The Pzi-Apex, R.K. Galvez [reading like a writer TXT] 📗

 ...Part 2: The Harpy Juice Machine at Bayswater.

...It was a question of Les checking out his sources. He consulted Norkgrub's seed around his neck and was pointed in the direction of the Theosophia Pneumatica. He had lost this on a night bus, after a high time, as you know these nights happen quite often. And he consulted the baarbatel [timecode: 1575]. He needed to summon Hocgel...The magnificent portent of hope...And, obviously, hope brings great darkness to cancel it out. It wasn't an exact science, as he looked for the right jewel, magic[k] horn and book. He found a jewel encrusted magic[k] horn-book... It was a great idea and knew Norkgrub must've have invented it for him in the future. This was the power to unlock his miseries and change his life. Barloy rushed through the ritual:

“OLAYOFAYFAGINGYFAGADESPAGINGYSPAGADEOFAYSCRONCHADONAIKOPASETEESCRONCHADONAI."

[Warning: this quote was quite possibly mis-quoted...Les Barloy was still very intoxicated...]

...Oh uh-umm, errr...It did hurt his throat, but he greedily guzzled more lysergic opiate wine; his favourite chalice got stained with numerous alien secretions. He tried to blow the jewel encrusted magick horn-book. It needed warming up; he needed to give it a good rub. He had been so use to casual exchanges he had forgotten his manners.

...It tried to talk to him; only then Barloy realized that it wanted to see the world first, before it opened up and submitted to Barloy's whims. Barloy took it to the trend-i-pads: Astral Fire and then to Ye Olde Matter Wood, but it didn't matter....The ritual was ruined. They both left on a bendy bus at seven-forty-five; but then, the book revealed its secrets telepathically to Barloy. He was about to make himself a cornflake, tomato ketchup and crisp sandwich, when he felt the air leave the room; Barloy choked for a bit, before breathing strangely. He looked around his bedsit... He was in a tomb again...Was this the astral tyme craft he was trying to build after all?...

...The sparse furnishings and soft lighting were all intact…It was nothing like Battlestar Galactica, of course…Well, only in spirit I suppose…Assemble had got there first in a 21st century way…Art should be for everyone…As long as it is just the middle-classes and their offspring who make a living from it…Speaking of living, he needed to programme the Sodny-bot to whisk around [and make sure he got all the lube off it] to cleanse some life-force manna fixes….But – yes another ‘but’ - he heard the toilet flush… It wasn't him, surely…Had he had an astral variant of unconsciously uncoupling with his toilet?...Sounds a bit goopy in all honesty…He went through the door and saw that he was still alive, although he was going to encounter those strange agents....

...Barloy saw himself open his bedsit door to allow the foul agents to enter. They had ten blood-shadow harpies with them. It was a set up. Why hadn't he seen it coming?...So much for the seering psychic japes, he thought. Barloy watched as the bloody creatures jumped upon him, forcing him further into the bedsit, dragging him around like a rag-doll. He regretted answering the door in high heels. It was a simple error, but Barloy didn't know that these Agents were like that. What did they want with him? Barloy checked his personal ad section, in case they had found him through that. But it wasn't so hard to tell; he was getting well networked and he blamed the words in his mouth and others' choice of words within his locality. Barloy was, slowly, getting a bad reputation….His reception was not great either…It was slightly lucky for him that this was not happening to his real self...Barloy was using an astral mould projection that a ‘friend’ had invented for him…He heard Bruce scream somewhere in the chasms of time[...not in the canyons of his mind, though...]…Those harpies were silly as Barloy watched them devour his altered self...They were going to get a nasty shock... 

...Part Seven[Interlude excerpt]: The Dull Diary of Professor Norkgrub, Volume 459.

September 1792, Verdun

Goddamn battles! So I'm a goddamn zoophyte, but I got ears! My feelers are flipping out, too! And I need some new leg-bands, but that dodgy Duke of Brunswick's getting all funny again. You know what he's like! Parties, battles, trying to stop regicide, you know that sort of thing. I started to play the sitar and swapped it for an experimental kazoo. No-one knew the difference! It wasn't a very good time here. And the hippies said "vibe" all the time, which was very boring. People here didn't burn the books, they ate them! It was either that or the cats, you know what those political clubs are like! I went to that Jacobin Club one time and rocked it, as some hippy kid might say. He was lazer-tined the next day, I tried to save him, but he just started laughing. But, I, the one and only Professor Norkgrub, are above those dumb groovies. I don't dislike them, they just think I'm a fool and keep laughing at me, but one day I'll show them! I'm not just another plant to get seeds off! Yes, I've done a business course now and even performed minor surgery on an amoeba. That's tough, I needed some decent glasses, and you know what zoophytes are like with glasses! Anyway, I didn't like the siege much; it was dull. Everything's dull, I wondered if another place might be better, but I'm waiting for that Tellman guy. He's a rubbish pilot, well, he's not too bad, but he's always late. He likes Earth too much. Wait, aren't we on earth still?
I had to think about this for a few years, and this ends volume four-hundred and fifty-nine of my diary. I'll start another in a century or two...Hang on, who the blazes keeps calling you Bruce, Les?

...Part Eight:

...Les Barloy[a.k.a Bruce] was now dressed in his disguise as the Midnight Pharmacy Lemonade Drinker. Usually this was the classic Victorian catamite look, but for this realm it was the trendy life-coach look…This was a leather bomber jacket, loose 'action' slacks and, if possible, a pair of well-polished Chelsea boots. On some occasions, Barloy still wore his turban and ballet slippers. The Chelsea boots caused his fungal feet even greater irritation, so he thought he could pass it off with ballet slippers. It was an ego he had merged off a retired bogey fighter, who's name he struggled to remember...Barloy was hoping he would be reunited with his trusty sidekick called the August-Ham Man.

Unfortunately, his watermelon-headed assistant had not materialized...It was Professor Norkgrub instead... He was a plant man - technically a zoophyte - even though he hated this description. And he didn't like flies. But he was quite hardy and always very intoxicated. This helped things, as he usually released dangerous gasses and projectile seeds; he was always shooting off, good old Norky! Professor Norkgrub didn't like being called 'Norky' just by any old Tom, Dick or Harry; but Les called him this affectionate nickname in secret. And sometimes when he was alone in the toilet... Les Barloy was a bit odd like that...Really Les!...

...That was when Les passed out...He thought he may have died but Les was actually in astral transit...He did not want to be a demon, but sometimes one cannot help it...At least it keeps the cosmic trigger happy...

PHULTOR:

HOW I GET OUT [Les' Barloy's quick guide to Polluted Necromancy]...
I'm out; been stuck in there for a long, long, time. Ever since that botched conjuration of Lucifer in Mile End. It was rubbish anyway, but it has to be good to be out...

......THINKTHINKTHINKTHINK....

BRUCE NEWTON [he starts reading astral thoughts, though his mind-ray was not upgraded, but he liked pzi- spying on HAL and MS ELAINE PETTIFER]: The demon was perfect, Hal thought. This would be the best the PharmGov has seen yet. Hal felt heady, the sample was perfect. He imagined the applause from the scientific community and gazed lovingly at the creature, although he was slightly disgusted by those awful features. The independent panel examined the extent of the mutation; it was expertly confirmed that this sample is definitely of alien origin. Hal consulted the loose chronology he had close to hand. he tried to make sense of more, but hadn't really got the background. He was a research assistant on a fast- track, although the Dogon tribe had known about this for aeons.
But please be honest, our information isn't great; more like guesswork of what all the reliable possibilities might be. Hal turned to Elaine Pettifer. He stared at her. She was staring at the mutated alien demon and listening to 'Watermelon Man', not noticing me looking at her [somewhat unwashed and ever so slightly...]...Can she see me seeing her?...Watching me watching; how queer...She was quite unconventional, with her long brown hair, and phoney hippy beads....Listening to music on the job was a very pop-cultural touch. But her sound-plugs looked like hearing aids. Hal wished he wasn't so chubby and regretted having a small circumcised penis. He had a hang-up about this and thought about it all the time....
Hal, you little shit! I'm after you know, I'll get you. [ADONAI, AGLAON, ELANEL, TETRAGRAMMATON!] That was quick.......*****************Where am...""!!""!!$%£^&_)(*?>@~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}{+I...Going?....Where?

Note on Hal's meds: He thought this was part of himself talking; he did not know which part....Can you guess? Where can his soul be squeezed as we all know the soul does not exist, that must be just another primitive explanation of---

MECHANIZEDMENTAL WARNING! THINK PLEASE THINK PLEASE THINK!

[EXE.MEDULLA DAMAGE REPORT:STATUS:]

Hal woke up: He was sweating. His food-covered tracksuit stuck to him like velcro. His apartment was cramped; full of journals, old vinyl records and various bits of rubbish. He had fallen asleep on his soiled sofa. Full of stains. It reeked and Hal never had time to clean it. He was hardly home. He wondered why he did not know Mrs Pettifer's first name. He always called her 'maam' [How cute - awful shit-for-brains, I hate this loser; I'm almost there... Her name has to be Elaine] even though she was only a decade older than him...
Hal was feeling strange and he had tried to avoid looking at his small erection. Suddenly, he vomited. Hal had never been this sick before. The vomiting continued for hours, until he was vomiting lots of blood. He was too weak to reach and activate his communicator, as his vision blurred.More blood flowed[YES! BLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD! I will be, no Aiwass, nooo-] His apartment was filled with a greenish blackish blood. He then felt thirsty and needed some water. He took a bottle of mineral water off the bill-cluttered coffee table. Guzzling it, he felt strange. He knew he was drinking too fast....

Ed.Amendment:[STATUS:] This is what weirded Hal out. The water seeped through his paused pores. Hal then felt faint. But when he woke again he was no longer Hal. I know this as