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Sep 15, 2020, 10:26:59 PM9/15/20

'I'm not a lesbian,' said Katy.

'She just eats pussy. It's nothing serious,' said Taylor.

'Nothing wrong with a woman eating pussy,' said Daniel.

'I – don't – eat – pussy,' replied Katy. 'I'm a faithful pentecostal born again biblical fundamentalist christian. I am straight.'

'Oh, she does use a strap on dildo occasionally as well,' replied Taylor.

'Kinky,' said Daniel.

'Disgusting,' replied Katy. 'You two are obscene.'

'But with men? Jesus. What won't she do,' said Taylor.

'Tell me about it,' replied Daniel.

'For starters, everything goes,' said Taylor. 'And she likes it rough as well. Likes hot wax a lot as well.'

'Really,' said Daniel. 'I'll have to look into that.'

'I don't use wax,' replied Katy.

'She has a big thing for latex these days also,' said Taylor. 'All sorts of videos on her PC with her and Kantriel getting up to some really crude behaviour. Pretty sure it was Saruviel's cock I saw in the video as well.'

'Figures. She likes the beast a bit,' said Daniel.

'All lies!' exclaimed Katy.

'So what did you really find on her PC?' Daniel asked Taylor.

'Mainly lame pictures of her in christmas tree outfits. Really sad. And her journal is so frikking conservative these days. Apostle Paul has more of a lifestyle than Luladiel.'

'I'm not boring,' said Katy. 'I'm repentant. Something neither of you have ever seriously considered.'

'I'll have a burger,' said Daniel to Kaladel, as she took their orders in the Zaphon cafeteria. 'One for Katy too. But not too spicy. She might get aroused.'

'Hah hah hah. Very funny,' replied Luladiel.

'So it's you and Kantriel these days then, is it?' queried Daniel. 'The old flame.'

'Yep,' replied Katy. 'Devuel is too obnoxious for me these days. Has a pilgrimate mentality at the moment. Visiting sacred shrines everywhere. Wants to be a well traveled and known Seraphim saint. Someone people can respect. A good example. Too stuffy for me these days. Kantriel is still regular. Conservative, but regular. What I like.'

'You need a bit of the Danster,' said Daniel. 'I can get you going with some actually interesting life.'

'You can?' queried Katy.

'Hmm,' smiled Cherubim Daniel Thomas Andrew Daly. 'Well, no. Probably not.'

'Why did you ask me out?' asked Katy.

'Farewell party. I'm leaving for somewhere,' replied Daniel. 'Me and a few of the family members. We're going somewhere.'

'Oh, hope you enjoy your holiday,' said Katy.

'Yeh,' replied Daniel.

'How long will you be gone?' asked Taylor.

'Won't be coming back, actually,' said Daniel, stretching his arms, and taking a sip of melit water.

'What? For a long time?' asked Taylor.

Daniel looked at Taylor. There was this look in his eyes. One of sorrow.

'I won't BE coming back Tails. It's forever, babe. Going forever.'

'Where?' asked Katy.

'Earth. Physical planet Earth. Me, Callodyn, Daniel and mum and dad.'

'Oh,' said Taylor. 'And we can't come?'

'No,' said Daniel. 'So this is a farewell party.'

'Right,' replied Taylor.

Daniel looked at Katy. 'Loved you. But some things weren't meant to be in the end.'

Katy didn't say anything.

'Loved you too Tails. But destiny has other plans.'

Taylor didn't say anything.

'Ready?' asked God, suddenly in their presence.

Daniel stood.

'It's a strange destiny, eternal life. You never know what you are going to get.'

And Daniel was gone, and a few years later Taylor and Katy had moved on from him, because Daniel's were gone, and didn't really ever come back.

The End



Eternal Terra

'You'll be here a while,' said God to Cyril.

'How long?' Cyril asked him.

'About 7 centuries. Till Daniel has finished his sojourn of Earth acquisition.'

'His sojourn of Earthly Acquisition?' asked Cyril.

'Life in the physical is about acquisition,' said God. 'It establishes the soul's eternal destiny with things of a nature that matter.'

'Why don't spiritual things matter?' asked Cyril.

'Because there is not much substance to their nature. Original spiritual things,' replied God.

'And the physical creations start as things of matter? Of material substance?' queried Cyril.

'They are physical, not spiritual. Atoms forming molecules forming.......well, you know the rest. It's solid, and when it's spiritual counterpart comes into being it is based on a thing which matters, which has a substance. This is the shaping of the soul's ultimate eternity. It's core assets acquired in life of things which have a matter of substance. The spiritual creations of eternity – they are minor in the end. Things which fade away, with no solidity in their design. No real suffering of work and creative sweat. These foundation stones create a raft of object based on them as their foundation also, and depending on how much was produced, indicating their popularity in the physical, and thus its spiritual strength, the offspring product can be greater.'

'I see,' replied Cyril.

'Some products go on. Some products with eternya based prayer supporting them. You should know the cultural icons by now. Now Daniel has some time left in life. Some physical time. It costs a biblical foundation which is quite strong, in fact, very much study, very much repentance, and very much endurance of physical suffering early on to cope with the longer years of life. It's sort of how much a man can take.'

'So we're here for a sojourn.'

'Collecting some items from the physical he lacks rights on in the eternal. I have most of his acquisitions planned out,' replied the Theophany.

'And then?'

'Well Daniel's do sort of return to the realm in the end, and just like to be dramatic about partings.'

'I suppose that's the way it is,' said Cyril.

'Truth to tell, I guess so,' replied God.

And the day passed.

The End

The World of the Giant Spiders

Life is in flux on Planet Earth. The United Nations Department of Cultural Affairs dictates the policy of society travelling through the ages of man on a regular basis, to keep life afresh, anew, and interesting. Only in Progress to a state of Utopia, a short Dystopian retrograde, and then a rebuilding towards a new version, can life be going somewhere for the human soul. When it climaxes, it is time for society to die, and be reborn. This the truth which Earth has found. No society can be immortal. It stagnates and becomes stuffy and too homogenous. It needs to move on and, when it has done all it can do in perfecting itself, let it all die and start again. Life is flux on Planet Earth. It is what keeps the ball in motion.

Timing; A 25th century common era culture.

Marcus Hooper watched the tiny spiders. It was amusing, the way they crawled around the aquarium which had been designed as a spider's nest by himself. It had holes for oxygen, but not big enough for the spiders to escape. They weren't terribly poisonous, but his mother would have his guts for garters if he let them loose. She was dead against her overly inquisitive son wanting spiders as pets, but he had no other friends, so she allowed it. His dad, who lived next door with Mrs Canavan, in an adulterous relationship, still technically married to his mother, didn't seem to mind when he dropped over. It was good for the kid to be interested in something at least. God knows nothing they ever did worked on the lad. Marcus opened the top of the aquarium, and dropped in some spider pellets he had bought online – Xania's Spider Food. It was cheap, and he highly questioned it's healthiness for his pets. It looked Greek or something, and smelled God-Awful. But the spiders seemed to like the stuff. He looked at his family for a while, sighed, and picked up his science book. He finally had an interest in his school studies. Just science, though. He wanted to learn all about spiders and their biology and especially their genetics. He was in high school now, and genetics fascinated him. The idea of creating new life fascinated him. Manipulating DNA to create new creatures which could dazzle the imagination. He'd seen it on a wacky show on the Internet, and craved knowledge of how to do it. He was still lazy, though, and largely disinterested in anything much, even his thirst for knowledge about spiders, which sometimes he just casually dismissed. But at other times he seemed to bother. It was a pull on him or something – something in him – which just craved knowledge of the possibilities of what he could do. He sat on his bed, reading his science book, but it was getting dark, and the light of the sun had gone down. His mother knocked on the door. 'You want desert?' she asked him.

'Maybe later on,' he replied.

'Whatever you want Marcus,' she said.

He put down his book, and picked up the handheld gaming console. And the rest of the evening was playing Nintendo, before he fell asleep on the bed and dreamt of spiders and, again, the weird looking girl across the street who had just moved in, with big glasses, long hair, and good looks.

In the morning Marcus woke, looked at his spiders a while, and washed, had breakfast, and got off to school. In science class he sat at his desk, as the teacher lectured, just reading the book on genetics from the library.

'Marcus,' said his teacher. Marcus looked up. 'Is there something which has your attention?'

The student next to him took Marcus' book and held it up to the class. 'Brainiac wants to be a geneticist. He has delusions of grandeur. Can't do anything right.'

The other children started laughing, but Marcus grabbed the textbook back, and ran outside with it. After class the teacher came and talked with him.

'We often have students who are special, Marcus.'

'I'm not special,' he said. 'I'm smart.'

'That's what I mean. Not many of these kids have any real passion for knowledge at all. They are mostly going off to menial sorts of careers in life. I sense you might have something in you. A desire to know.'

'I don't really know,' said Marcus.

'What don't you know,' replied his teacher.

'I don't really know If I care about much either. But spiders are interesting. And spider genetics fascinates me as an idea.'

'Do you want to sit out of class next time and study that book in the library? I'll quiz you after class, and if you are making progress I'll pass you at the end of term.'

'Sure. I guess,' said Marcus.

'I'll talk to the headmaster about it. If its a passion, we want to foster it.'

Marcus was slightly amused for a couple of weeks with letters and phone calls to his parents, but he was given an exemption from science and physical education to sit in the school library and study genetics properly. If he really had a passion the school felt it was their duty to take care of that. So he studied genetics. And bothered to take it seriously.

* * *

Big boss man, Alistair MacLaren, surveyed the car park scene.

'You know,' he said, coming over to John Rosetti, and putting his hand on John's back, like he did with all his employees. 'We are not,' he said, turning John around towards him and looking directly at him. 'A shit company. We set an edge which makes most of the competition look B Grade for a reason. Branson had balls. Virgin got a lot of things established in society after a while, huge philanthropic agenda, and huge agenda in future technology after a while from the bastard. Gates muscled up with New Microsoft after a while, and Bezos did extraordinary things with Amazon Technologies. They are 21st century clowns which I respect greatly, and their legacy manifestos are still building their bleeding behemoths to this day. MacLaren Industries is not shit, John. We have an ancient legacy in the motor industry, and we've branched out into a lot of stuff since then. This is your opportunity to get something right for a change, buster. You've had fails, lots of them. But every 6 months you punch over your weight and hit a home run. You've done that for a decade now. Pulled out the winner when you need to. Not going to let you go. Some of your crazy dreams hit big. You are a winner when it comes right down to it. So don't stuff this up motherfucker. Cindy likes you dude. Up on top you guys have panache in the Purple Room which makes the rest smile. The chirpy sarcasm and quips are all throughout the building, and I need that right now motherfucker. Keep this dialogue acted fresh and make sure your ad lib, which you've been pummelled on, is up to your usual high standards.' He stood back, looked at the director, and said 'Roll the motherfucker.' John walked up to Cindy, pinched her butt, and they sat down in the formula 1, looking at the new technology, talking shit. Alistair watched on, smiled at some of John's usual crass lines for Cindy, and was happy. Someone tugged at his shirt.

'Later,' he whispered to what he thought was his assistant. The tug came again. Alistair looked.

'Marcus Hooper. You won the apprenticeship. Don't fuck with me, fuck off and introduce yourself, and hit the orange room. Your a beginner and they'll clue you up.'

'The frikking infrastructure is shit,' said Marcus. 'I've been inside, and I need better.'

'We can do better than that crap,' said Jane Arthur. 'We didn't get through Harvard to be B Grade Alistair. We have glory in our capabilities, and Marcus and myself want at leas red room promo right away.'

Alistair pulled out two red cards, gave them two them, and said 'Now fuck off. I've got work to do.'

Marcus watched the scene for a moment, took a photo with his mobile, and Alistair turned to him and said 'You have legal obligations to provide a breakthrough of minor proportions within a few weeks if you expect us to allow you copyright on that photo.'

Marcus pulled out his notebook. 'Several things already known. I'll contribute one.'

Alistair nodded, and said 'Fuck off green stick. Get to the red room.'

Alistair was known for his sarcasm. He was also known for his extraordinary kindness and coolness and concern for his employees. He took his job as world visionary very serious for the MacLaren company, and Marcus, finished at Harvard recently, with his girlfriend who lived across the road from his home, knew exactly why he wanted to work for the dude. Things could get done at MacLaren. But not in the shitty orange room.

Marcus pulled a packet of jaffers out of his pocket, munched on one, and made his way. Time for getting serious. Time for the Spider Man to do his stuff.

The End

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