The Paradox Detox

THE PARADOX DETOX BY R.K. GALVEZ

THE REPTILIAN TELEPATHY OF BIRDS

THE TRANCE TERRORS FROM TROOLUZ NINE

STIFF RADII

THE REPTILIAN TELEPATHY OF BIRDS

1) THE MOON-SHAKERS

The broken-down moon-colony was not nice. The term nice had been obsolete for a long time. The Luna-colony did have an official name but remained classified under the codename: Project BrandyIxacidTabwine; a rogue Demon resources-based agency from the C.O.G. that had covertly set up this moon-colony without any authorities knowing. A brief description of the colony was all that had remained, as any photographic data has been lost or destroyed by enigmatic C.O.G. censors.

The colony was a strange mish-mash of bio-domes and metallic structures reinforced by ancient architecture. A strange kind of architecture: art deco mixed with some kind of abstracted influence from Mars circa 3459 AD. It was some cause for concern. The colony also doubled as a stasis colony for fattened individuals wealthy enough to live long lives in some futuristic world.

As you can tell, people had to use dimensional slip-streams within our earth-realm to travel there. It was a strange command. There were buses in and around Hounslow(though you can get anywhere from Woolwich Arsenal, too) that would occasionally provide safe transit; but with all the pzi-muto activity, these soon stopped. Thankfully, the Illuminati had nothing to do with it, of course. They are not to blame for everything and I will not hear a bad word said about them. They would make a right pigs ear out of it, anyway - not to mention that silly Scottish Brotherhood.

That little issue aside, things got problematic within the failing colony. Chief Krugler had run out of ideas - his mind-mapper had been lost for some time - and his population was in rapid decline due to the mutation rate. His brain was stormed by various anxieties. He needed some Soulz-R-Us-Stimulation, although most things were diluted on the colony. 

If only these mutants could do something - something amazing like in those old comics and films, Krugler said to himself.

As far as the research went on this secret moon-colony, the mutants formed here had no powers and no abilities - although some studies claimed that these useless lumps of mutated flesh did not feel pain. This dark testing process was broken by the Mutant Police Class A Team, known as Trogger and Professor Norkgrub, in another time, aeons ago. They must have cut up a lot of them, thought Krugler. What was interesting was the fact that these mutants could reform themselves. Krugler pondered the nature of the research; he didn't know what to think anymore. 

I cannot dress this up any more. No matter how fanciful the concepts of back-story can be, none of these so-called facts had been considered as real history. On the surface, it seemed like another epistemological anomaly. The mutants scavenged for a timeless period, which was unable to be assessed by human chronology. The scared human population became more insular; they spent less and saved everything they had to freeze themselves as soon as they got fat and rich enough. It didn't hide the decline and Krugler was under severe political pressure, despite the only political force was his C.O.G. agency overseers known as Goodmann and Goodnow.

The moon-colony(or LunaCol, as it was called by those in the know, I don't know if you might know...)was struggling to cope with its ballooning mutated population. No-one worked as the colony slowly fell apart. Strange mutated entities existed alongside the few humans. These mutated entities had no real powers, like you might expect in some kind of propaganda comics. They seemed to be useless, but had the ability to move via astral projection within various forms of existence.

They were evolving while the small human purist population, particularly extremely wealthy humans, devolved. Each individual was obsessed to eat themselves into a fatty oblivion and over-indulged in a truly decadent fashion. These huge, fattened, soft bodies were put into stasis where they set for revival for immortal life once the moon was reformed properly and colonized enough. Once they were so fat, they were unable to do anything else. However, the expected technology jump never happened; it stalled thanks to the unpredictable mutations. 

In one of the major ports - formerly known as Orienti7LK4 - things had got a lot worse. Supplies had been cut off and the computerized monitoring system was on stand-by. The cold metallic structures - left to gather dust and collect natural lysergic deposits - looked like they had never been inhabited by humans. It was once a bustling area, but people had stopped coming to the colony now. As if it had never existed.

It was this idea which was worrying Krugler. Why had the people vanished? They were not here now, mainly due to the fact that the colony power source, deep underground, remained the warmest and safest place. It was here that the colony was struggling to cope. Recruitment was down and they could not understand what was happening to the colony as a whole. People were simply vanishing. Maybe the fat bodies were mutating in stasis too? Or going into the myth-world associated with space-stasis? 

Chief Krugler was baffled by all of it. He was out of his depth; he had known that a long time ago. He already had over fifty nervous breakdowns, which had been an average amount since the colony first started. He had to be cured through exercise: masturbation was his only choice. He was very repressed and had been forced to use standard issue C.O.G. sex toys to find that queer sexual stimulation he regularly required.

Time had somehow drifted away, as Krugler had seen the rebirth of this colony: he devised hopeless strategies to repel the scavenging mutated Out-Staters. They had mutated but were somehow fighting it. Half human and half alien mutation, these creatures consumed whatever food they could find, and taking whatever they could. It was as if they had a strange eating disorder that included things you would not normally eat.

Krugler admitted to himself he had not done enough research on this. And he laughed at the names of various conditions. At least it was keeping him busy. Krugler thought about these problems too much. He had tried to have sexual intercourse with a colony mutant and an alien mutant cannibal, but it had not worked well. The blob-like mutant burned him all over and the alien mutant cannibal had tried to eat him. Krugler had decided to change their name to Altered-Staters for marketing purposes. Out-Staters seemed a bit too technical and it sounded good in reports.

Who was he kidding? The majority of the population had mutated into some unknown entity or other. He had been stuck here for over eight years. Or so he thought. He had lost track of time and was a bit suspicious of the ancient repair Bots time-keeping practices. The colony's mining operation had never started as it was getting costly, and the fear of mutation had put the moon into quarantine; but the recreational possibilities of the colony were still endless. That's what Krugler thought, as he resumed his daily masturbation exercises.

*     *    *

As Krugler pondered upon those unknown recreational possibilities, in another alternative realm-space (near Tooting Bec) known as U&I303808TV, Professor Norkgrub watched the action. He loved this dimension as everyone, whatever they were, was totally euphoric the whole time. Stress died out aeons ago.

Norkgrub was quite unscientific and used hipster words like Cool. These word-turds had no academic importance and were part of Norkgrub's strangely cosmic patois. He had hanged around with too many old hippies for an undefined amount of time. Time here defied chronology, of course. A day might have been a few minutes on out Earth.

How could Professor Norkgrub see all what was happening to Krugler, I hear you ask? Well, to the amateur occultist, this can be tough to explain. He should have referred more to the C.O.G. Dimension Space-Realm Controller, but Professor Norkgrub was a mystical zoophyte and he was able to use his crystallized methodologies to obtain sudden visions of various futures within Realm-Space. It was through this groove - as Norkgrub called it – he remained able to see everything in all kinds of worlds.

Good old Professor Norkgrub smiled a thin zoophyte smile; it was a great thing to witness: a multitude of universal mutations. Evolution can never be stopped; nature always wins, even if it helps to nurture it a little. Of course, too much nurturing can be problematic.

Norkgrub had four billion years to fritter away before the next universal evo-devo-phase. We're all life-forms at the end of the day, thought Norkgrub. Energy remains the key. Norkgrub loved to go on about cosmic energy. His feelers were everywhere.

Norkgrub - or Norky as he's known to his closest friends - needed to find out what team would be sent to help Krugler. He hoped his old intern, Zip Gregano would be involved. At least she's organized, even if a bit sexually repressed, Norkgrub thought. They needed a bit of dream-water to sort that out.

Professor Norkgrub felt he needed something to purge his anger-energy at the crazed ways of humanity; and he was also getting way too much telepathic feedback from Ludovic. Ludovic must be some kind of angry mutant bird. Of course, Norkgrub had no way to explain any of this; it was a gut instinct. Just like his gut always told him sunshine yellow shined out of his soul.

Norkgrub climbed down from his large cushion-capsule and looked out at the crimson sky. The natural lysergic gases within the air gave everything a euphoric feel. Norkgrub loved it here. He didn't want to leave; he hated Earth and all its petty laws. He was used to getting the best of everything in this realm. The zoophyte opened a small box, a small box he had hidden by an old Cacti-Mushroom tree for a couple of hundred years, or so; inside the box was Norkgrub's seed-shooter.

A fine weapon made from some kind of alien metal and refined by the Professor himself. He re-checked the lysergic gas free-flow dispenser and was content everything was in order. He plugged the gun to his seed-sacks, and felt that the gun was made for him.

Looks like someone's going to have to bail you lot out if it gets out of control. Where can you find some decent cleaners these days? Professor Norkgrub said to himself.

Another item inside the box was a strange furry crystalline communicator. It was called an e-pzi-astrl-comm-i. It was a personalized holo-communicator and differed from the ones seen in dubious sci-movies. This one actually tuned a real entity into you while you were using it. And possession was nine-tenths of the dimensional code.

Guess I'm going to have that recycled. I don't think I can power up that old time-slide. I've been stuck here too long. Well, I suppose retirement has to end sometime. And I never got time to play a bit more of 'Fuzzy's Space Golf'. Oh well, guess I'll just have to make do with that old-fashioned astral kick. I wish that crazy caveman turned up again!

Norkgrub laughed. He was talking to himself a lot. Unfortunately, a permanent state of bliss creates this kind of flashback. And it usually occurred when one life-form only sees - and communicates with - another life-form every decade or so. And sometimes you see things, but he was living on a planet where most of the atmosphere was lysergic acid. It really was heaven. Norkgrub loved the Earth realm here more than that other real earth. If only he was able to get that tyme-craft fixed and slide back to Tooting. He hated technology; the astral kick was back to haunt him.

I'll just give it a miss. I hate a colony with nothing decent on it. No wonder everyone's fucked - you got to have something decent there! I really hope the Earth's moon won't go away, though. There has to be five moons here. Every planet has to have at least one moon, doesn't it?

I have no idea who Professor Norkgrub was talking to. I doubt the curious Professor Norkgrub did either. 

2) MYSTICAL MUTO-ZEN METAMORPHING

Krugler had really thought things over. It was amazing that a violent revolution or some form of bloody conflict had never occurred on the colony. It was mainly because there was nothing left to save. Apathy had consumed everything and no-one really cared. Everyone and everything was slowly mutating.

Krugler, a strange squat man, with brown teeth, had never fathomed this. He was never pleased; a perfectionist by nature, but also very paranoid which made him doubt his ability to really be perfect. He had not masturbated over his pictures of his unknown father. These old time travellers usually were off somewhere.

Many of his staff[now deceased, of course] thought it quite natural for him to be this way, due to the fact he had so much operational responsibility. Thankfully he would not be the leader for much longer - as there would be nothing to lead - and soon he would be able to retire back on another colony. Krugler smiled. Maybe even go back to Earth, where he would be completely unknown.

Krugler thought on this point a lot longer than necessary. The nostalgic Earth he pictured was always better than the reality. He had almost forgotten Earth’s awful beauty. Scratching his fat chin, then his groin; he yawned for some reason. The process of constantly thinking about the colony was boring him. He took some state-sponsored stimulants and tried to regain his professional composure; he needed a wide variety of state-sponsored medications to get back into the right frame of mind.

According to his last stasis entry, Krugler had briefly lost it after some religious event called Tele-pathe in 1991. Krugler remembered his experiences. None of them had anything to do with bogies, tyme-crafts and love-crafts. He had never got that time back in the end.

Krugler smiled. What was he doing back then? It was as if he was another person in some other time. Of course, Krugler was too dense to realize he was another person back then(...you must remember Mr Kirk's son?...) Krugler wished he was back there; back in those good old days of liberating bliss.

The bliss of nothingness, he did not quite know, but it was just better. Krugler started crying for his devastated home planet. He remembered, quite suddenly, that he danced in the rain and in the sun. He also didn't mind remembering how he danced under the moon, in his goat mask. He was a purified hedonist back then. Now he was getting fat and felt that he was worthless in his current state. He was only fit for stasis. You needed to be fat for stasis, or you just wouldn't survive.

Krugler started wailing, as if he was a child again; his memories were not good; he had forgotten the good bits and realized he had just remembered the first time he had copulated while covered in bright purple vomit. He remembered the strange bend in his penis. Luckily, his sexual partner [...whoever they might be...]thought the vomit was some kind of UV party paint. Krugler couldn't help his tantrum. Maybe he was just a big fat space baby?

After a while, maybe three or four hours, he was perspiring very heavily. Krugler dreamed about his en vitro birth; he had eaten his mother’s raw placenta with chilli and pure psilocybin. It took a while to defrost, too. Futuristic music streamed through his mind, turning his memories to anime inspired star-blogs. He had locked these times in the file Detted 29-62. It was banging away, banging his colony mind. Krugler suddenly saw himself in the back of a shiny teaspoon-pen device. It was a spoon-pen from another colony, a mere souvenir. He couldn't remember how he had acquired this odd piece of technology.

All those lost lives, those lost times, Krugler had lived in a somewhat sudden blur. They could have easily been idle reveries, or meandering astral projections in different time-worlds. Maybe this was how the mutations started: strange visions of other worlds, other bodies, other memories.

Krugler didn't know if this souvenir was really his. He blamed his medication, which he had not taken for some time. He gave the pen-spoon device more of his blood, as there was no more ink left. Blood was slowly becoming a secondary currency. Tears, mixed with sweat, slowly dripped down Krugler's flabby cheeks.

Krugler then spent a full five hours looking at his reflection in the back of spoon-pen. It was not a true reflection and mutated his appearance. It could not have been good for his hypochondria; Krugler should have just got a mirror. But he was getting vain in his old age. He was fat and short - this made him look like any human colony-breeder - as he was almost ninety centimetres. He felt relieved: he was liberated being bald, pale and fat - but he had a large selection of wigs. After all, this was his entitlement as he was a pure human

Krugler didn't wear these at work. He was ashamed by the state of his teeth; no treatment worked, but he would still gorge himself on the faddy space root known as Norkweedroot. It was quite addictive and became a staple of the colony diet. It turned his teeth the colour of fresh human excrement. He had no idea how his breath smelled; he just wasn't bothered no more. There was nobody around that had been bothered by fictional halitosis...

3) THE MUTO-GUFFER

The buzzer rang, as Krugler was left in his reverie. A projected message vid-i-holo-e-tube appeared in the room. It was his last Corporal, Ludovic. He was tall for a colony man, and his features were stern, almost equine; but he was a jovial gentle giant of exactly one metre and thirty centimetres.

His laugh could be heard down the sterilized, empty, colony corridors. He was wearing a different skin colour; Krugler thought it bizarre that Ludovic would change his skin again. It was a costly process. Krugler had no idea Ludovic was so vain; this new skin made Ludovic look like a giant reptile – some weird extra out of an awful old sci-fi B-movie. Skin-tatt-ethno-shells had grown to be another popular colony design fad. They will go the same way as holo-dream-tatts, thought Krugler. 

It was because no-one wanted to be boxed up. Ludovic had looked different when he had his laz-r-nose-ring in. It did have some problems, like no anti-sneeze fail-safe. Many had needlessly died when Ludovic sneezed. Krugler assumed he was out of that phase. He was still staring into the back of the spoon, as Ludovic tried to inform of him of something.

The dialogue within his mind was blurred and went something like this:

SIR?.............Chief Krugler? Dr Krugler? Can you hear me?.....

...........WELL, SIR....I...

....Ludovic are you in my mind? Krugler thought.

Have I stopped talking?

Krugler had an image of the past[in his mind, as I was in his mind]: a flat in Islington, London. It had to be Islington. Only abodes so posh can be surrounded by so much poverty. He was daubed in blood and was performing various sex magick rituals with a string of different partners. Krugler gasped, as Ludovic appeared to be one, dressed as some kind of unkempt tramp....His erect penis looked like Willem Dafoe's fine specimen...Willow the Goat wasn't Krugler's real name...

...[G.O.A.T.]...Goat Willow was not a girl? His former name had not been [classified] either. Why had they named him after a pornographic performer? Krugler didn't know. His erectile flesh burned, his sweaty veins protruding; the scent of cosmic mucous filled the room, mixing with the strange incense of.....

...SIR?...SIR?....DR?....DR?... 

....SIR, I—

The dialogue suddenly ended.

Krugler rubbed his eyes. He wanted a major look. It must have been some kind of dream; occasional recreational psychic masturbation. The One Galactic Dove was never known here. The transmission had cut off as the dubbing was out of time. Not quite time out of mind, but it was a bit iffy. No communications device worked properly in the colony after the sudden mutation breakdown and everyone was a bit paranoid who was listening in. So nothing was arranged. As you can tell, this was always the way.

4) MUTO-TIME TRAILS

Professor Norkgrub tapped the evo-console; he had no printed read-out in his cushion-capsule. It was too environmentally friendly; it would e-mind-i-message him later. He was annoyed that nothing worked again. It was not a good idea to try fixing it; it had seemed to fix itself eventually. He