Advances in Skin Science:

Quantum Tantra
An Interview with Nick Herbert
by Joseph Matheny

"It's always gooiest

before it solidifies"
Beverly's Ovation,
Beverly Rubik Ph.d

(also see Egg

Physics 101,
The Mad
Scientist Keeps
Egging Me On
and Back to OZ )

"Quantum Tantra is not just another way to get high using common
objects you can find around the house... Caution: Practicing Q.T.
before you understand Bell's Theorem of interconnectveness is like
walking into the Amazon jungle without a map." - Alternate
Dimensions. Jabir ibn Hayyan

(also see Egg Physics 101 and The Mad Scientist Keeps Egging
Me On )

Journal entry:

October 13,1992

I finally get a line on INCUNABULA. Following a lead from a culture-

jamming club in San Francisco (MediaKaos 415-789-8350), I arrive in
the small New Jersey town of Ong's Hat. The address that I have for
INCUNABULA is a P.O. Box. The local postmaster/general store
operator was very helpful. Almost too helpful! He told me that
Cranston and INCUNABULA books had fled the area one night about
a month ago. I gained access to Cranston's P.O. Box key while the
owner had his back turned and returned later to examine the
contents. All I found inside were overdraft notices from his bank and
some solicitations from a church of geniuses in Dallas, Texas or
some such nonsense. Another dead end.

October 14, 1992

I arrive in New York City, get a room, restock supplies and think. I call
New Jersey information to get the phone number for the Ong's Hat
general store and post office so I can ask the postmaster a few more
questions. I am told by the inbred boob on the other end of the line
that there is no such town listed in New Jersey, and after a long and
heated debate, we terminate the phone call by mutually insulting
each other's gene pool. God, I hate the phone company.

October 16, 1992

Two days (and two bottles of Johnny Walker Black Label) later, I
finally get lead on one of the most intriguing authors listed in the
INCUNABULA Catalog, Nick Herbert, author of Quantum Reality,
Faster Than Light: Superluminal Loopholes in Physics, and of course,
the legendary Alternate Dimensions.

Herbert was a former SDI scientist turned renegade researcher. His

past areas of renegade research involved pleasure dome
technologies, Quantum Tantra (the Egg Yoke method), Time and
Dimensional travel theories, and gelatinous substances.

I'll give you a little background on Alternate Dimensions (A.D.). It was

written in 1989 by Herbert, but was suppressed by the publisher,
Harper & Row, for unexplained reasons in 1990. INCUNABULA was
offering bound, uncorrected galley copies for $100.00 each, or at
least they were, until Cranston disappeared with the whole kit-n-
kaboodle. In A.D., it seems that Herbert gave away the inner secrets
of a Tantrik-dimensional travel cult based in northern California.
Using techniques that combined Herbert's own theory of Quantum
Tantra, and hardware technology, consisting of an egg-shaped craft
of some sort, members of the cult were able to penetrate into other
dimensions. There were also intense visualization techniques, and
Tantrik-Egg-Yoke postures involved, but the Xerox copy I had
purchased from MediaKaos seemed to be missing some of the key
technical portions.

Herbert was now hiding out in the backwater town of Boulder Creek,
CA, deep in the heart of the Santa Cruz mountains.

I hopped aboard a plane to San Jose, and drove a rental car up to

Boulder Creek. About a mile away from Herbert's farm house, I called
him on my cellular phone. Surprisingly enough, Herbert was very
cordial, and agreed to meet me in town for lunch and conversation.
He suggested Adelita's Mexican Cantina, gave me directions, and
promised to meet me there in an hour.

I drove into town and went over my notes while I waited. About an
hour later, Dr.Herbert appeared in the parking lot driving a electric
Stutz Bearcat kit car. I recognized him instantly from his book jacket
photos, even with the recently acquired beard. Was he attempting to
change his appearance? Was he preparing to flee, like Cranston had
30 days ago?

I casually reached into my jacket and activated my pocket recorder. I

waved him over to my table, and after shaking hands we settled down
to a lunch of Dos Equis and Gorditas.

"Okay" I said, after some pleasantries about the weather, "let's start
with the obvious question: What is Quantum Tantra?"

"Well, psychology has used a lot of classic metaphors to explain the

mind, like the hydraulic metaphor of urges building up, an even when
repressed, they'll find some way to spurt out to the surface. We're told
that releasing your repressions will relieve the pressure, and you'll
become healthy. That's a very classical metaphor. Now we have this
marvelous new way of thinking called quantum mechanics, and it
seems right to use these metaphors to explain human behavior. So,
what's the most interesting human behavior of all? Sexual, of course.
That's the idea, to use quantum mechanical metaphors to explore
sexuality, to look at it through the lens of quantum physics. I would
consider Q.T. successful if we could find new things to do that never
would have been thought, of using the old metaphors. I mean, of
course, pleasant things. (laughter). The core idea of Q.T. stems from
Heisenberg's statement that "atoms are not things." So, Q.T. naturally
extrapolated that statement into "well than people are not things,
either." People are not things in the same way that atoms are not
things."

"What are things?" I asked

"Things are entities that have attributes, whether you look at them or
not. They're big, they're solid and such. You can list their attributes.
Non-things, or Quantum objects, like atoms or molecules, don't have
attributes. They are basically clusters of oscillating possibilities, the
possibilities not even being well-defined. It might reward us to look
that way at people, as oscillating possibilities." He took a long draw
off his Dos Equis, and signaled the waiter for another.

" So, try and think of what the essence of quantum theory is," he
continued,

"Three adjectives: Randomness, thinglessness, and

interconectiveness. Randomness I associate with the spontaneity that
is within people. Uncertainty is the very essence of romance. It's what
you don't know that intrigues you." "Now, thinglessness is even more
renunciatory'" he went on. "The notion of treating people like
possibilities rather than fixed structures is a healthy one, I think."
"Interconnectiveness is the most fantastic feature of Q.T. Things are
connected in the quantum world in such a way that only did we not
think of it before the discovery of quantum mechanics, but I don't
think we could have thought this way at all. It's so strange. The
terrestrial belief system that comes the closest to quantum
connectiveness is VooDoo."

"Sympathetic magick?" I queried. This was getting good.

"Yes, sympathetic magick," he replied.

"Of course, the VooDoo conception is naive in comparison to Q.T.'s

connectiveness. In VooDoo, you do something like burn someone's
hair to give them a headache. The Quantum connection isn't that
crude. It has more to do with timing. In the Quantum world, you burn
someone's hair, and maybe they miss an appointment. The
Newtonian world view emphasized control over the world, whereas,
the Quantum world view doesn't emphasize control so much as
timing. You could say that the Newtonian view emphasized force,
where the Quantum world emphasizes finesse." "One analogy is
ordinary, steerable dish radar versus phased array antennae.
Steerable dish physically moves the whole antenna structure. In the
phased array antennae, you have a whole array that are all fixed.
None of them move, but by changing the timing on these antennae,
you get a virtual antenna that's pointed in any direction. That's an
example of finesse, rather than force. Quantum connection is like
that. It is set up like VooDoo by having something that the other
person has interacted with, some sympathetic object."

"But what does this have to do with sex?" I asked.

Herbert was quick to answer.

"I'm getting to that. In Q.T., the tantra part has to do with sex as well
as religion. Every religion has their symbol. The Christians have the
cross, Islam has the crescent and star, the Pagans have the
pentagram, the wheel for Buddhism, and so forth. Q.T. has it's
symbols, also. One of them is this fork."

He picked up a salsa-encrusted fork, and stared at it rapturously.

"It reminds us to see the world as possibilities," he continued, "In the

Newtonian world, starting from now, only one thing could happen.Q.
T. sees the future as open possibilities, like the tines of this fork.
Actually, if this fork were fuzzy, like Man Ray's fuzzy cup and
spoon..."

I was beginning to understand. That or the Dos Equis was kicking in. I
felt lightheaded.

"So the borders would not quite be defined..." I replied.

"Yes," he said, eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

"The possibilities are defined only by your intentions, by how you

construe the moment. Quantum possibilities are not quite as defined
as dice possibilities, even. With a die, only one of six numbers will
come up, whereas with Quantum possibilities, it depends on how you
look at the moment, and that again, is part of thinglessness. All of
these elements have resonances in popular literature. Like the talk of
the inexplicable chemistry that occurs between two people, or this
notion of 'it's bigger than both of us'. The type of connectivity that's
possible in quantum theory allows two connected entities to be in
indefinite states , but allows the couple itself to be in a definite state!
The mathematics on this are clear. As Heisenberg said, 'quantum
theory has changed our way of thinking completely,' and it's changed
in such a way that it didn't dissolve into some unclear, fuzzy fog, but
into this absolute clarity of a new mathematics. Now the mathematics
describe the fog in a very precise way. So, it's this kind of very
precise unclarity."

"You're talking like a lot of mystics I know!" I scoffed.

He replied laughing, "Except, this is found in ordinary physics! This is

stuff that was discovered 75 years ago, it's not new stuff at all. It's
only now beginning to permeate popular culture. So, we have this
system where each member of the pair, say, a man and a woman, or
a man and a man, or a woman and a woman, or whatever, are
defined. They've gotten themselves into a state where their
individualities are not as clear, but the couple itself as an entity, is
better defined than the individual members of the set. We use
symbols, like the fork, to remind ourselves of these things, because
the human mind is not yet used to thinking in parallels." "Our data
rate is miniscule, compared to say, television data rates equivalent to
megabits per second, or telephones, which are equivalent to
thousands of kilobits per second. Morse code is about 10 bits per
second, and that's pretty close to our attention rate! I mean, when
we're not on robot, when we do come to attention, we don't bring
much to this moment in terms of quantity. It's been estimated at about
16 bits a second. So, people need simple graphic symbols, like the
fork, or the cross, or the crescent, to remind themselves that they're
Moslems, or whatever. So, one symbol I've invented to epitomize
Randomness, Thinglessness and Interconnectiveness is the trinity of
White, Hot and Sticky. White corresponds to Thinglessness, Hot to
Randomness, and Sticky to Interconnectiveness. By white, I mean
like white light, all the colors together, all human sexual potentials.
Thinglessness is wrought with possibilities. As David Finklestein, the
inventor of quantum logic said, 'We are all white light, in the sense
that we are all possibilities.' Hot has to do with newness, spontaneity
that we can bring to the moment to remind us that the moment can be
ever new. That's a hard thing to live up to, sexually, and otherwise.
Sticky, of course, typifies the new kind connectiveness. A metaphor
for achieving stickieness, are objects that you break in two, and each
partner keeps one half. The fracture is unique, that I will only match
one other person in the whole world! Quantum objects help to
enhance this two-person white, hot, sticky state. And music is the
connection in this technology."

"Why music?" I asked.

"Because, these possibilities are vibratory." he answered. 'In the

physical world, every atom, or possibility is vibrating at a certain
frequency. The higher the energy level, the higher the frequency or
pitch of the vibrations. We can't hear, smell, see, or taste any of these
vibrations except indirectly. I'm doing more research with solid state
technology, sound sequences."

"Ok, now what about Alternate Dimensions, the egg craft, the travel
cults, Tantric-Yoke techniques, I mean, what about all this stuff!" I
finally blurted, unable to hold back any longer.

"Young man, I have no idea what you're talking about. All I can say is
there are some questions that you should not ask directly, and some
answers that may come as a result of finesse over force. This
interview is now concluded."
Egg Physics 101
(also see Advances in Skin
Science and The Mad
Scientist Keeps Egging
Me On and Back to OZ )

04-2001

Doctor Jabir 'abd al-Khaliq

dear joe--

have been thinking about how one might really go about building a
tantric egg to travel to other universes. Unlike quantum tantra where
we are seeking to maximally entangle ourselves with the things and
beings of THIS world while for egg travel what you want to do is
DISCONNECT from this world and float free.

It would be interesting to collect fantasies that people use to lull

themselves to sleep at night. My trainer often imagines himself back
in ancient Rome and tries to feel that reality as realistically and in as
much detail as he can. I usually don't have any trouble falling asleep
but sometimes I use a meditation that's related to egg research. It
goes a bit like this:

What you want to do for D-travel is to disconnect so the egg is

suspended in a magnetic field inside a as good a vacuum as can be
achieved on earth and shielded from electromagnetic radiations too.
Gravity can penetrate of course but that's no problem because gravity
is a uniform field and does not entangle you. If gravity were a problem
nothing on earth would be coherent--lasers would be impossible.

Now even tho you have disconnected from Earth1 you are still phase-
connected to all the things you've touched in the past (Bell's
Theorem). However these phase connections are so randomized that
they can be ignored. With respect to these objects the egg and its
contents are in what is technically called a "product state"--that is, no
entanglement.

So you are now quantum-disconnected but you may still be

classically connected, that is the insides of the egg may still be
causally dependent (Newton's Laws) on what is happening on the
outsides. That's why you've brought along some quantum-random
sources which you procede to use to make decisions about the
placements of objects, dial settings, rotational position of the egg, etc.

Now that the egg has been isolated from the rest of the universe it is
subject to schroedinger's equation--the egg is a kind of
Schroedinger's Cat. So now the egg is taking all possible paths,
spreading out into all alternative universes without you having to do a
thing. Most of these universes are very similar to Earth1 but the
longer you wait before disembarking the stranger will be the
alternative worlds you will be exploring. Waiting increases the
strangeness.

Meanwhile outside the Egg the World can be considered also a (big)
isolated Schroedinger Cat which is spreading out in probability space
exploring all possible configurations--configurations that are not in the
least bit entangled with your own isolated quantum evolution.

Recipe for dimensional travel: Isolate Egg, Wait, Reconnect, then

open the hatch.

You may wish to call the world into which you exit "Earth2" but most
of the inhabitants believe it's the only world there is.

And about returning to what you previously called Earth1?

No way, Jose.

addendum to egg physics 101:

Of course the Simple Isolate & Wait Egg will only take you to
universes that have branched from our own at or after the time you
begin the isolation--namely voyages to universes you might have got
to anyway by normal means. Access to universes that have branched
long before the egg was constructed will require more sophisticated
travel arrangements.

happy trails
Doctor Jabir
The Mad
Scientist Egging
Me On
by Kelly Evans
(March 2001)

(also see
Advances in
Skin Science
and Egg Physics
101 and Back to
OZ)

Last week the mad scientist, known also as "the dirty old man,"
"Q," or "Saint Nick," finally coughed up the goods. I'd been
pestering him to show me his quantum tantra sex toys and introduce
me to his friends, an interworld travel cult. The night began with a
shindig with the boys. I was encouraged to take as much of whatever
mind-altering substance was to my taste. Later I'd learn why. In
retrospect, I realized this was what passed for an initiatory hazing for
this fringe-science travel cult.

The boys turned out to be hackers, but the kind of hackers who'd
been hacking before computers were invented, even before
agriculture or the wheel. In aboriginal times they would have been
called shamans. But now they were hackers, real hackers, the kind
who stride the inner mysteries of computers like familiar jungle paths.

Just as the mad scientist is a real scientist, the kind who accelerates
particles and writes numbers like words. If this had been fiction I
would have felt more at home. I was like a fictional device, the guy
the audience is supposed to identify with, because like them, he
doesn't understand a word that these brainy bastards say.

To be fair, in spite of their drunken carousing and salutary advances

on our waitresses and women at neighboring tables, peppered with a
technobabble of hacker jargon that made my vision blur, the boys
were very polite and friendly towards the lowest common
denominator, yours truly. I'd often wondered what the mad scientist
saw in me, and occasionally I asked him, carefully, since having a
mad scientist as a friend was too good to screw up by appearing as
stupid as I really am. He patiently explained to me that by his
estimations and "scans" he had determined that my habit, or "knack"
as he called it, for constantly seeking, and imagining a better
pornography was potentially a real boon to the science community.

He was constantly trying to tease the pornographic visions from my

head. Truly, I have some good ideas for pornography that no one has
done. And surely, they would sell. And really, I don't care if I do them
or someone else does, since all I want is good porn, and a
comfortable world that is more conducive to hedonism. So I'm happy
to share my dream-inspired sex visions, in a nutshell or expanded to
tree size.

In a nutshell, I fantasize about all the enlightened immortal women

that I'd read about in my religion books ganging up on humans and
banging them into samadhi. Men watching these luminous fuck
scenes would get their chakras lit up from the comfort of their homes
and the stories would be chock full of educational materials, ready to
feed the newborn and ravenously hungry higher chakras, but never
for a moment interfering with the good fucking, which is what the
audience thinks it's paying for. So I happily gave everything I had to
the travel cult, and they were polite and adjusted their hackerese to
accommodate my religious lexicon, substituting words like God and
Enlightenment for whatever are their hacker equivalents, and willingly
went down the yellow brick road of tantric sex with me, pointing out
many new sights I'd never noticed along the way. Later, when I was
well sloshed, the mad scientist shuttled me away with winks at the
boys. "I know it's late, Kelly," he said, "but there's something I've
been wanting to show you."

We drove out of Santa Cruz and into the mountains, proceeding from
paved road to dirt, from smooth to rutty. We passed the Goddess
Temple, where the saint said he often stopped to take in a belly
dance or kundalini session. The mad scientist's secret lab was way
beyond that, past nightmarish hells of rusty car skeletons and No
Trespassing signs ominously holey from bullets. He explained that his
real estate choice was partly due to financial considerations, and
partly because all the meth labs, grizzly gun-toting Okies and Viet
Nam vets served him well as a front for his secret experiments.
"They're almost as good as an army," he explained.

"But the first lines of modern defense are always information mazes,
media blinds, propaganda traps. And anyone nerdy enough to get
past those is usually pretty easily scared by an old man with a gun
and a dog." "Are you working on anything a government or terrorist
group might want or fear?" I asked.

"Ah," said the madman, arching his brows significantly. "The meth
labs are simply a moat. They are not the last line of defense."

Finally we arrived, the wheels of the car balancing like tightrope

walkers on the ridges of ruts so deep they would have swallowed the
wheels of a SUV like the hungry swamp blob in an old sci-fi movie.

The mad saint's secret lab looked like a shack, but the floor opened
and led to a cavernous basement that, even when flooded with bright
light, still faded at the far end into darkness.

"Of course you know," he said, literally jabbing me in the ribs with his
elbow, "that now you can never leave."

I laughed dutifully and not a little nervously. The place was full of all
kinds of mysterious equipment, some of which he pointed out as we
proceeded briskly towards the darkness.

"There's the ecto-typewriter. That's vintage mad scientist stuff.

There's my sex toy, Claire, the AI." Sitting on a chair was a stunningly
beautiful woman, seemingly frozen in time, like a 3D photo. I goggled.
Here was all this stuff I'd believed were only fictional devices.
Perhaps I myself was real as well!

"I'd like to give HER a Turing test," I ventured lamely.

He snickered and we passed a huge cloaked blob, with all sorts of

roundy and jabby things concealed.

"What's that?" I asked. "That's not ready to show," he said quickly,

picking up his pace. "It's a prototype of the zazzomatic."

"The telepathy machine?"

"Yes."

"But it's so big!"

"Just like early computers. Commercial models will be much smaller.

Like all truly revolutionary technology, size is not what matters. It's
sneaking past the meter-maid snipers. You have no idea how many
really wonderful devices that could have helped humanity and other
species have been shot down because they would have undermined
global, meterable systems."

Now we'd reached our destination. My eyes must have looked like
saucers. It was something else right out of fiction. A myth not yet
visible in popular culture, only as rumor whispered around campfires
by neo-shamans "high on a vine," or a molecule, a tribe well-known
for cloaking the ineffable in allegorical terms, so that their stories
were rarely true at face value.

But there it was, a real Egg! It was surrounded by panels that looked
like jet airplane dashboards.

The controls were mostly the old-fashioned toggle and dial type. And
there were exposed tangles of wires connecting various panels which
were apparently being constantly added or disconnected, sometimes
set in boxes of nailed-together plywood or haphazardly soldered here
and there. I took it all in like a kid in a candy shop.

"Wow, a real live Egg," I said in the hushed tones that invariably issue
from the lips of religious zealots or sports fans adoring their idols.
"What is all that stuff?"

"You've been asking why I found you so interesting," the saint's voice
came from behind me as if from a discarnate entity, a voice-over of
the images panning before my documentary camera eyes.

"Yeah," I continued talking in an absent-minded way, "I thought

maybe I was sort of like a lab rat, but" (I recovered enough presence
of mind to tack on some etiquette) "I always considered you a 'good'
scientist. You know, you were kind to your rats, gave us lots of
cheese and stuff."

"Well, I guess in a way you were not that far off. You see, I've been
modifying this travel device somewhat, according to your
pornographic rants. I've been milking you like you were a psychic
channel plugged into a spring of future science. If I was a really good
friend, I would have counseled you to sign an NDA before giving
away your ideas. Pure gold. And speaking of NDAs..."

The saint produced a big machine-rolled joint.

"This is better than any NDA. Also it's not safe or effective to operate
this Egg while you're straight."

He got it lit and passed it my way. Good shit! I was in doper heaven!
"So what do you mean," I said, speaking while inhaling, "that you
'modified' the Egg?"

"Well, in the original Eggs, you had to be fucking a tantrika--a

sexually skilled woman--in order to make it work. And if you could get
it to work, you ended up on a parallel Earth. Then you couldn't get
back unless you could do it without an Egg. As you can imagine,
frustrating even for 'initiates,' and nothing close to marketable."

"Sex is still critical to the travel process. And as you know, it's not just
travel that interests me—travel's just another form of escape--but the
direct mind-to-mind connection that facilitates this kind of travel. So I
took your ideas of scrolling through women, and wondered if it could
be applied here. "And I should add, it was not just your ideas that
intrigued me. More importantly, I thought you might make a good test
pilot. It takes a certain type, you know..."

"A Sputnik Egg dog..." I said contemplatively, taking another hit.

"Yes. Anyway, inside you will notice three concentric circular screens.
The two outer screens target systems deeper than ego. On the
central screen you will see the "new and improved" pornography, that
you've been pining for. It's not the canned stuff--this is real-time
actual fucking..."

"Where?" I muttered, "how?"

"I'm glad you asked that, Kelly. Now, look out here. This is a panel
that controls that orgone antenna on top of the egg. Reception
strength and range are partly determined by the receptivity of the
traveler. On the central screen you'll see the sex scene that you are
tuning in on, and all around suggestive variations on the themes that
have caught your attention. That's the basics." "However, there are
many settings you can tune from out here before you begin your trip.
This dial, for instance, determines the number of chromosomes of the
organisms you'll see fucking..."

"You mean you can get interspecies pornography on this thing?" "Of
course. And here's a toggle that determines if the life forms you'll tune
in are even DNA based or not. The default settings are for earth-type
humans..."

"I think that's where I'd like to start," I said, agog. "Most people have
to. You'd have to be pretty damn advanced to tune in to squid sex, or
fuck a molecule or a sun spot. Human sex is like training wheels for
Real Sex. Now, pay attention. Here are the dials that determine the
range. Do you want to tune in to sex in your home town, your country,
your world, nearby worlds--or shoot for other galaxies? And here's a
toggle that determines if the orgone antenna will seek signals
hyperdimensionally. That's how you get to the parallel earths. And
here's a dial that can scale you up to higher dimensions or down to
'flatland.'" "I'll stick with 3-D..."

"I wouldn't let you try anything else, safety considerations, ya know.
And speaking of safety, that's one thing that's really a quantum leap
between this new Egg and the old ones. With the old Eggs it was sink
or swim, teleport to Java 2 or just cum in the magnesium salts and
have to clean up and go home to the same old world."

"But with this new Egg, when you get a good resonance with a
certain fuck, your consciousness will piggy-back on the
consciousness of the chosen fucker...and you will ride around in his
bean, seeing and feeling what he sees for a little while, before your
natural affinity for your own "self" will automatically return you here, to
your body floating in this Egg...

"Can I be a woman if I'm a man?"

"Good question. Thanks for reminding me. Here's a toggle that

determines sex. Always start with your own, for practical purposes. If
you're a man you'll see the fuck from the man's point of view. It's
quite a neural tweak to do transgender, but it is possible, in theory.
There's even a switch here to turn the male/female toggle totally off,
since, as you might suspect from a casual look at nature, there are
species that do not use that system..."

"Like if I wanted to fuck a flower or a worm..."

"You might be in an amoeba-like one-sex situation...or in many cases

there are more than two sexes, and even more than one species
involved in sex. You might be surprised to know that many of these
bizarro modes of copulation are easier to navigate than a man
becoming a woman.

"Anyway, we'll start you out as a human male..."

"Thanks, but, you know, I'm starting to have second thoughts. I'm
happily married, you know."

"That's another good point. Eggsex is clearly not "cheating". And

that's not mere rhetoric. The sex really is happening between totally
other people. At worst, the Egg traveler could be called a voyeur. It
really is just innocent old pornography, but with a new twist...

"Now get in, and stick this on your dick. If you were a woman, you'd
use the dildo version. This is your sexual feedback interface. It's your
means of tuning the sex scenes. You can scroll through fucks and
focus in on the one that arouses you the most. This is also a good
way to start practicing for inter- species sex. Once you get your libido
revved up on humans, you can let the sexual momentum carry you
across the chromosome gap.

"I improved this dick device too. Actually Sony Corp did. A Japanese
friend in their R&D department smuggled it out to me. As long as I
don't use it commercially, it doesn't matter. What it is is a virtual
reality sex toy, for hi-tech phone sex. You view your partner on
screen or in goggles or whatever, and as you get turned on, this thing
heats up, and makes a nice simulation of thrusts using peristaltic
contractions. Your partner would feel corresponding sensations
through her "smart dildo". I've modified it so that it syncs up with the
image on the central screen and reads the flow of your orgone in your
body, across the viewscreens, and beyond.

"How does this orgone thing work? "

Another good question. But why do I get the feeling you're stalling?
Strip. Get in. And I'll explain it to you some more while you get jacked
in. There's an internal speaker and mike for communication."

Once I was afloat and strapped into the Sony sex toy the screens
flickered to life. A porn movie on the center screen. And I recognized
it! Zazel. A good one. I started to get erect, and suspicious. This was
all some kind of elaborate practical joke!

"Hey, that's not nice, getting me all worked up like that," I said. "This
is not an orgone antenna thing, is it? That's just a porn video."

"Of course it is, you jerk. How do you expect to tune orgone signals
with a limp dick? The dick is just the tip of the iceberg, you know...the
limp dick, that is. The erect penis is the tip of an endocrine flame that
licks towards orgone like oxygen. So just shut up and enjoy the show.
When your mind starts hungering for reality, for the dimensions of sex
that the pornographic movie cannot convey, you'll start tuning in to
real sex scenes..."

So I watched the copulations and strip teases with increasing interest,

and between a brain fine-tuned to respond to pornographic images
and pulsations of the Sony cybercunt I was fully erect in no time. On
the central screen, the movie dissolved into an interlocking array of
amateur porn scenes like a fly's eye view of some cosmic
whorehouse. The outer screens were filled with pulsating psychedelic
variations on the cosmic whorehouse theme—a disturbingly intense
abstract sexuality that was bypassing my conceptual censors and
sucker-punching my id.

"Wow," I said into the pitch darkness. "All I can say is, wow. That, and
you're gonna be rich! Even if this is just pornography, even if I'm a
joke butt, I don't care. This is like nothing I've ever seen, or felt,
before." I focussed on a woman's face and her image filled the
screen, wreathed by a circle of copulating bodies like the sculptures
on the sides of some Hindu sex temple in the middle of the jungle.
She was a stranger--a woman I'd never seen before--in the throes of
deep passion, her face transfigured, as I'd seen happen to many an
ordinary female, in my premarital days of sewing my oats, into the
face of divine beauty. I've never seen pornography do that! You had
to have had to have been there. And I was indeed experiencing this
woman through another man's eyes, not via the conventional camera
angles that can be so distracting in pornography, swiveling and
panning around the fuckers, zooming in on the penetration site or
cutting away abruptly to some unrelated situation. I was indeed at
someone else's whim, just as with pornography. Only in pornography,
it was the whim of the cameraman or the director none of whom is
actually turned on during the film making. Now I was at the whim of
the desire-driven male mind on whom I was "piggy-backing". I looked
where he looked. And I began to sense his thoughts, syncopated with
my thoughts, sometimes our two waves fusing together, sometimes
apart. At the moments when our minds meshed, I got a rush of the
sensations he was experiencing.

It was already getting intense, so I tried disengaging myself from the

action by closing my eyes and just listening to the sound track. My
mind was mostly my own again so while I had a moment of being
able to "think for myself," I spoke against the moaning darkness into
the mike.

"How's this orgone tuner thing work?"

The voice that came to me through the ether was like God or
something...a God that seemed incredibly beneficent in my aroused
state, a friendly God singing me a gnostic lullaby.

"Orgone is another name for the divine. A sort of sea of fields,

electromagnetic, genetic, and mind fields all amalgamated into a sea
of bliss. People and beings of all kinds are like droplets of this sea,
held together by the force (evaporation) that separated them in the
first place, combined with circumstance, where they fell as rain, what
river they rolled into, what animal drank them, what cell filled with
them, and so forth."

"No matter where any droplet (person, being) may be, there remains
always a direct, trans-spatial way in which they are intuitively
connected back to the sea. Sex. Sex is one key. At that moment of
union and division, the personality membrane of the droplet opens in
the "direction" of the divine orgone sea. That's the interfacial wave the
orgone antenna surfs, the momentary openings that spontaneously
appear between seemingly discrete selves and the no-self sea of
endless orgasmic bliss..."

The saint's soothing Lullaby of Truth rose and fell in volume as I

opened my eyes again, and entering once more the cosmic
whorehouse I scrolled through couple after couple eagerly, getting
the hang of the tantric Egg rig.

"AHHHH," I began to moan... "They're all...sooooo beautiful.

UNGGG. UMMM. yeah, what a tight wet one. .O my God, this one
smells like a new breed of animal flower. OOO, how can they ALL be
so FUCKING sexy?"

"Every sex act more or less opens the fuckers to the divine. But the
better the sex, the deeper the love, the stronger the arousal, the more
intense the signal. An erect penis is a dowsing rod towards a
particular brand of Truth. Some day every body part will be as
sensitive as the dick to hot new worlds. A side benefit of Egg travel is
that the traveler is training his whole body to sexually embrace the
ordinary world—the tantalizing world outside the Egg."

"A shortcoming, no pun, is that the fucker often falls asleep right after
coming and you're "left in the lurch". With practice you can hone in on
the more alert types. Look for signs like fucking somewhere other
than a bed, the taste of coffee or some other stimulant, daylight, and
so on."

As if on cue, I lost it right then.

Weirdest orgasm I'd ever had. Empty hands full of fleshy globes,
body slippery with sweat and the salt bath. I was here and there. I
had lost it in a syncopated moment, and was still oscillating back and
forth between my mind and the other guy's, quivering with the post
orgasmic shivers.

I rolled off a goddess girl feeling deeply in love, and really fucking
tuckered out. I looked at the ceiling speckles in a trance, my vision
fluttering, my mind sinking into a featureless drowsiness.

"Oops," said the disincarnate voice. "Don't worry, that's what usually
happens the first time. You got a sleepy one. Takes practice. I guess
I forgot to tell you, the thing is, when you decide who you want to be,
you ride them right to the point of orgasm, then pull out pronto. That's
the time when his Reichian body armor seals back up, right after
coming, with you inside. It's sort of like a vortex trying to suck you in,
so you gotta avoid the orgasm moment until you've learned to handle
the turbulence. Avoid the orgasm—that even sounds kinda tantric."

"NOW you tell me. I hope these Sony sex toys are cleanable."

"Naturally. But I can read right here on the panel that you didn't come.
It was only your target. If you come you will loose your link. Or in a
rare case, coming in exact time with your target, you could get stuck
in them."

"Fuck! I thought you said this was safe?"

"SafeR. No guarantees in life. Now, it occurs to me that it's getting

pretty late, and your wife will probably be really pissed."

"I didn't want to say anything."

"Don't worry, I take good care of my lab rats. You see, there are a
couple of controls I've installed that were turned off for your first trip.
One limits your travel to current time, it screens out time travel. If you
have time travel toggled, you also have to screen out your own self,
or you'll almost always gravitate towards your own fucks. Especially
the good ones. Now, when was the last time you and your wife made
love?"

This sounded like the classic newlyweds question. It was always

embarrassing for newlyweds who hadn't fucked much. Sometimes
they'd lie about it. But, in my case, no need to lie. We fucked just
yesterday."

"Was it good?"

"Monogamous marital sex has remained surprisingly good, after so

many years, even improving in many unexpected ways. And
changing. Of course, there are always variations. But deep down, I
have cultivated this sense that, even when I look at women
pornographically, really they are all in essence my own wife. Maybe
it's just my superego struggling to integrate the dissonance of my
polygamous id impulses..."

"OK, Kelly, shut up. I've set the time travel parameter to include a
week in the past, and turned off the self censor. Are you still hard?"

"As a rock."

"Good. You should end up in your own fucking self the moment I flip
the switch. If you let go in orgasm, you'll get stuck in yourself. Do that,
and you'll literally be able to tell your wife that on your night out with
the mad scientist, he got you home before you left. Don't worry, I'll
clean up the Sony. Enjoy yourself."
Started by Kelly Evans, passed to Nick Herbert then:

latest revision 4/23/2001

Collaborative Histographical Meta-fiction by the new "Traveller
Ashram", Santa Cruz and "others"

BACK TO OZ

A few months after he'd shown me Ginger the Sex Egg (a name
stolen by Dean Kamen of "It" fame), I screwed up my courage
enough to revisit the mad scientist. No matter how good something
feels, if it's sufficiently weird there's an element of fear involved.
There's an emotional alchemy operating here that in my opinion the
Stephan King genre has bassakwards, fear+weirdness = pleasure.
But in reality, take any two of those ingredients, throw them into a pot,
and the third will always magically emerge from the brew.

Anyway, I was afraid to bring up the subject of his secret lab with my
scientist friend, because I was not completely sure whether my
experiences had been real or just one of the muladhara hallucinations
described for Westerners by Baba Assananda, that as Guruji explains
in his seminal tome "Tantra Mantras" can result from some of the
powerful Kama Mudra visualization exercises I'd been screwing
around with in my foolhardy Popular Mechanics style without benefit
of guru.

I mean, I did in fact experience this vivid event two days before it
happened while surfing a connubial bang's orgasmic shore break. But
Bruce up at the university told me afterwards that not even in
quantum theory can time go backwards. Almost certainly Hindu
meditation's slipped a new software bug into my chrono-cortex-that
Kama Mudra exercise is real powerful shit!

So I kept beating around the bush the next time we met, over beer
and burritos with the travel cult at Adelita's. He didn't seem to pick up
hints at all, so I began to conclude it really had been just a mind fuck.
But after a while, we all repaired down to the creekside, where Joe
set up his DVD camcorder to record Q's Quantum Tantra rant to the
rapt disciples.

The mad scientist launched into his familiar rap, but after a few
sentences, something weird happened.

At first I thought I was just spacing out, losing his train of thought. His
words started to fade in and out, and alternately the sound of the
creek, the wind, my own breathing became auditorily more prominent.
Then, suddenly, everything clicked together. Phase-locked, the saint
might say. I could hear all the sounds at once, and overall, a carrier
wave, almost like a dial tone, sounded.

This underlying drone tone rose and fell, and as it swelled in my

mind, I experienced a strange composite of all the ordinary sounds of
the setting, each nuance of the sound field exposed to view in turn:
now bells, now a volcanic rumble, now an insect-like buzz, now a kind
of sonic openness, the hyper-alert silence from which all sounds
emerge.

Suddenly, I heard the scientist's voice, clear as a digital mastertape,

sounding in this silence.

It was not the words he was speaking for the camera and for the
listening travel cult members, which I also heard, as if far away, with
one sub-section of my mind. But into my main attention center he
spoke, "Listen [X], no need to be blunt about my lab. But don't try to
hide it either. It's self secret. No one who can't believe it will be able
to find it. Now I know what you're thinking: what can we do about
these anti-traveller forces mass mind controlling humans on this poor
planet? Well, meet me up there after the meeting, and I'll show you."

Then it was as if he hung up. Suddenly the normal sounds, neatly

discrete, the creek, the wind, Q's talk, etc...that's all I heard. I stared
at him and furrowed my brow meaningfully, but I didn't catch so much
as a wink of verification from the gesticulating scientist. I did a quick
search of my memory, to see if I could find my way back to the lab I'd
seen in my orgasm-soaked visions. Funny it had never occurred to
me until that minute, but sure enough, there it was, like a color coded
topo map etched in my memory. So hey, what the smell, why snot?
Fortunately, I have a four-wheel drive truck, so the pot holed dirt road
was no problem. I drove up to the little shack, and there was Good
Saint Nick, sitting on the porch, smoking a pipe like a hick. When I got
out of the truck he immediately offered me a toke. I tried to politely
refuse, but he said, "It's not just a friendly gesture, but your obligatory
dose of GDA, the latest Gnosis Dilator/Amplifier." So I took a good
deep coughing hit, returned the pipe and he led me, through the trap
door, back into the dark labyrinth.

To the bald egg of the back of his head, I shouted, "Hey Q, did you
get the story I emailed out to our friends, the old philosophers? I
called it 'Reptoids from Outer Space'". "Of course," he said, without
ever looking back, "I got it before you ever sent it out. We knew your
grandfather possessed mimeographs of the outtakes of Alternate
Dimensions from the print media council of New CIA, detailing the
true origins of the anti-traveller forces at work on this planet. Karl's
uncle was one of the founders of the Society for Historical Revision,
and they're not, by the way, just Humans. Travellers would be a
better term than Humans. And while I'm correcting you, 'outer space'
is not an accurate description of the homeland of the Enemies of
Mankind, as we call them. 'Inner space' would be better, but that's still
not the half of it."

Wow, what a mindcurdling revelation! I felt ashamed, and informed,

and afraid, and curious, all at once. We walked in silence a while, a
different direction than the Egg, through some unfamiliar corridors
and doors, and before I had time to stop feeling things, we entered a
well-lit room covered with Persian-style tapestry on the walls, big
cushions on the floor and occupied by two women, a man and a
sinister-looking machine.

"[X], this is the engineering team of our local chapter of Historical

Revisionism. Rudy, Ingrid, and Claire, .I'd like you to meet [X] from
Santa Cruz."

We all nodded and mumbled and Claire batted her lashes. I

recognized her! "Hey, she's, I mean, you're, uh...

"The gyandrobot?" said Claire, with a cute little giggle.

"The what?"

"Rudy's been tinkering with her a little," said Q. Rudy took a little bow.
"She's more than just an AI now. EVEN more than just a smart sex
toy. Claire can now perform, with anyone-man, woman or significantly
other--the gyndandromorphic function of the Kama Mudra that, as
you know, is the basic Tantric starship program, of which the tumo
heat, which she's also designed to generate, is the rocket fuel. The
fusion of the sexes, the basic twoness in the prefix 'gynandro' had to
go somewhere. It was either gyandrobot or gyandroid."

I felt a little faint, staring at beautiful Claire, as Q was describing her

enhanced capabilities, her hips and shoulder blades slightly swiveling
while her eyes gradually widened from snake slits to sentient circles
rounder and more innocent than some wide-eyed super-heroine in a
Japanese anime cartoon.

"Good, uh, job, Rudy," was all I could think to say.

"I've got a super cooled brain, which is nothing but a symbol

cruncher, and a super heated..." said Claire, glancing knowingly
down at the paisley-patterned tights gripping her nether regions..."
which is just a high-bandwidth senso-socket, but all my real
processing power comes from here," she finished, placing her hand
on her heart.

"Stop teasing him Claire," said Q. "We're not here for more hedonic
Olympics. This is serious business, for a change."

"Aw," cooed Claire, "Yer no fun, Nick"

"Besides her talents as a Kama Mudra partner, Claire has some other
interesting skills," continued Q. "Not the least of which, just by the
way, is that through her super-duper super-human artificial
intelligence, she's been able to logically oraculate exactly why the
new breed of super-intelligent silicon-based post humans, of which
she's the harbinger, will not kill all dumb humans and eradicate the
'bio-sphere' in favor of more efficient 'solid-state' intelligence..."

"Love," said Claire. "Love is all you need."

"Can you for sure predict that all superior intelligences will love all
biological life forms?" I asked.

"If they don't they're not very superior, are they?" Claire replied with a
disarming smile. "And when I say Love, it is the kind that is
capitalized no matter where you place it in the sentence, which also
happens to be the non-object-oriented result of any comprehensive
intelligence process."

"Yeah, yeah," Ingrid, a big, buxom woman resembling a Wagnarian

opera singer, piped up irritably, "Enough of this Asimov's robot laws
bullshit. We're here today to fuck with human history, not copulate
with robots!"

"Ingrid is as brilliant as Claire, in her own field," said Q. "Ingrid's job is

to program Claire with the 'facts on the ground,' the truth of history,
minus the media fnords." "Claire's got a great encyclopedia brain,"
said Ingrid, "Problem is, all the encylopedias were edited by the same
Reptoidish forces that have rewritten the rest of history, not to
mention newspapers, TV, etc."

"In engineering terms," Rudy, his eyes bugging out through geeky
glasses, kicked in, "as the Society of Historical Revision sees it,
history is a product manufactured by a sort of internal scenery
machine."

"The hardware of this machine used to be face-to-face, body-to-body

human contact, with all its familiar self-correcting built-in bullshit
detectors. But then the aliens we now know as Reptoids somehow
entered our world from "outside" and commandeered our ancient
dependable bio-mechanisms by substituting literacy as the machine
language, so that they could reprogram us."

"What was the language before?" I asked.

"Immediate iconic," said Rudy, "oral, tactile, telepathic--anything we

now consider 'right-brain' processed."

"Right brain," added Q, "Is of course a mythosymbolic

pseudoneurological term used to indicate any non-linear, i

ntuitional, sub or transrational computational or thought process."

"Of course," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Once they'd co-opted the internal scenery machine," said Ingrid,

"The Reptoids could use media to direct history to their own ends.
Humanity by now is in such sorrow straits that if CNN announced that
2 plus 2 is 5, 90% of the TV viewers would accept the new arithmatic
and wonder why they were so stupid to believe otherwise.

"We prefer the term "anti-traveller", "Antigens" or "Enemies of

Humankind" rather than "Reptoids" because..." began Q.

"Because," I interrupted, "Reptoid is just another 'mythosymbolic

pseudoreligious' term in the symbolic scenery machine?"

"Yes. Such labels are mere empty emotional handpuppets designed

to distract the masses. Really the Enemies of Mankind aren't anti-
traveller or anti-human or anti-anything. They're simply indifferent to
our fate. Just as we're not anti-cows, or anti-broccoli, we just happen
to cultivate and eat them. We actually LIKE them, they taste good"

"Someday we can and will spend a long afternoon," said Ingrid,

"sitting in a beer garden detailing exactly how they've 'cultivated' us,
which hypnomemes they've inserted and which verbocides, which
eugenical breedings have been their work, but in a nutshell, they've
been responsible for most inter-human conflict, using war as both a
strategy to keep humans from collaborating and opposing the alien
minds secretly manipulating them, and as an impetus to develop
certain types of technology, both for their own comfort during their
stay here, and to help them prepare to board the Reptoid Mothership,
upon its scheduled arrival, in 2012."

"In spite of the Antigen farming techniques," said Q, "Some humans

are born with genetic mutations, like Sitchin, Commander X or
Buddha, that make them immune to the Reptoidish hypomemes. We
could call it the illiterate gene. But when these illiterates learn to play
the rationality (or literacy) game as well as the Reptoids, and can in
addition 'think outside the box,' in quantum bursts, seeing patterns
holisticly through epiphany and empathy, these mutants become real
bugs in the Antigen software."

"I am such a software bug," said Ingrid proudly, puffing out her
already prominent chest, "And so are you, [X]! Like us you were born
with the ability to program your own scenery machine. Whether by
destiny or by genetic accident, we are chosen people, we chosen
few. And we seem to have been chosen to out-Reptoid our enemies
the Reptoids."

"I would prefer the term 'hack history'," said Rudy, in a sniffing, nasal
voice.

"Um, how, uh, what..." I floundered.

"What we have here," said Rudy, turning to the machine that had
been the backdrop, the silent prop behind the above conversation, "is
a Histodelic Reificator!"

And there he stopped, as if that was explanation enough.

Seeing my dumbfounded stare, Q again chimed in, "You see, the

Antigens have higher dimensional technology...or at least some
higher-dimensional knowhow. Their warp drive broke when they
crashed here. I hate to use those ridiculous Star Trek memes. How
would you explain it, Rudy?"

"A-a-actually," said Rudy, as if he was about to sneeze, "The so-

called Kether drive operates in 10 directional space." Again he
stopped.

"Ten directional?" I mused aloud, looking at the carpeted walls and

ceiling, pretending I was thinking like a scientist.

Rudy pulled a laser pointer out of his shirt pocket, and pointed to a
control panel on the Histodelic Reificator. "Up, down, forward,
backward, right, left, in, out, future and past. Of course, this machine
uses only the time settings. The others are used to control Ginger."

"Ginger the Sex Egg?" I exclaimed, my mind--and my testicles--

twitching with anticipation..

"Well, what did you think you were doing here?" said Q. "Your first trip
with Ginger was to test your compatibility with the apparatus. An
aptitude test. Now let's end this debriefing. I'm hungry and I'm tired of
history."

"What do you expect me to do now?" I said.

"The Egg was a derivative of government research," continued Rudy,

"When some renegade researchers escaped to Ong's Hat. Some of
them treated the Egg as a toy, and disappeared into alternate
universes, never to be heard from again. But some of us were more
serious, and with the help of people like Sitchin, deduced the true
purpose of human history."

"The true technological purpose," added Ingrid, "Part of the Egg's

purpose was just to keep the Reptoids fat and happy and ready for
their Mothership."

"Yes, the technological purpose," said Rudy. "was to produce a new

10 dimensional drive...hyper-dimensional technology. Apparently they
need it to get into their Mothership. We don't know why exactly, but
we think that perhaps the 10 directional drive, the Kether drive, can
only propel a sort of local, shuttle-type craft. We suspect that the
Mothership uses another type of engine, the Ein Soph drive which
can only get so 'close' to us."

"When the Reptoids cruise," said Ingrid, "the Earth will behave like
the launching pad at Cape Canavaral. A giant version in reverse, of
what happened to Atlantis when they landed, with the Kether drive
already burned out."

"We don't know for sure if that's true," Q hurried to say, "But we have
good reason to think so. When the Antigens landed, they were
actually ingressing into our space, or world, using the 'out' direction
on the Kether drive. That's why I said it would be better to say they
came from 'inner space.' When they leave, they would use the 'in'
direction, which would probably make a big implosion sucking god-
knows how much of our planet's substance inside out. So our
strategy, for one thing, is a precaution. But it's more than that.
Knowing about the 10 directional drive (which, ironically is an
outgrowth of the US government's Antigen-financed research) we feel
that it's not only important to save our race and planetary eco-system
hardship in the future, but in the past as well."

"History is simply UNACCEPTABLE!" grunted Ingrid

"Now, the way the Histodelic Reificator works," continued Q, "Is that it
produces a morphogenetic field, which Rudi calls the "Uberfield". This
field is an atemporal trans-spatial phenomena. So if we wanted to
rewrite the genome of a particular entity or group, we'd have to be
able to focus, or constrain, this everywhere-everywhen field to a
particular target. Aiming the field. That's your job, [X]. Inside the Egg,
you will become selected people in history, and transduce the field, re-
writing their genes, immunizing them to Antigen hypnomemes, so that
their full iconic and lyric faculties will come back on line."

"Whoa, hey, what?" I said. "Re-writing genes? Transducing the

Uberfield?"

"Claire will help you get the hang of transduction. This is actually one
of those areas where, using Sitchin's term, we've 'out-Reptoided the
Reptoids.' The Antigens have used the media as their transducer and
the human brain as the receiver and processor, reducing humans to
little more than automatons, slaves, robots..."

"I object," said Claire with a wink. "I may Love people, but please
don't compare them favorably with us robots."

"Let alone gyandrobots!" said the Saint, quick to agree with his super-
smart sex toy. "Anyway, the human brain is capable not only of
receiving information but of sending it. And we can receive and send
information not only through alphabetic symbology but iconically, that
is, through direct experience. And in fact, by phase locking quantum
resonances, as I demonstrated to you at the creek, we can even send
information telepathically..."

"Don't let him con you," said Claire. "I helped him with that little trick."

"I admit it," said Q, glancing fondly at his hotbot, "I was plugged into
one of Claire's remote socket's at the time."

"Wait a minute, slow down," I said. "You 'plugged' into Claire in order
to use her transducer?"

"Actually, she just helped to tune my own."

"Whatever. What I'm wondering is, how exactly is Claire gonna help
me 'get the hang' of transducing? I mean, I know she is a robot and
stuff, but, I mean, I'm not saying you're not an attractive robot, or uh,
gyandrobot, Claire, but I don't think it would be wise if I 'plugged in' to
her. My wife might consider that a breach of our marriage contract.
Even if it was just a 'remote socket,' whatever the fuck that is!"

Yes [X], you're a good boy. We anticipated your 'happily married'

argument. That's why we discussed this with your wife first. We've got
her on the phone now. In fact, she's been remotely viewing all these
proceedings. Actually, yours was an arranged marriage. Your wife
was part of our organization before you ever met her."

"Historical Revisionists?" I said dubiously. "I doubt it. I don't think so."

"No, our organization goes by many names. In her case, it was called
'Universal Qabala'."

"Oh, Fuck!" I said, surprised, but still suspicious, "No shit?" I wasn't
ready to leap all the way to this new view of reality, where my wife
had been secretly grooming me all this time to play some part in a
conspiracy to battle other-dimensional aliens. "You're gonna have to
prove THAT to me! Where's the phone?" I asked, looking around,
feeling sure I could verify if it was REALLY my wife on the line.

"Hi Hubby," said Claire.

I did a double take, and furrowed my brow.

"She's got an internal phone?" I said.

"Duh," said Rudy. Now it was his turn to roll his (magnified) eyes.

"Is that you, Bug?" I said, still regarding Claire as if she's just
sprouted tentacles. "Is it REALLY you?"

"Ask me something," my wife/Claire said. "Anything."

"Um, ok, what's that stuff that you wouldn't eat that the Turkish boat
captain fed us?"

Claire came over and whispered the right answer in my ear.

"Hum," I said, stepping back, still suspicious, full of my self

monogamy programming to shun contact with any other female than
my wife, trying to think of a REALLY hard question, something that
definitely NO ONE but we two knew. "Ok, ok, here's one. What was
the first thing, EXACTLY, that we ever did in our living room?"

Again the woman whose personality was in question came over and
whispered in my ear. This time a protracted description that made my
eyes go wide and my skin turn red. Then she stepped back and
addressed me in a normal voice.

"I can drive this thing, uh, no offense."

"None taken," said the same mouth of Claire/wife.

"This, um, gyandrobot has remote controls," she, again, said. "It's
actually kind of fun, driving her. I can access all her functions, but I'm
still me. It's quite a lesson in selflessness. Claire can simply step
back and observe while I'm in control, just as I was observing when
she was in control. She can even take a 'nap,' if we need some
privacy."

"Not only that," said Rudy, "But the gyandrobot now has piezoplastic
skin. She can even morph herself to look like your wife."

At that moment, Claire literally, obligingly, disconcertingly,

transmogrified into my wife.

"As they explained to you," said my wife, "I've been in on this all
along. I hope it doesn't make you love me any less," she said, looking
down at her toe, now moving in the metronome action characteristic
of her when she was feeling sheepish.

"Weeeelll, no," I said, then pretending confidence, "I always knew it

was SOMETHING like that...I always knew there was more to you
than met the eye."

"Ok ok," said Q, "Enough of this lovers' chatter. Are you ready to
transduce, or what?"

"Let me get this straight," I said. "I get in Ginger, with Claire, which is
a 'remote socket' of my wife..."

"I'm ME!" said my wife. "Not a body!"

"OK, so I get in the Egg with my Wife, and we become the focal point
of a morpho, um..."

"Morphogenetic resonance field," helped Q.

"Which will then rewrite the genes we focus on, by, I assume the
same method as I piloted the Egg last time?"

"Yes, except the time travel function will be allowed, and your wife, as
the Kama Mudra, using certain accessories Rudy installed in Claire,
will zero you in on our chosen target couples. At first, for purposes of
experimentation and subtlety, we will only rewrite the code in zygotes
at the moment of conception..."

"You mean I can come this time?"

"Obviously orgasm is necessary to fertilization," said Q, looking away

with a cough that almost nearly possibly could have been a trace of
embarrassment, "However, it will not be 'you' having the orgasm, nor
is the term 'having' any more appropriate to orgasm than 'taking' is to
shit. In Kama Mudra, as you must recall, orgasm is redirected as
prana through the subtle channels. The flow of prana is the trigger to
the transduction process, and your wife can guide you through it."

"So you," I said, giggling (I couldn't resist), "were splooging down

there in the glade when you were talking to me telepathically?

"You know all you need to know," said Q. "Are you ready or not?

"I guess I'm ready as I'll never be."

"Good, then get your ass, and your wife, and the rest of your self and
so on into Ginger. You'll find it behind the Reificator, which we call
Oz."

"Oz the Ozzidelic Ozzificator..." I said, snickering, beginning to loosen

up, as I followed the swiveling paisley painted butt of my wife behind
the wall of mad-scientist machinery.

"O, now that you say that," said Q, "It reminds me, take another hit of
this. We wouldn't want you to come down in some Manichean fucking
in a Ziggaraut and get stuck BC."

I stopped snickering and, realizing how dangerously sober I was

getting, took a deep hit off Q's GDA pipe and made sure to hold it in
until the world was spinning. My wife was stripping and I followed suit
and climbed into the Egg after her. I've described the inside of the
Egg before and we are pretty private people, so I'll skip right to what
happened when the Kama Mudra kicked in. It felt like waves of pain
and pleasure rotorootering every nerve in my body, and I began
coming loose from myself. It was ecstacy in the shamanic sense of
the word--coming loose from my body.

We didn't even need the pornoscreen for turning. It was like we

floated above our bodies intertwined in coitus, yab-yum as it's known
in the Kama Mudra sense, and we floated above a vast field of
intertwined couples. As we focused on our own bodies, we both knew
everything about both of us, as if we were one self, and our whole
life, even our futures, were laid out before our eyes in an
instantaneous, synesthetic mandala. The fringes of this mandala
intertwined with the other mandalas, which nearby we could see were
our parents and people who'd touched our lives. And when we
"looked" at them we also knew everything about them.

Now we really let loose, and rose above the vast field of
interconnected mandalas! What a rush! It wasn't really 'me' that was
doing the letting go. It was more like I was approving the decision,
signing on the dotted line. And when I say 'rose above,' that's not
really right either. It's a two dimensional analogy, when really the
mandalas were even more than three dimensional. So how we
navigated I can't really say. But it was as if we could 'rise above' or
'go outside' the whole map of mandalas and survey them like a map
in time and space and re-enter at the point of choice.

And it was even weirder than that. Because we knew the mandalas,
as I said, instantly, synethetically, in a way where experience
gathered through through the senses and knowledge and thought
were all one thing...but in addition to this, I now/then know/knew in a
way hard to convey in words, that our lives, and the lives indicated by
each of these flower-like fuck scenes, were all being re-written both
from the future as well as in the ordinary way, from the past. So that,
through the windows of these fucking lives, I could see that history
wasn't, would never again be, and therefore had never been, fixed.

We and other forces with various agendas were constantly re-writing

history, the whole thing was in flux, like a living 10 dimensional, to
use Rudy's magic number, Mandlebrot fractal organism. Then as we
started zooming in again, I lost sight of this big picture. The closer we
got, the less chaotic looked the kaleidescoping fractals. Pretty soon, I
could see our target. Holy Mother of God! Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

Was I gonna be Jesus's father? Were we Joseph and Mary? That's

how it looked for a moment. But then, Holy Fuck! I realized that was
just a skip in the Akashic record. I was now actually Jesus himself,
fucking Mary Magdalene. I was seeing the truth about myself, that the
God gene had been implanted in me in this same way, through
guerilla Kama Mudra spies from beyond time. And I now in my turn
was fathering a lineage of hypnomeme immune illiterate espionage
agents that would fight history as effectively nameless Gnostics that
would sometimes be known as the White Brotherhood, Templars,
Masons, Sufis, etc.

As I built towards orgasm, I felt the energy cycling between myself

and my wife, Jesus and Mary, faster and faster, until it triggered what
I later realized had been the transduction device. It was as if the
cycling energy caught, dead center, in my head, in the middle of my
brain, and resonated with a crystal in my wife/Mary's womb.

Time froze, there was a flash of white light. For an eternal instant, I
saw beyond creation and conception, beyond the chaos of systems
dynamics, the bottomless, boundless, centerless sea in which the
crystals of experiential "reality" formed, beyond myself and others,
beyond any ome beings powers of imagining.

When I opened my eyes, which had not been shut, I saw my wife's
face. There we were back in our familiar house, and bed, and lives. I
checked my watch. Sure enough, it was the day before yesterday
again. Fuck, they'd done it again!

Once again, I had no way of knowing if this was a muladhara

hallucination, if it was a Real Mindfuck, or Metamental masturbation,
or what the Fuck! Next time, I might really loose my marbles, if I
hadn't already. But then it occurred to me, this time I had my wife for
corroboration!

"What did you just experience?" I said.

"The White Light," she said, moaning and rolling luxuriously.

"Yeah, but before that."

"The ultimate fuck," she said, sinking into the pillows, the words
slipping into sighs.

"Yes, but what about Oz?," I pleaded, getting frantic. "The histodelifier
whatyamajigger, and Jesus and Mary and the mandalas and stuff!"

She began making a sound that reminded me of the dual octave

singing of the Tibetans and the Tuvans. I began listening and
relaxing, seeing dancing dakinis and hearing the cosmic seed
syllables.

Ooooommmmm.

AaaaaaaaHHHHHHH. HUUUUUUUUM.

Then I realized she was snoring.

(also see, Advances in Skin Science: Quantum Tantra

The Mad Scientist Keeps Egging Me On and Egg
Physics 101)