“So far so good, or not so good. Let me sum it up. Out of your desperate loneliness, out of your mind erring over the treacherous treks opened by the question “why?,” you managed to craft the deceiver. Which wasn’t a deceiver to begin with, but just an externalized receptacle of your mental vomit. Then…” Doris interrupts the little guy, “Don, your estimate is correct, please don’t speculate further, let us hear her, shall we?” I hurry up to speak, seemingly frightened that she’ll tell me to carry on.

“Gradually, I got accustomed with the cracks and booms and bangs produced by those numerous firebolts. Was he up to something? Perhaps. As randomness vanished, I could distinguish several patterns until it crossed my head, literally. An electric bold crossed my head! I was enlightened. Each fiery stone became entangled with each other throughout a web of lightnings. I felt sublime whenever it struck me. I found myself running like mad after those firebolts. Not very long I had to earn my bliss by jogging all around this pulsar – as you call it. The misfires turned fewer and fewer. The fiery web became stable and so dense that the stones were submerged in this ocean of light. Elated, I rushed to the North Pole, standing where your pyramid is now, to join my son. He raised his voice, and hands, to speak for the second time ever since I birthed him. Not answering to any question on this occasion, he said: “God! I am the lord of Astarte! I claim my kingdom! Here and Now! Give it to me!” then he dropped his hands, looked me in the eyes and spoke again: “I’ll make you my queen. You’ll mother many races and teach them to boldly go where no one has gone before.” I believe that it was after these words of his that I perceived and contemplated my first orgasm: it was much better than charging my head with lightnings, I can tell you that for sure. It came from within.”

“And so it began, this universe, into being…” She is right when saying “this” as opposed to “that.”

“Please clarify, Astarte.” Hah… ha… ha… Gotcha.

“You humans manifest a tendency for superficiality. Lucky you that you’re not too serious when naming things. The universe, unseen and unheard, precedes me and my son. Remember that Nok, Eli and God descended from “somewhere” when one of them made me, another named me and The One confirmed me into existence. Their persons have already had their environment, thus their upper universe if you wish, where to come from and where to go back. Only they can tell us what lays beyond. This Lucifer of mine demanded, in his claim, a realm for his lordship. It was granted to him for two reasons, I believe: first – because he industriously filled this void sphere with an ocean of light; and second – because he ambitiously raised a personal claim to God. Nothing wrong so far. Thus concluded the first second of my life.”

“Can I sum it up now, Doris? Astarte?” As we both consent, the little man goes on in his own language, “thus a smaller Matryoshka doll was granted to exist inside of a given, already in place, greater nesting doll or, in more technical terms, a new virtual machine has been delivered to a point of presence; this being not a matter of persons but of habitats. Am I right?” Mhm, well, machine-wise he may be, but he is missing a detail.

“I gave birth to a new person, Lucifer, which never existed before. Besides, I have no memory of myself existing earlier. At least two persons emerged as novel along with the newly claimed virtual machine. And remember: I speak for myself.”

“You do. Please allow me to introduce you to the third person of this newly bubbled universe. His name is Kronos. Your first second would have never concluded if not for him. Kronos is a person created by our Lord, your God, to fulfill the claim posted up by Lucifer.” Extraordinary! I knew it. That mysterious wanderer. Wished to know his name. Asked my sons and daughters, asked God… no one told me. But I knew it! There had to be a new creature, separate and clean, capable to craft the maths of this universe. I knew it, yes!

“Well, well, Astarte dear, didn’t we mention the name of Kronos to you, earlier in our dialog? You did as well.”

“Yes, we did mention the name of Kronos in our chatter. And now your man has associated this name with what I’ve assumed to be the wanderer – a fine creature to match them all… It’s so sweet to know that you were right all the time.”

“He is time, this Kronos guy, but he isn’t as clean and capable as you think.” Hm… why do they have to spoil my joy?

“Look, Mr. Don, this wanderer, Kronos, has to be a virgin, right?”

“Indeed he is, Mrs. Astarte. By the way, you wanted to tell us more about your sons and daughters…” Sure, Mrs. Dawn, how could you miss that detail. No mother can, after all…

“Lucifer made me his queen. Considering himself to be king, he took his own mother to play the role of his first wife. Not surprisingly, I was the only female around. A circumstance that gave him no other choice…”

“Looks like the premise for a host of cascading circumstances that – apparently – gave him no other choices. We call this improvising and has not much to do with kingship, rather with carpet-knighting.” This fart speaks his logic out. Shall I combat it? Or should I better keep my mouth shut? Besides, Kronos did all the work outside my realm – which is confined to the inner layers of this pulsar, as they call the place where we are. Hm… what if his logic is saner than mine?…

“Not to brag, Astarte dear, but your personal logic started to err with the paroxysmal repetition of the question “why.” In spite of Nok’s warning messages, you kept knocking at the false gate with the wrong query. It dragged you into this casual cosmology. And please pay attention: had our Lord wished to abandon you, He wouldn’t have promulgated Kronos (the wanderer, as you call him), the only person qualified to make a sense out of the luciferous light. Remember! This kind of light is not uncreated, it is just physical, passenger. Luciferous light even has a speed limit as opposed to uncreated light – an instant issue of the Word, a light that is omnipresent, beyond the boundaries of what your son experimented with the fiery stones inside this sphere, and beyond of what Kronos took to handle in his celestial crafts.”

She speaks way too well for a little woman…

“Ah, possibly yes, I speak not from me, dear. I just learned to resolve the Rubik’s cube and it turned out this combination of words. It is not the only path to unravel nature, mind you. Quest different treks for destinations. Instead of questioning why this or that came to be, better explore how this or that fall in place. Hope that the method will help you next time.”
Oh yes, she’s trying to humble me… Fact is that she’s good at it. And yes, it’s gonna help me a way or another. I poured too many tears in that crypt to quit and retreat back to my stupid pride. Next? Help me next time? What did she mean by next time?!

“What I mean is what you’ll find out next, after telling us about your sons and daughters…” Abysmal pain… Did these stinkers felt it? Will they understand where I come from? Have I any other choice? I must tell them. They serve me one and then I gotta serve them one back. How’s that? “We call it tennis. Carry on please!”

“My king left me alone, submerged, with my ecstatic dreams, in his ocean of luciferous light. When he returned, and when I asked him where was he, he answered that he wandered across his newly acquired space, that he liked what he has seen and that he prepared a planet for me, his queen. A planet?, I asked, what is that a planet? Smiling at my candor, he taught me things about stars and planets – or worlds, as the word goes. During this first lesson about our cosmos, I learned that this sphere, my cradle, the birthplace of Astarte, is an electromagnetic star. You call it a pulsar. A one of a kind world capable to project other worlds into existence.”

“A projector… Hm… Interesting. How about galaxies, nebulae, black holes and quasars?” This restless Don with his hurried enumerations. Have patience little man…

“At the beginning of this cosmos there were no galaxies and nothing of the kind you can see now through your telescopes, or with your naked eye if you are well-endowed. My son’s kingdom used to be transparent to the instant light streaming from beyond. It was all whiter than any white you have ever seen, or imagined. Lucifer had to carry his manufactured light, not so white, to what he called the borders of his realm, for it to wander and – wandering – to make stars and consequently planets came into being. His argument was fishy, a mother can tell when her child is lying to her.”

“It was Kronos, the craftsman, or crafts-god, designing the physics of this universe, writing the laws of energy interacting with matter. I suppose.” Says the little stinker, he has no idea about what goes above this Kronos guy, above energy and matter, above time and space. Well, well, well, do I have any idea about what goes above the heavens I know? Wish I had…

“You shall!” The voice of Doris responds to my thoughts in her usual tough tone. “I’m sure that your voice can turn sweet, Mrs. Doris. How else could you charm men?” I dared a provocation because I’m tired of this interrogation.

“Oh yes, charming… The charms of ours! Such a warm theme to me. You know too well about the powers of a charming voice over men. But I’m just curious to ask you: until Lucifer brought this spell into Eve, and upon Adam, how did charming work time and times before?”

“Lucifer brought this spell into and upon everyone he touched. All you needed to do was eating from his fruit, mental or otherwise. I was his first victim…”

“…You’ve been charmed by your own son…”

“…Charmed, seduced, fucked, lied, deceived, burnt, banished, lied again, almost killed…”

“…but you cannot die, can you?”

“Anyone dies, my dears. One way or another. Humans die to return their flesh back into the earth and to free their souls up to their Maker. Daemons die to halt processes that clog nature. Fewer daemons alive make for a cleaner, less cluttered, physics of the universe.”

“How many of your kind have died so far?”

“Too many. Their deaths paid for the peace of the heavens.”

“Peace? What peace are you talking about?”

“Lucifer entered me first to procreate a male daemon, his first born. According to your culture, this person is known by the names of Zeus or Jupiter. As far as I know, every human culture has a name for Zeus. This maniac, this paranoid, this assassin, this incestuous bastard, brought war and murder to be the norm across the universe.”

“Wow! Thought that you were the goddess of war and love…” The little woman has her weaknesses, like everyone else. I haste to mark my points. “Most precious Doris, human cultures work by guessing facts and extrapolating situations which go way beyond the understanding of human minds. Therefore misinterpretations or total errors are common with humans. Way too common…”

“Doris,” comes the little man, “I think that we are the first humans that Astarte has met, to date.” I can’t even see them but he speaks of meeting me… “Well, take your time, daemonness, be glad that we talk to you.”

“Wait, wait,” intervenes the spoiled little woman, “if Astarte never walked the earth, like Lucifer, Kronos, Oranos, Zeus and many other daemons, then who planted the religions based on her?…” Silence reigns sublime… Doris continues to speak her logic out… “Silly me, perhaps that all those daemons taught our ancestors about her. She was their mother after all… Weren’t you?”

“Cut Kronos and Oranos out of it and I’ll give you an A plus!” Say I remembering the good old days of mothering for power and fucking for pleasure. “I mothered the gods of war and of peace, of darkness and of light, of fear and of courage, of frost and of heat, of depths and of heights. I mothered the antagonies, the ups and downs, the order and the chaos. I…”

“You mothered life and death, Astarte. Life as in sex and death as in war. There you go… goddess of sex and war.” He nailed me again, this stinker. “All what you did make out of your immature mind and of your worn out pussy. Out of both, you have made the serpent. That unfulfilled linear beast eating its own tail, circling to nowhere. The one who must make chaos in order to give himself a reason for organizing it. The destructor of things for the sole purpose of fixing them. You fucked up the universe with your sex and war deeds, Mrs. Goddess.”

“Tell me something that I don’t know.” Seeing no reason to hide my modesty (they can read my mind, can’t they?), I pitch at sarcasm. Which, amazingly, provides the unexpected response from the stinker.

“What you don’t know is that I am a paragalactic pimp. And a handsome client of mine is in desperate need to fuck your pussy. I’m here to take you out of this pulsar for that matter. Are you game?”

Twelve billion years (to speak in their slang) and I have never heard such a statement. Never ever! Daemons cherished or hated me, desired or abhorred me, feared or loved me. Humans worshiped me. Nok examined me. Eli punished me. God has always an eye on me. Everyone showed a certain form of respect toward my personality. But this… this… this pimp!?… This pimp is here to trade me. Hell! What am I, merchandise? Who do you think…

“HALT!” The stinker has a voice. Rigid, short spoken words control my body movements. So I halt. And listen. “Yes. You are merchandise and I came here to trade you. The same way you have traded men, women and children of Adam kind, and God knows how many other kinds. The same way you have traded wisdom for the nonsense that you speak and spread. Now the time has come for you to be traded. To be sold. It is for your own good, trust me.”

Do I have an option?

“I’m afraid that you don’t.” Implies the wife.

“Well, actually I’m glad that you’ve ran out of options. Seems that the universe has had enough of them.” Good! I wished to leave this place anyway.

“Tell me what to do, Master Pimp!” And he speaks to me like this.

“In the name of Jesus the Nazarene, you will listen to the spoken words of any man and woman who have whored less than you did – suffering the grief they suffer as they speak out (any humans that you can hear with your ears). You are bound to this Calvary from now till your definitive disappearance. Your body is already subject to execute verbal commands spoken out by humans knowing what they say and to whom they address a command, but your tongue and your mind are your own. If you shall teach your mind to learn and desire obedience as a form of liberation, then your offspring will inherit a corner of eternity. Else, the Immaculate River of Fire will wash out any perception and any memory of you and of your name. Is that simple enough?”

“Huh? Sounds simple but scary, Master Pimp. But you spoke about what I could be who knows when and why (oops, sorry!) and where. I’ve just asked what to do now, Master Pimp!” He wishes to laugh, I guess by the mumbled syllables, and then, suddenly, I hear: “FREEZE!”

(Existential Blackout)


I wake up within the outgoing echo of “…ease…” What could that be? Then I realize! My pimp told me to freeze. A dreadful and sweet command at the same time. I have been turned off like a machine. Opening my eyes, whiter than white, the light surrounds me, holds me. Raising my head, I see my body laying on… on what exactly? There’s nothing beneath my buttocks. No golden floor. Can’t see the horizontal… Oh! My butt cheeks, and my palms, are white pink again. Groovy!

I can hear my pimp talking to his wife. “He must give us access. I don’t know how much the pyramid will hang at the center of this cold, and empty, core.”

I hear her answering. “Is this the core that brings warmth and light to Saturn’s den? Thought we only run through cores of stars, not of planets.”

“Well honey,” says the little man, “there are binary star systems where a star circles the other, should we call it a planet still – as in circler? Saturn harbors the core of a star: an iron shell wrapping the outer reality that we convened to measure in minus Kelvin, remember?” The fuck they are talking about? These freaks… Saturn! The other name for Kronos. So he is the client. Hum…

“Okay,” continues the pimp, “I’m gonna alter a few parameters of his planet. Maybe this will ring a bell in the daemon’s head. Let me see… How about accelerating the rotation period… Say… Like doubling it.”

“Oh my,” I hear her scared voice, “Can you do that?”

“Sure I can. All you have to do is place a golden pyramid at the center of any star core and then play with the electromagnetic parameters of the celestial body.”

“But the mass? Won’t it…”

“Nah, we’re not talking gravity here. Not even inertial forces. Hell, not even fractals of time-space architecture. Look over here. See this function?”

“What function?”

All I can do is listen to this crazy couple. I wish to hear something about my client. Curiosity makes room to intrigue: why isn’t Kronos showing up at my date? After all, he ordered me. Where is he? Damn daemon!…

“You may read the function from these pulsating loops, starting with line #1095731 through line #1097759. See?”

“Come on, Don, you expect me to eyeball two thousand lines of code, not even alpha-numeric, and see a function in them? You make me horny. Wish to suck your dick and then take you inside me. That would be the function I can read way too well…”

“Focus, darling, focus! First we deliver the monster female to the daemon. Second we clear the crime scene. Third we take a break. I know an island…”

“Ye, Adamic people, do you come in peace?” The metallic voice of Kronos takes my breath. My ears have heard their share of daemon voices. My body has carried the burden of too many daemon dicks. My mind is still tired of them all. But this masculine freshness, this vigorous innocence, this calculated fear in his voice. Well, never heard of.

“Of course that we come in peace. We come back, for that matter. And not just with friendly hearts but with the promised present for you, Mr. Virgin.”

“Is this you, Don? Is this you, Doris? Is this for real?” Kronos sounds surprised. Genuine like a lake of the mountains. I feel no insinuation and no thought-inflection in his words. So this is the virgin daemon. They all laughed at the jokes they made about him. Bastards!

“Yes, gentle Kronos. I am happy to hear you again. I wish to see you. My man wanted to alter the rotation period of your planet. Maybe you can prevent his insanity by giving us access to your den.”

“Wish I could, sweet Doris. But the pentahedron that brought you here belongs to the angelic arsenal. A terrible weapon against us daemons. Seeing it inside the kernel of Saturn, icy shivers crippled my spine. Kneeing, I prayed, asking the Lord to spare me, one more time, to give me another chance.”

Wow! The first fearful daemon. All the others I knew were fearless. All of them? Well, almost.

“He is rather God-fearing than fearful. Not the same thing, Astarte!” The little woman speaks like a teacher to me. No adversity in her voice. She cannot wait to give her man some head. “You guessed it right,” she responds with words to my unspoken thought, “but first we’ve got to fix you this date with Kronos.”

“It’s a delivery, Doris.” Implies the pimp unceremoniously.

“Hey, Kronos, the measurements indicate four thousand kilometers between the floor of your den and the iron shell of the kernel. Given the core’s radius of approximately 628 kilometers, we have 4,628 kilometers between us, or more if you add the thicknesses. How am I supposed to transfer the load over to your place? In one piece, that is!”

“I’ll need more intel about her before considering her place.” No accent of passion in my ears. Shall I die of boredom near Kronos?

“No way for a woman to turn tired in his company, my dear.” Says the former harsh woman. Am I sensing affection?, nostalgia?, tenderness?, in her voice… “Yes, you do, Astarte. Kronos is a sensible person. Don’t ever try to break his heart. I’ll watch you!” And we’re back to threats…

“Kronos, darling,” speaks the pimp’s woman, “why not simply allow our pyramid to translate over to your place, is it too large for the corridors?”

“No, dear Doris, it’s not about the size of the pentahedron, it is about what this incredible weapon can do to me and to this place. This is an angelic weapon, told you!”

Aha, now I can finally sense what drives the fear of the virgin daemon. Death isn’t scaring him, nor pain. Beneath this superficial appearance, I can see an enormous angst of not being up to the task. He wants, needs, desires (whatever) to achieve something more important than his person. I don’t know what that is but I’ll find out.

“Look, Kronos, guys!, I can walk, can’t I?” The three of them turn silent. A deafening silence to me. I can’t see beyond these whiter than white surroundings. I can’t stand because the pimp hasn’t kindly canceled his FREEZE command for the body below my neck. I can only speak and move my head around. Good that I can also think out loud enough for their less-whoring minds to hear my thoughts. At least I can express myself. “Anyone there? Why did you stop speaking?”

Like an immigration clerk, Kronos formally demands of me.

“Your name please.”

This is unbelievable! Doris said that you’re a nice guy. You can read my mind, think you did that several times by now. And you come to me asking for my name? Asshole!

“Calm down, lady. I can’t read anything about any presence inside the iron shell.” Oh really? This only augments my anger. “Don’t you lie to me, Kronos! Tell me then how do you communicate with those freaky humans above me, eh?”

“Simple. They have opened a secure port for me. When I first met them, I could read their minds, all the way down to their bare instincts. Not anymore. Now I’ve got limited access, only to allowed parts of their memory. They have given me a sandbox and a two-way access line. It is what we call tunnelling.”

“And how did you find out about this scary weapon: the pyramid. I considered that this thing is just a casing, a transport container.”

“Things are usually more than what we consider them to be.” He sounds paternal now – I’d call this progress. “I have seen this type of weapon before. As a matter of fact, I have watched the effects of its presence inside a few iron shells. Normally, the shell spins but our eyes can’t notice any movement because the rotation is perfect, more perfect than the resolution of our reality. However, when you notice golden hues dancing across the iron shell, then you know that a pentahedron has appeared inside it.”

He returns to silence. I give him time. Nothing. I give him more time. No word from him. And?… I try a thought.

“And what?”

This daemon is either stupid or the coldest male in the universe.

“I am stupid and cold. Yes. And what?”

Hum… Can’t even gather my mind together… “And then what happened after you have seen the golden hues…”

“Ah… You wish to learn how the weapon works. I’ll tell you what it does, at least what I saw it doing: abrupt spikes of magnetic fields, lepton blinks and photon annihilation. The heavenly body suffers capital transformations. Most stars I’ve seen like this have gone supernovae. All the planets with their cores visited by a pentahedron have exploded to smithers. The mark of a pentahedron is bad news. The late planet Atlas had been wrecked by a pentahedron, shortly thereafter it exploded. The asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter is all what’s left of it. Do you wish me to continue?”

Well, do I? Not sure. I wish to see him, to study and to smell his scent. Getting down to business is what matters. Especially if Saturn is about to explode. I need to fuck him like there’s no tomorrow. This would give satisfaction, and a way out, to the freaky romantic couple above my head. I guess…

“Yes, Astarte, indeed.” Says Doris, the crazy control woman. “Chase your subversive thoughts as deep as you can. I know how much you droll to seduce Kronos, to use him for whatever slippery slope may seem fair and positive to you. Wish you good luck with that!”

“Look, Doris, we have no business to council Astarte. Please focus on a way to deliver her to Kronos and I’ll take you out to a nice island in no time.”

He speaks of “no time” and it doesn’t sound like a metaphor. He means it.

“Your name please.” Comes again the immigration clerk-like voice of Kronos.

Astarte is my name! Satisfied?

“No. Make?”

Beg your pardon?

“Who, when and where made you? Can’t find you in my database.”

Ah, I see. Nok has made me, before God made you. He presented me to Eli and to God inside a world of gold that these two freaks above call pulsar PSR J1903+0327. Satisfied?

“No. If you are the mother of the devil, then how can you live after he has eaten you?”

Excuse me?!

“Lucifer communicated to me, in different ways, that he can’t relay to his origin anymore, that he ate his mother.”

And you believed him? Hey guys, this daemon is so stupid!

“You have said this before and I confirmed. Now focus. Provide proof for your statements.”

I will when I’ll get in front of you!

“Astarte is right. Let us concentrate on a safe way to get her from our lower compartment to your corridors. Shall we?” The pimp sounds pissed enough to cast me down (or up?, who knows) and I am too sick of spending another six eons out of service.

“Fear not, monster-mom! You must be in Kronos’ hands before we leave. There’s always a little light at the end of the tunnel.”

Tunnel? What tunnel?

“It’s an earthling saying, never mind.”

Not that I mind, but there goes your solution: Kronos said that you did some tunnelling to exchange data with him. A tunnel for words and thoughts would be larger than a tunnel for my body.

“How’s that?”

“Don!,” intervenes the control freak, “can you zip the bitch, like putting her inside a folder and pack the folder with an algorithm that Kronos will be capable to unpack at his end?”

Bravo! I revel in laughter and delight. But suddenly the oxytocin flashes back all over my cortex…

(Existential blackout)


“…oove…” Darn, knocked out again. This time by my own emotions. Where was I? “KILL ALL. BOOT. STARTX. MOVE.” Ah, here I go. The pimp had to reset me out of my self-induced coma.

“What is wrong with you, Astarte?”

Nothing. Just that I cannot have an orgasm while my body is paralyzed. Was enjoying how Doris, a woman, came out with a solution to a man’s problem. It won’t be the first time.

“It was not only a woman, but a woman and a daemonness. Her idea is brilliant yet worthless without your blocked orgasm.”

You mean?

“I mean that I’ve scanned the chemical activity of your brain entering comatose and keeping you absent and alive. Had to run a couple of models and I suppose that I can zip you here, tunnel you out to Kronos, where he will unzip you back to living life. Hey, Kronos, what’s your take on this?”

“Have her encrypted with a grain of SALT, will you?”

“Copy that.”

What are they talking about? Who cares. Wish to arri…


…ve at my destination once and for… Hey! Wait! Where am I?

I stare at my hands. Wow. Can move them. Amazing feeling to figure that your limbs move, your fingers listen to you… Ah, my feet… Hello, my lovely feet! I stand on my feet. Let me see. A baby step ahead. It works! Bravo! Oh no, wait wait wait… No more orgasms! Don’t want back in coma… Look! The floor under my soles is grey and milky and golden. But the golden hues come and go, like a stroboscope. I understand now. The pimp tunnelled me into the den of Kronos. I can observe what the daemon of time sees through the floor. The shades of gold shy away. The grey melts to milk. Nineteen milliseconds after the last gold has vanished, my eyes can’t detect any grey. Milk is everywhere on the floor… The pimp and his wife should be out to their island… I’m here alone with Kronos – the virgin daemon. Never heard of such a thing. Neither did you, I guess.