it! Cos if you disobey! You're gonna have to pay! With an eternity of insect life and complete shite!
DRY, DEAD TREE
The cracked mirror bleats “bad morning” when you brush your teeth – your gums are draining – just like last night – just like all week – it is more than gingivitis – rotten air sacks bursting – older and emptier – the process isn’t gradual – it is what it is - your drain is blocked – your branches untrimmed – have you forgotten again? – take out your rubbish – nowhere to take it to? - you can’t do anything – you can’t do – your teeth – gravestones – decay – dead trees – dry – dead – lonely – dead – dry – dead – tree – lonely – dry – dead – tree – lonely.
You keep standing there.
MUSCLES
The Mistake stops the fish from eating the muscles. The muscles settle on the surface of the Mistake's head. They are the Mistake's first ever friends. The Mistake wants to show them the world above the See.
“Let me show you the world above the See.”
The Mistake lifts his head from the See and acts as an island for the muscles to live upon. The muscles like the world above the See. Out here, on the island of the Mistake's head, they would never be eaten by fish again.
The Mistake had never had friends before.
The muscles fight each other.
“Please stop fighting!”
The Muscles ignore the Mistake and kill each other, then they eat each other. There is no food on the island of the Mistake's head. They only have each other to eat.
Some years later, the Mistake brings up a new group of muscle friends. The Mistake's head is bigger now and covered in all sorts of plants and rocks. This gives the muscles a food source. Despite this, the muscles still fight each other.
“Why do you always fight? Can't you all just care about each other? I never had a family that cared about me. My family hated me so much. I never even heard my mother's voice. Why can't we all be a family and care about each other?”
The muscles can't understand the Mistake but they notice that the surface of their island rumbles when they fight and when they don't fight it stays still. So they cooperate and live peacefully for a little while. Then they start to build villages, cities and towns. The industry gives the Mistake a migraine. Especially as they were now mining into the thick skull of the Mistake for building materials.
The Mistake screams sometimes.
The muscles like long theological debates as to whether the Mistake wants them to fight or construct? The debate is never settled so the muscles do both.
The Mistake tries not to rumble or shout. The Mistake doesn't want to cause any more trouble for the muscles.
TYPICAL
Ian studied biology at university.
One fateful day, Ian was experimenting with some radioactive oestrogen. Ian accidentally spilt it all over his left hand. Ian used his left hand for masturbating.
At first there were no effects but after a few days his left hand began to swell and moisten. It felt strangely sensitive and pleasurable to touch. When he masturbated with this hand it felt good. Not just for his penis but also for his hand. It trilled with waves of pleasure and it dribbled moistness. This moisture smelt and tasted like copper lined pork.
Eventually, Ian's fingers and thumb sealed themselves together and formed a tight, tense hole. It gorily bloomed into a vaguely anatomically correct version of the female genitalia. This encouraged Ian's masturbation.
One exhausting night, as Ian lay in bed trying to sleep in his damp sheets, the Hand Vagina spoke to him.
“More,” she whispered. “More. More. More. More. More.”
“I can't give you anymore. I'm all used up.”
“More!”
“I can't.”
Eventually, the Hand Vagina learnt more words.
“You're useless! You only want me for sex! You are rubbish at sex! Rubbish and boring! I want more money and I want to live in a proper house! I hate your student dorm! I want someone less limp! Someone who will show me a good time! Money!”
Ian cried and pleaded to her that it was just the radiation sickness and over exertion that was making
