“- That's why you're here – because it's a slaughterhouse over there.”

“You know she's pregnant, Clua, she's – she has a human child in her body – I suppose, I put it, he's -”

“- A boy - is it? We're talking about Pry here -”

“And anyway she's got no talent right now and it's necessary - I had to because she has no talent now. At least. After. At least until after, a while, in which case -”

“In which case it's something else.”

Looking at him it was this, he realised. - He didn't fear him. He feared who projected him out the eyes of Phinz-Twoan - that was it and that was who. That was directly who his body, including his organs, all of his organs, and the ones too – especially the ones too he had a fair expectation were in fact, like Art's, you know, too, and Clua's and Pry's, he had his eye - those too that were supernatural, especially the ones too, that - they were supernatural.

He could attest that Massimo Diap'leptico Rampposz was only a phantasm, only a projection - and that it was the specific projec-tors of this phantasm that he feared. Because, and this wasn't intellectual, whoever had to build a kingdom on lies, those for whom this was the only choice - the unavoidable selection - those for whom he worked too, whoever they were, the things they were planning, and the things they did – well it was exactly that; wasn't it – they - the things they were planning - could not by any definition or stretch of any kind of plain conception, those dependent on such a structure, of mendacities, be good.

“Which explains the complete absence of a p52 and in fact -” panic racked him in a sudden internal physical crash - “In fact why we are running, entirely blind, entirely, entirely, entirely, blind on this and why in fact -

- “What choice did I have but truth?”

- “His organs!” Massimo Diap'leptico Rampposz, leapt up/a mountain on its feet – pacing/screaming. He was screaming, he didn't know why he – the back and forth, on this, at this point – and - the perhaps - fake hysteria; he did not know what. he. - was – it was like he was – at his point - ambivalent.

“His organs scream truth! His appurtenances, his whatever you – his attributes, he sees the colour of lies, he detects, he can see them, he knows when he's being lied to; and he has a physical, perhaps terminal even, aversion to lies – this is the fuck you want,” it wasn't kind, courteous, the way he said the word dreamunits - who were people, you know, both of them thought, Pry and Pheel, actually. It wasn't kind - “- This is the fuck you want them to identify - with; this is the identification that produces the fuel on which we have to construct - via our friends of course - this tower of sodden fucking squelched up saturated lies.”

In one strange flash of moral panic, Pheel could see that finally Massimo understood how bad it was; maybe he wasn't quite as mentally healthy, in fact, unhealthy, he meant, Massimo – or not healthy; he didn't know - he now realised – depended the perspective - as he'd always suspected - just an entirely different diagnosis – from that which – he'd always suspected. Unless it was – as he'd never suspected – fake; or no; it was – genuine. Ambivalence.

“It's a kingdom really, isn't it.” he was saying, Massimo, “half blind - anyway half blind, squalid and dank, and damp, maybe not damp, in a pit underground, of the half blind men of that place, throwing themselves into their squalid ceremonies, beneath a pit in the ground; the red fog/the defiant... shadows. There's a discussion to be had certainly about what final thing they are, there. Here, even. I could say connected to-too - but let's just say, what are they?” he turned to the Cyclops he was seen out, not even acknowledging his presence; towering, like an obelisk, unseeing, except in the way that made him live,

- “What are you?”

“You'll get nothing,” it was Pheel... he agreed, but what was he?... they said nothing for a while and then, “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Well.”

“Yes - that's where they -” he burst out of himself, “What do you think about?” Was he losing his mind now too? “I don't know, any of it?”

Pheel's entire mode of being, he suspected now, had suddenly become contagious and poor Massimo, he felt for the poor bastard, was suddenly suffering the consequences. In terms of but not solely his personal mental well-being.

Before he could - “No, I'm in charge of this.” Pheel watched him grow a foot taller, two, eight, twenty five, eighteen plus eighteen equals 36 - he did this in the instant of his rising out the floor, perhaps all through - Pheel was seeing reality entirely differently now and, as a consequence, all of his relationships had been rendered inexplicably and inescapably weird.