The Recruit

“Shh, don’t tell, don’t tell anyone,” said Mallikarjun, to which Ravichandra responded, “Shh, don’t tell anyone,” to which Mallikarjun responded, “Shh, don’t tell anyone,” to which Ravichandra responded, “Shh, don’t tell anyone,” to which Mallikarjun responded, “Shh, don’t tell anyone.”

Watch. Just. Just.
Watch just watch.

And he pulled the lever.

Did you remember the wine for the picnic? Did you remember the Horsehead Nebula for the picnic? Did you remember the plasma irregularities for the picnic? Did you remember the wine for the vinophagic muon neutrinos? Did you remember the wine for Emperor Commodus? Clarissa’s gotten engaged, whitecake wedding ghostcandled bride, engaged, lecherous vampire bats fluttering in the dark.

Spinning, it was. Spinning, spinning. Violet-mauve-lavender, not spacetime but hyperspacetime, spinning, a metahyperreferenced mindscape, and here’s your 100 trillion-page Excel spreadsheet that details the navigational pathways. On behalf of our company. On behalf of the Jacobin revolutionaries. On behalf of Galahad the Pure. We would like to offer you. Fluctuations expanding and exchanging chronons and transferring temporal chroma, the dream machine activated, hippocampal neurons blooming in fractal forms, a neural garden of chaos enclosed by rows of colonnades that span light years in distance, the universe creating itself, mapping itself at every point onto a vector field, performing symmetry-preserving transformations and translating itself into higher dimensions.

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