''Yet you go in priest school, ya? If somebody wants to become a priest he must go to your school, ya?''
''Yeah, but, I'm not planning to be a cleric…''
''But, they taught you everything you need to know to be one?''
''Kinda, yeah. Why?''
''Relax'', laughed Marco: ''I'm not going to ask you to perform exorcism. I need you to bless my rifle.''
He got out and opened the trunk. Inside are two guns, a machete, a wrench and boxes of ammo.
''Human weapons can kill every creature on any level, but only if they're consecrated by en priest. Any priest of any god. Without that, it's useless. I have all my rifles and ammo blessed by local shamans of de realms, but none is this high. So, one of you can do it. This ammo and this rifle are new and I didn't have de opportunity to bring them to de shamans. They need blessing.''
''Preposterous!'', exclaimed Hubert.
''Preposterous?! Such weapon saved your life, drunken fool! Without it you would be in de bowels of en demonfish now!''
''Stop. I'll do it. Just take your gun and stand in front of me.''
Oh, lord. Forgive me.
''May the Lord bless you, and keep you; may the Lord make His face shine upon you, and be gracious to you; may the Lord turn His face toward you and grant you peace. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.''
''Amen.''
Chapter fifty one
Sleepover
God is cold water in the desert.
And soft bed in the back of 'Gurg's' in which I lie naked, while all my clothes are drying on the string. I can't keep my eyes open anymore. But, I can't fall asleep either. I have to stop winding the film, if I want sleep to come to me. Stop thinking. Stop talking to yourself. No more thoughts. Starting now.
Now.
Sleep come to me.
Kingdom of Hypnos. Four stages to REM. No more thoughts.
Sleep.
…
''It was my ex's. Now you smell like him.''
Aarghus, Illinois. She dressed Jove. I can hear them talk.
''He ain't gonna come around and kick me out of his outfits, ain't he?''
''No. Jeff's gone.''
''Aren't you afraid that Cleit and I are going to go viking, and ravage your maidenhood?''
''Wow. Action. Sounds fun.''
''Ha hah! You're crazy. I think I'm falling in love with you.''
''Yeah. Don't let me break your heart, viking.''
''Thank you, Kayla, for takin' care of Cleit and me.''
''It's cool.''
''So, you've been through dimensions?''
''I've seen some, yeah.''
''What sorts of strange creatures did you see, did you see dogheads?''
''Um… no.''
''Trash monsters?''
''No.''
''Zombies, Valkyries, unicorns?''
''No, no, what?!''
''Leprechauns, Hobbits, Nibelungs?''
''Seriously, man?!''
''Centaurs, Satyrs, Sephards?''
''I don't even know what those things are.''
''Well, what did you see?''
''Um… Oh, once Jeff and I saw, that was supercool, you're not gonna believe this, we saw-''
…
…
Chapter fifty two
History of Gnosticism
So I was wrong. I don't have a problem admitting that. All this is not some trick of Abraxas. It's actual. One world over another three hundred and sixty five times. I can accept that. I still think Abraxas had some foul scheme to play with his fans, but maybe it went wrong somewhere along the way, maybe I will never find out what his true intentions were, and who he really is.
I don't have a problem admitting I was wrong. In fact, I should be excited. You see, the idea that the universe is made out of three hundred and sixty five levels of existence is an old Gnostic thought. I, for one, should care, I read so much about it, about Gnostics and Gnosticism, when I was a kid. That was my thing, someone likes dinosaurs, someone likes Greek mythology, my thing were prophets of secret knowledge. It's not like I ever wanted it to be true, I just wanted to know.
Prophets of secret knowledge. Menander, Basilides, Cerinthus, Valentinus, Cerdo, Marcion, Carpocrates, Mani, they all thought they have their own secret key to God. I always thought of them as well-intentioned wackos. I don't have a problem admitting I was wrong.
But, I have one huge fuckin' problem accepting plain crazy fuckin' shit like monster fish mental predators! Like all-powerful blessed weapons! Like shooting bolts from hands! It's agains reason. It drives me insane.
Insult to the rational mind. Drunken fool, he says. It doesn't phase him. As long as he gets to shoot at things, world's just fine. It doesn't bother him that he's just a speck in an existence that fails to justify itself. Maybe I defeated myself that moment when I put faith in the rational.
What have the best of us told us? That the universe, hatched out of an cosmic egg, is spreading, until once it stops, and starts shrinking into non-existence. Is that rational thinking?
Gnostics believed that the material world, as opposed to the spiritual world is imperfect, or even evil. It was created by a lesser deity, the Demiurge. And, we humans, particles of spirit trapped in the material, we're supposed to return to the ultimate source of the spirit, God, through numerous corrupted emanations of the original perfect world. Doesn't this sound better than spreading and shrinking?
But, this is not what I imagined when I read about corrupted emanations. This is a joke.
What's on the final level? Cosmic cat licking its cosmic ass?
This is a joke.
Chapter fifty three
Emanation three twenty six
''What's on the last level?''
''I don't know. I don't think anyone knows.''
''How far did you and Jeff go?''
''Not much further than here. It gets ugly on the higher levels. It's peaceful here.''
''Where did you find all the energy for shifting?''
''We didn't travel by increasing our energy levels, that shit speeds up your metabolism, I heard it gives you cancer. We moved through wormholes.''
''Wormholes in outer space?!''
''No, wormholes between dimensions.''
''How?''
''Jeff acquired some instrument that could detect them. He bought it from some Arab guy. Higher levels are full of them.''
''Of wormholes?''
''No. Of Arabs. Up there is their paradise, supposedly. They claim that they're Muslims that died a martyr death, and were rewarded with afterlife there. And seventy two virgins.''
''You're messing with me again.''
''Dude, I shit you not. I'm not saying that's true, I'm just telling you what they claim. All I know is that each of them has a bunch of breasty wives. That's what I saw.''
''If there's so many of them, with so many wives, how come they don't come here? How come you get only Russians?''
''Because we don't serve halal food.''
''That's some deranged shit you're telling me.''
''I know. Some of them even go back, blow themselves up, and get another seventy two virgins when they come back. I mean, that's what they say.''
''Jesus Christ, Kayla you're fucking with me again!''
''No, dude, Jove, I'm telling you what I heard. I'm really not trying to run some prank on you now.''
''Well, maybe it makes some weird sense. Like, why would anyone blow himself up if he wasn't really sure in the promised reward?''
''I'm not saying it's true, I'm just saying-''
''No, no, it's okay, that way it actually makes sense, I never understood why would anyone blow himself up for religious reasons, or any other reason, from any perspective I observed it, it seemed meaningless. But if you'll get Hefner's house with all the accessories…''
''Oh, lord… I have to go clean tables…''
''No! Sit down, I have more questions. Okay, so no one knows what's on the last l
evel. What's on the level three sixty four?''
''That's where the Archons are. In theory, of course.''
''The Archons?''
''Yeah. 'Divine rulers'. The most powerful of creatures. No one can reach their realm, but they move freely through dimensions, in any form they want. It's just a different name for angels, but nobody calls them that name here.''
''Why can't anyone reach their realm?''
''The answer to that question is the same one with, 'what's on the level three sixty three'.''
''Tell me.''
''The guardian. A superpowerful monster that guards the entrance to the realm of Archons.''
''And before that?''
''And before that is the last stronghold of humans. Russian soldiers that come here to eat. They hold all the wormholes that lead up, under their control.''
''Putin Rasputin holds all the gateways to Archons?''
''Not exactly, that's not what the stories say.''
''What do stories say now?''
''They say that these Russians are organized and led by some invisible, enigmatic figure known as Scaramouche. In fact, nobody knows who he is, nobody has any verifiable informations about him, not even his own people. I've heard a lot of crazy theories about who Scaramouche really is, but the craziest one goes to one colonel Samedov of Scaramouche's army. He said that Scaramouche is a clone of Mumford Archibald Morse. You probably never heard that name, it's cool, neither did I, until Samedov told me.''
''No.''
''Mumford Archibald Morse didn't really make it into history books. In fact, historians pretty much ignored his existence. But, I found on some guy's blog, excerpts from Mumford's biography, with press clippings.''
''Okay.''
''Mumford was a nineteenth century activist from Missouri, and judging by the informations left about him, person with the highest IQ that ever walked this Earth. He spoke fluent English when he was only four months old. At age two he played his father's piano and violin. Supposedly, he could learn any language in just a few weeks. In teenage years he did such upgrades to his father's tractors and combines that they worked alone. He planned a career in motor industry. But, all of a sudden, he changed his mind. He claimed that within his lifetime, machines will replace humans in every work, leaving them useless, and he didn't want to take part in that. Guy went to Harvard, a wormhole to the realm of politics. But, same thing happened, he revolted. He said that smartest people and the leaders of the world, instead of being beacons for the rest, seek unlimited control. 'The best of us, will kill the rest of us', he said. He ran for a president of the country, he claimed that if he gets elected, he will disband the Congress, and the rest of country's machinery, and build a new fair society of equals. He passed largely unnoticed. He predicted a world war. He died young, under unclear circumstances. He was buried in his home Missouri. That's from the blog.''
''And Russians cloned him?''
''So Samedov says. He says that during the eighties Russian scientists got in the hang of cloning, and Kremlin got the idea of cloning a new leader, one with proven qualities. Stalin, Lenin, Alexander Nevsky were considered. But, genes alone, don't create great leaders, so most sympathies went towards cloning of Marx and Engels, fathers of socialism. They would be given their own books to read, raised in the spirit they themself professed, and shaped into leaders of millions. Then, someone mentioned the name of Mumford Archibald Morse. A true socialist, and a man of incomparable intellect. And, according to Samedov, they went for it. If it's true, then they hit a homerun, because Scaramouche led them farther then they could imagine.''
''Wow… World just got a lot more stranger.''
''Yeah, well, now it's one and the same for you and me, west side boy.''
Chapter fifty four
Bushwacked
Uranus. Tiamat. Ymir. Bidsprinkhaan. With two a's, says Marco.
''The fuck are you scribbling now?!''
''I am going to write down everything, everything that happened to us since this morning, and I'm going to get it published.''
''You're writing a book?''
''Yes, a travelogue of some sort, kinda like a sequel to '365 heavens', just with actual pictures from our journey, instead of illustrations. I'm going to photograph everything.''
''A sequel. Fan fiction. Fan nonfiction.''
''Well, fan fiction is old as the written word. And it doesn't belong only to fan girls. Jules Verne wrote a sequel to one Edgar Allan Poe's story. Shakespeare wrote a sequel to the Iliad.''
''How are you going to title it? 'My time in limbo with the flying Dutchman'?''
''I'll think of something. But, yes, Marco is the central figure of the story. It's hero.''
''Oh, come the fuck on! Engelherz is a bushwack, a loon! I can't believe the amount of crap that comes out of his mouth.''
''What's a bushwack?''
''Bushwack, crazy.''
''I never heard of such expression. I think you just invented a new word.''
Hubert declared Marco a 'bushwack', very illustrative. I leave the term to your interpretation. Not to be confused with bushwacker
''What's taking him so long?''
cocktail made from rum
''Are you listening to me?!''
and coconut.
''What?! Yes, I'm listening. I don't know, he said he'll be back in a couple of minutes. There he is.''
Doors of the hut opened and Marco came out with another person. He spoke in Dutch
''Edwin.''
and I couldn't understand a word he said.
''Edwin.''
''Stop pushing me!''
Oh my god! This other person... I'm not sure it's a person... head of a basset hound stands on his, its shoulders.
''I must have this picture in my book!''
Zoom. Yes. A cynocephalus. Creature of legends. Abraxas wrote of them in '365 heavens', but not like this. He described animals, this one in front of me is fully dressed! With flip-flops on his feet, and a bush hat on his head. My god... he's looking at me through the lense of my phone. His eyes look so... I could swear it's a human being looking at me.
Marco snapped his fingers in front of cynocephaluses face to regain his attention. He said something more to him, and cynocephalus went away, back in the hut. We're on the road again. I managed to take enough of good shots, some nice close ups. Good. Excellent.
Maniacs in The Fourth Dimension Page 14
