The Lyre of Truth By Mitchell Pluto

Originally published as Carnival House in Cadaver Dogs 2024 and Espiral en el Estuco (Spanish Edition) 2025 Adapted for public reading.

The lesser mysteries were open to anyone who wanted to join the lively street parade, but unraveling the secrets of the greater enigmas involved being selected.

The secret group of performers included actresses who helped change people’s perceptions of themselves.

A spine and a brain were simply a keyboard to play.

Few know the mysterious past of the mystery troupe. Some say they are witches, while others claim they are ingenious philosophers.

Many suggest that their extraordinary four-dimensional theatrical experience has the potential to induce a psychic state in the audience.
No one can answer with certainty.

The authors of the show will remain unknown to us. The key is self-exploration to better understand the thing we call ourselves.

I was inspired by witnessing their performances, especially considering the restrictions that prevented women from participating in Hellas theater. I wanted to see how the mystery play portrayed metempsychosis.

A dignified woman handed me an invitation.

I considered myself lucky.

The statements of the friends who attended concurred: all who ventured into the underground temple emerged transformed and with an enhanced mind.

My goal was enjoyment, whether the secrets were imaginary, sexual, or drug-induced.

Following the temple’s instructions, I performed the ablutions in the river. The first performer was a fisherman, who told me he was looking for pitch, rhythm, and duration. He cast a line, and I caught it.

He led me to the bank, and I followed him to the temple.

Crows in flight watched us as we walked. They have been trained to memorize and vocalize my name. The birds amuse themselves by taunting me with predictions related to my failure.

At the entrance, ancient emblems were visible. The door panel resembled the shape of the sarcophagus of Usiris, god of the chthonic realm.

The symbols painted on the door also matched those of the Shiva lingam, the serpent of Asclepius, and a symbol resembling a symmetrical pine cone.

To begin, I knocked on the door three times. Aegle, a very cheerful hostess, greeted me by name. A pleasant feeling of well-being washed over me.

She was generous and held a cup.

The dim candlelight cast strange shadows on the walls of a dark room.

Someone had placed a coffin in the floor.

This coffin supported a staircase that led down into the earth.

With each step down, the rungs became wetter, their textures mysterious.
I decided to ignore what I felt and focus on something else.

Taking the last step, I found myself inside a pentagram drawn on the ground. A woman was present at each point, one of whom was my host. They introduced themselves.

Their names were Hygieia of Purification, Panacea of Medicine, Iaso of Revitalization, Aceso of Operation, and the hostess, Aegle of Joyful Strength.

There I received the first cup, called kykeon. Its taste was reminiscent of strong beer. With their voices united, the women expressed their thoughts through chants.

Flutes could be heard in the background.

The music intertwined, creating a mixture of harmony and discord that reflected my physical fluctuations.

At different corners of the star, the women rotated and alternated their positions.

I joined in this movement by observing; I felt a deep satisfaction and confidence.

With a sudden pause, the music ended, leaving behind an eerie silence. I was handed a torch. Aegle and her sisters lead me down a dark corridor, their arms poking through holes in the wall, ready to support me.

Panacea advises me to be careful of the light source as I make my way through a maze of several thick, damp curtains. Some of them being hanging animal furs.

We enter a chamber bathed in a soft green glow, with walls adorned with stained-glass windows that form an octagon.

In the center of the room, a golden chair has been placed in front of a small well.

I feel the women’s hands as they take my torch and guide me toward the well.

They buried me up to my neck; their soothing voices offered me some comfort, but not much. In a melodious voice, Iaso spoke my name, and the sound hung in the air.

Silence filled the space as a woman, dressed in a sheer black peplos, entered the room.

She embodied the sensuality of Demeter with her full figure. A shiver ran through her body as she sat on the golden chair. I stood before her, unable to move.

Aceso poured me another kykeon and gently held it to my lips. Then, Hygiea poured water on my hair.

The sisters took turns drawing rings around my head on the ground.
They created a line extending from my chin to the circumference of the circle. Hygiea sang a song, showing me how music serves as a compass in life.

As the song ended, Demeter rose from her chair and her eyes met mine.

Demeter stood on the outer edge, where the diameter and circumference met.

On her knees, she revealed her vulva by opening her skirt.

Demeter’s voice gave me a strange atmosphere.

The woman used an onomatopoeic effect, employing primal sounds instead of words. I imagined myself transported to a time before civilization.
The sounds displayed wild, sexual, and disturbing characteristics.

The five sisters dug me out and cared for me as if I were an uprooted plant.
They passed me a torch.

Iaso led the way, and the sisters followed. We entered a rotating, cylindrical tunnel operated by hydraulic power.

Maintaining my balance is a challenge.

A mirrored curtain distorts my reflection at the end of the tunnel.

Aegle advised me to face it head-on, passing through.

Behind the curtain, two steam vents dispersed. As the water vapor dissipated, a huge relief of a nude Demeter rose on a stone wall.

A raised walkway gave access to a door located where her vagina was.

The river of figures, dressed in contrasting black and white, moves in a choreographed, serpentine formation beneath the bridge.

This creates a deep unease in me.

The work depicts a battle scene, with soldiers sinking beneath the tides, their screams muffled by the earth.

This is iron and other minerals being sacrificed.

The haunting, animal wail freezes the moisture in my body. My only concern was the fear it created, overshadowing the actor’s talent and the astonishing stage effects. The fiction’s realistic portrayal convinced me of its truth.

I received Panacea’s advice to remove myself from disturbing thoughts.
Aceso takes my light and signals me to enter through the door. Hoping to find safety, I pass through colorful layers of scented sheets that release fragrances and pheromones, easing my discomfort.

I find myself in a spherical chamber. There is a portal in the ceiling that illuminates a rectangular bed with sunlight.

The sight of countless fresh flowers hid any trace of a wall, giving me time to recover and admire the intelligence of nature in each petal for many hours.

The group of five sisters entered the room dressed in black. They asked me to undress.

The intention was to remove any artificial obstacles between the goddess Persephone and me.

They prepared me, washed me, and offered me a calming drink that later became a potent aphrodisiac.

The sisters massaged my body to align the points with the star’s proportions and gave me affirmations that, to this day, have a positive effect on my thinking.

Persephone entered the room.

The woman removed her clothes.

Persephone had a youthful, simple face, with a pear-shaped body.

The five women formed a star constellation, with us at the center.

Hygieia sang a comical song that brought us both joy and laughter.

It was followed by a song that filled the air with sad melodies. It awakened a bittersweet sense of rediscovering something long forgotten.

Accompanied by Persephone, I experienced a sense of wholeness that completed the missing pieces of an unfinished picture.

Before we met, like a blazing and radiant star, Persephone comforted me.
I fell into a deep sleep with lucid dreams. I understood totality within an ever-present circle.

Revelations fueled my growth at every stage of my past life.

Everything I observed, inside and outside my thoughts, shone with brilliance.

I reached a state of peace where there are no boundaries.

By providing me with palm trees and poppy stalks, the group of five sisters acted out a brief skit where I was a man impregnated by the goddess.

This metaphorical journey disturbed me.

Panacea informed me that this ritual fostered the growth of a man’s inner woman, the anima. I must nurture my visionary mindset, inspired by the goddess Athena.

She reminds me that Athena was born in the head of Zeus. I am told she will heal my masculinity and that women will invite me into their bodies without fear.

Soon I observed the full moon within the oculus of the curved ceiling.

Strangers and street people filled the place.

Plainly dressed, Demeter and Persephone passed unnoticed in the crowd. With the room packed with spectators, I became the center of attention.

Someone announced my passing.

Despite my presence as a living being, the actors remained absorbed in their characters.

A tower of sand lay beneath the bed block that fit over a hollow.

The sand trickled out as vents opened from a lower level, sinking the bed.

Spectators showered me with flowers as I slid beneath the dark floor.

Soon, my perception was limited to that of people huddled in a suspended rectangular frame.

I kept my gaze fixed on the figure until it faded into the distance.

I analyzed the impressions the theater had left on my mind.

Love swept over me, but it vanished in an instant.

The elevator stopped, and I found myself surrounded by curtains of an intense magenta glow.

From behind the curtain, an open hand appeared, and without hesitation, I reached out and shook it.

The cavern I landed in had braziers lit with purple and red light.

Precious stones adorned the cave walls with sparkles.

A bearded man, dressed in a crocodile skin, held a horned cup and told me I was expecting too much.

The five sisters, the attendants, had transformed into untamed figures, wearing only leopard skins around their waists.

Their breasts swung and their hair was disheveled.

He handed me the drinking horn, and I drank.

I asked him if this was Hades.

He replied that it was only a mortuary cave, ruining the disturbing image I had conjured in my mind. He said it was his place, Pluto’s lair.

He instructed me to follow him through a door where cavernous formations resembled fangs.

With some effort, we arrived at a dining room fit for an emperor.

Someone had prepared the food and placed it on the table.

He ordered me to sit down and eat, which was more of an invitation.

The five sisters consumed their food with an exaggerated display of hunger.

It was comical, but they played their parts so well that it became unsettling.

I hadn’t eaten in a while, so I was hungry.

While I was eating, Pluto was playing cat’s cradle. He braided a rope and handed it to me.

He told me to tie it around my waist and meditate on its meaning.

After we finished eating, Pluto led me to a mannequin wearing armor.
Pluto instructed me to put it on.

As he molded a piece of metal on an anvil, he told me to wait for the monster clown, whom he called Shoort.

I remained worried, expecting something to happen at any moment.

But nothing happened for a long time.

As I dozed, a creature emerged from the darkness.

The sisters sang a discordant chorus without fanfare or relief.

Rising, the creature demanded attention with its intimidating presence, asserting its dominance by finding the deepest fear within me. The monster took over my most intimate space. Fear paralyzed me. I reacted and broke free.

I fought the monster and stopped it, surprising myself.

Pluto yelled, “Grab the mask!”

I removed the mask, revealing the actor who was the fisherman.

Comically, the fisherman confessed to giving in, explaining that his actions were part of an elaborate plan to deceive me.

He said he had no choice but to follow orders.

I was about to delve deeper into my interrogation when a child’s crying diverted my attention.

Within seconds, I stumbled upon a boy trapped in a tunnel, out of my reach.

I untied the belt and rescued the little boy from the hole.

He hugged me, expressing his gratitude. The boy identified himself by my exact name.

Pluto and the five sisters clapped and cheered.

The women congratulated me as Aceso offered me a soft drink laced with anesthesia.

I woke up. The five sisters, disguised as bearded men, stared at me. They mocked the male voice as they spoke.

The voices were authoritarian, harsh, and angry.

Their question: Why did a woman like me lose consciousness?

I admitted to them that I didn’t understand what they meant.

The performers held me captive in their irony while remaining in character.

The ‘men’ helped me up, patting me on the buttocks and chest as I stood.

I realized and saw that we were performing on a stage with an audience present.

Through a mirror on the wall, I realized that someone had dressed me as a woman without my consent.

I protested, but discovered my role was silent.

The actresses did an extraordinary job pretending not to hear me.

Although the audience could hear my voice, they made unpleasant comments.

It didn’t take me long to understand the plot of the play.

The setting was a brothel. As an enslaved woman, I was traded for work in a prostitution establishment.

Three sisters took on the roles of slave traders.

Their authoritarian and malicious voices terrified me.

The remaining sisters portrayed the owner and the client.

The client’s expectation frightened me.

I kept overlooking the fact that it was only a simulation.

Now I saw the expectations I had hidden from the Aegle when he first greeted me.

My reflections were becoming visible in other people.

Three sisters crowded around me and, with surprising force, threw me into the crowd.

My body moved over the surface of the crowd, which tore off my dress while groping me.

As I reached the back of the audience, the five sisters intervened and embraced my exposed body.

By symbolically becoming a woman, the ritual allowed man to enhance his masculinity and develop greater empathy. Then, making love puts us in touch with a divine state.

The act of this love to women made me sense a connection to a godly presence that is universal.

My deepest longing becomes the foundation for love and creation.

I began the day by integrating tattvik tides into my exercises, and I could already feel a mature rhythm in my being.

I challenged myself blindfolded, while my eyes remained fixed on the shapes of my imagination.

Among the variety of tattvik shapes, the representation of air is a solid blue circle.

Earth is a transparent yellow square.

Fire looks like a red, triangular liquid.

Like a crescent of flaming silver, the water shimmered.

In the mind, the tattvic form resembles a dark egg.

It absorbs all light and is even darker than the surrounding darkness.

To complete this task, I visualize the symbols and relate them to other elemental designs.

It is important to replicate the images as accurately as possible and analyze the reasons for their deterioration.

By tracking and observing how the images deteriorate, I can understand other subconscious thought forms.

Later, the sisters led me to a cubicle with mirrored tile floors, walls, and ceiling.

Three chairs surrounded a triangular table at the focal point of the room.

On the table was a flat, round plate that looked like a coiled snake. I discovered that this was a game called Mehen.

I played a bit of Mehen with the twins.

It was difficult to distinguish who was causal and who was perpetual.

One twin is the other in the limited form of the eternal idea.

They seemed like four instead of a pair.

The twins embodied a perfect living square, treating all sides equally like Nzambi.

I participated in a couple of games. I fell short in the first, but won the second with the help of a lion.

These two events made me reconsider my participation in the works I was involved in.

Now the final ritual was taking place in the Telesterion, an acoustic pillared hall.

Throughout each ceremony, the dedicated team of sisters accompanied and guided me.

Like markings on a score, each sister represented a bar line, providing pitch, tempo, and duration to facilitate my experience.

The five daughters of Asclepius moved within the staff, shifting positions. Their perfect harmony generated a unicursal rhythm, instilling a sense of unconditional well-being.

At that moment, I stood before the god of the sun, the star that radiates growth, maturity, and harmony.

Apollo has a dark complexion.

He wears a reflective suit that reverberates with the surrounding surfaces. In his wife’s hands, a harp resonated with soothing melodies as he played the saxophone.

Many birds fluttered around him as he played.

The final stage of the ritual involves offering a song to the radiant sun, which fills the atmosphere with harmonious melodies.

The star embodies the force that drives people in their pursuit of well-being, intelligence, and benevolence.

Keeping music in our hearts aligns all the chords around the goddess.

This connection reminds us of our deep philosophical connection with nature and its impact on our well-being.

Memory Transfer by Mitchell Pluto

Transferencia de Memorias

From The Eclipse © Mitchell Pluto 2024 Séance channeling memory transfers. Espiral en el Estuco © Mitchell Pluto 2025 Transferencia de Memorias

In early June, the sky was clear and the temperature was pleasant. Tom and Sarah Anderson came across a metal tower while hiking in the Lolo National Forest.

The object’s Gothic style stood out as they approached. Seeing it brought back memories of their honeymoon trip to Chartres Cathedral.

The couple assumed the installation was someone’s art project or an exhibit at the University of Montana. The sight was unusual. There was a black circular window high up, near the top of the bell tower.

The tower emitted an extraordinary spectrum, encompassing all shades of blue and green.

3,500 kilometers away, a small gathering met at the United States Capitol. Attendance was by special invitation only.

Elijah Booker and his friend Alvaro, a man of abnormally short stature, arrived punctually. They entered the room and attracted a lot of attention. Booker, a large, Black man, always stood out in a room full of white men.

Alvaro had previous experience in the company. He knew the purpose of the invitation. Alvaro was albino and his alias was white dwarf. His main function was to use his mentalist ability to influence and dismantle cults. He possessed an innate ability to influence and alter opinions and beliefs.

On the screen, taken from a popular social media video, several recorded witness statements were shown. An older man, standing next to his wife, described the encounter with the intelligent light as best he could next to a strange tower. With deliberate and concise gestures, his wife explained the same thing, but in more detail.

Booker assumed he was the keynote speaker invited to talk about the future effects of permafrost.

The focus was personnel selection, not Booker’s research. Elijah Booker was the world’s foremost parasitologist. He researched extensively and wrote informative books on toxoplasmosis, a brain parasite. Elijah worked with international scientists. The Bureau of Globe Research in Alaska, where he lived with his wife and daughter, housed a broad research panel on prehistoric pathologies. Booker’s research caught the government’s attention.

Booker’s specialty did not include cosmic rays. He had heard of them and knew they were unstable, but nothing more. Cosmic rays sometimes interfered with belief systems, sometimes caused hallucinations, or enhanced brain patterns in unique ways.

The U.S. Intelligence Service considered ideologies to be mild hallucinations and was intrigued by the effects of cosmic rays on the brain.

The U.S. agency selected experts in direct observation.

The department was aware of Booker’s private life.

They knew of Booker’s Buddhist practice and his hobbies, which included listening to jazz and researching the occult.

Booker and Alvaro boarded a plane within a few hours. The private pilot, a native of Montana, had a great time. Alvaro taught him numerous dirty jokes for a total of six hours. This gave Booker time to read reports on cosmic rays.

According to government research, different rays posed varying levels of danger.

A jeep with tinted windows was waiting for them at the airport.

They soon reached the mysterious object. The Forest Service managed the situation, giving it a normal appearance to the naked eye.

Antennas, tents, and tall Douglas fir trees surrounded the 70-foot bell tower. The building’s structure possessed a beautiful style. The scene reminded Booker of a surreal landscape, something Bosch might have built.

He took a photo with his phone and recorded a video, documenting the luminosity of the fading colors.

Álvaro tugged at his pants and pointed to a tent. A young woman, about the age of Booker’s daughter, was holding a tablet like a clipboard.

Frauke Brunhilde introduced herself. Her black nails, black shawl, and tight leggings gave off a countercultural air. She was a genius in the German Federal Intelligence Service. She was a forensic chemist and radiological technologist.

Booker inquired about Frauke’s findings and knowledge.

Frauke showed him a live feed from a radiation-resistant camera. A vertical line of light aligned with the top of the bell tower. He speculated that the beam provided a transmission that might correspond to a conscious entity. Frauke discussed the fluctuating visibility of the light. She said that in Europe, cosmic rays are everywhere. Frauke said people believed they caused poltergeists and produced other strange effects.

Throughout history, ancient peoples used stones and statues to mark power points. Indigenous Europeans wore conical hats, such as the Golden Hat of Schifferstadt, to tune into cosmic rays.

Frauke proposed that primitive peoples tuned into radio stations in space. Mysteries associated with cosmic rays included encounters with fairies, aliens, angels, or even people who disappeared without a trace.

Booker wondered if these disappearances were due to dangerous rays that triggered aggressive progeria, a disease that accelerates aging. This cosmic ray posed no such danger. Frauke mentioned an article published by German scientists in The New Nature Journal, which argued that time is a moment that has already passed.

According to Frauke, the article suggests that UFOs are future apparitions investigating the present.

Booker wondered: Who was shaping the future from the past?

In the report he read on the plane, some anthropologists in the southeastern United States theorized that cosmic rays were attracted by unicursal patterns, but also expressed themselves to humans in diagonal or zigzag patterns. Frauke mentioned geometry as a method for communicating with unknown intelligences.

Booker noted that Frauke’s explanations had a mystical undertone, and he knew she was speaking of magic.

Frauke inspired Booker to reflect more carefully on the unintended consequences of cosmic ray-induced hallucinations. Most of the knowledge discovered turned out to contradict his beliefs, something he was prepared for.

The next day, scaffolding surrounded the tower.

Booker spoke to the welder. The man said he hadn’t been able to burn a hole with a blowtorch.

Incineration also didn’t work on the top window, which the worker described as Jell-O. His partner punctured a sandwich with stainless steel tweezers in the Jell-O. Nothing happened to the sandwich. The puncture filled and healed itself.

Booker walked toward the main tent.

Alvaro reclined on Frauke’s lap. They seemed to be having a good conversation. Frauke chuckled. Booker told Alvaro and Frauke to prepare to enter the object.

The unit gathered what they needed. Booker hooked Alvaro to his belt like a weapon. Frauke slung a backpack over her shoulders as if she were spending a week in Glacier Park. Frauke put on her headphones and began climbing. Booker braced one hand and one foot on the scaffolding, the tips digging into the ground, as he slowly ascended to the upper platform.

Standing near the most enigmatic and sinister feature of the building, the three gazed up at the large black window.

The surface was obsidian, with a thick, gelatinous texture. Due to its unknown elemental nature, they were unable to separate the gel into samples. Frauke, using her scanner, surmised that it was an iron mordant containing extraterrestrial gelatin. The window also contained a low- to medium-fluctuation radioactive ray, known to cause hallucinations, according to the scanner. Booker hoped that, as they approached the cosmic ray, they would all experience an LSD-like experience.

Without any prompting, Álvaro dipped his hand into the substance.
It was the temperature of a warm bath.

Booker quickly glanced at Álvaro.
He removed his hand from the gel, waggling his fingers toward Booker and Frauke to demonstrate that God was luck.

The group sat for an hour discussing hypothetical possibilities, including personality changes and brushes with death.

Álvaro lived by the motto: to embody the god of things as they should be. To be the force of humor in every passing horror. Frauke, enchanted by Álvaro, agreed.

Frauke put her headphones back on. The music turned up. Booker hooked Álvaro back onto his belt and held Frauke’s hand. Booker didn’t want her to wander off alone in the oozing gel. He felt responsible for all of them. Booker placed a camouflage bandana over his nose and mouth. He breathed and closed his eyes. Frauke tugged at his hand.

The first step into the gel was similar to stepping into a deep pool without firm footing. Each movement created an unpleasant sucking sound. The absolute darkness unleashed a wave of fear. A surge of adrenaline flooded Booker’s bloodstream, testing everything he had learned from Buddhism. With a concentrated effort, he maintained his upright posture, stepping into the dense gel with one arm. The suction made movement difficult.

Booker could now identify with the five clinging aggregates of Buddhism.

It became a direct experience. The aggregates — form, sense, perception, and external forces — environmentally influence the mind.
Booker felt a predatory presence. An obsessive, superstitious belief overwhelmed his mind as he struggled to penetrate the bottomless gel.

Suddenly, Booker had a clear view of his own brain. He could see his amygdala working overtime. The pressure on the insular cortex made him imagine the worst possible scenarios, including an imaginary predator chasing him.

However, there was no malevolent morphic resonance present, only a confined space. His own fear divided and attacked every facet of his mind. The narrating brain identified its observer function as an intruder.

A strong auditory memory told Booker not to panic. A Nyingma master at a Buddhist retreat advised him to accept the discomfort and practice gratitude.

This precious memory became clearer and more fundamental to his resistance.

Booker imagined seeing the Khenpo floating on his back, effortlessly performing backstrokes in a slimy jelly.
Another vivid memory resurfaced. Years ago, his few sessions with Stanislav Grof helped Booker relive his earliest memories of being suspended in a possessive womb. He recognized that birth brings with it a subconscious sense of abandonment for everyone.

This caused humanity to misinterpret birth as a definitive isolation and desertion.

All of this originated in the maternal body’s rejection of the newborn as if it were excrement. Generation after generation, this confusion projected contempt for the feminine and nature.

Booker could see his thoughts as images. He saw the unjust and unconscious representations that dominated historical records.

The central idea emerged as the ambition to replace the mother with an artificial mechanism. This would foster the construction of an industrialized, parasitic world devoid of empathy.

Booker wished he had headphones.

Music would make it easier. He imagined John Coltrane’s “One Up, One Down .” He had listened to the album often, at the cost of exhausting his wife’s patience. Today, it helped him remember it. The saxophone arrangement conquered fear. Booker knew that Coltrane understood the patterns of a constantly changing self. A self free of history and objects.

One conclusion became clear: time and space will never have a central authority.

The attempt to even imagine sensations beyond the end proved to be a vain and imputed illusion.

Death existed as a phase that passed like everything else.
Why pretend we knew this?

We shared the same fate. We would cease to exist without knowing what death was.

The tension dissolved and the jelly transformed into a thick fog. With his free hand, Booker reached for Álvaro, patting him on the face. He looked at Frauke. He saw her silhouette. Frauke turned to Booker, took off one of her headphones blasting, and smiled.
Booker asked, “What got you through the jelly?”
Frauke nodded to the beat: “Huh? Yeah! It’s an American band called The Doors , The Other Side , yeah, they’re good!”

The cosmic ray transformed the tip of the bell tower into a reactive vanishing point. This produced a carnival-like hall of mirrors effect. Booker, Frauke, and Álvaro occupied that space between the parallel lines of the cosmic ray. The room resembled a virtual infinite hallway with a ledge. Colors cascaded down the cosmic ray.

Frauke’s gaze caught something in the swift wave of light. She spoke, describing what she saw as it manifested in Álvaro and Booker’s minds.

A spinning triangle reflecting brilliant light transformed into crystal. At each corner, the numbers 3, 6, and 9 materialized. From the center of the triangle, sparks erupted, forging a nude female figure with hair down to her feet. A deep red and white glow caught her attention.

“She can see us,” Frauke said.

The woman spoke echoey. She gave her name as Mitzi Orssich. Mitzi said she was broadcasting from a live 1920 séance in Austria. The chatty ghost said she represented the Viril Society.

Mitzi demanded information from the future to help build a temporal vehicle. Mitzi possessed sternness, while her flawless figure projected an incredible image. She was a magnetic and exciting archetype who could raise blood pressure and induce a firm salute .

This woman’s body possessed a truly divine craftsmanship, an image that neither eats, defecates, nor ages.

Booker reflected.

She fit the bill: blonde hair, blue eyes. The graceful elements resembled the Christkindel.

But why didn’t this woman take over as Germany’s leader in the 1930s?

Mitzi spoke English very well.

Booker recalled researching the Vril Society, which emerged as a 19th-century work of fiction by the English writer Ed Lytton.

Booker realized they were tapping into a projection of Frauke’s subconscious.

Mitzi was, in effect, a literary phantasm forged from a pseudo-story.

He looked at Frauke, who remained staring.
Booker speculated through his online queries and research; Frauke gained powerful impressions from what she read.
Álvaro’s face was simply a huge smile with tiny hands and feet.

Booker interrupted Frauke’s trance and appropriated the cosmic ray, projecting abstract expressionist ideas onto it. He enjoyed this art movement and understood its significance. He was open in sharing his observation of vivid brushstrokes.

Booker gently guided the hallucinatory influence away from the National Socialist art style toward a more universal and abstract variety. It was art without a human figure.

Wonderful and exciting non-figurative patterns formed from the center of the cosmic ray. The variety of designs lacked strict cultural ideologies, which brought Frauke out of her trance.

The cosmic ray inspired Alvaro to create a complex algorithm based on his interest in spiders.

Mitzi’s impression triggered unexpected associations that took a mutated form.

Web strings connected a spider puppet to the spinning chemical brain in Alvaro’s vision.

Frauke saw it as a fusion, creating one puppet within another.

Booker interpreted Alvaro’s vision of the spider as a portable DNA capsule capable of flying through space.
Small cubes appeared on a spinning belt in another future. The webs were coordinates, guided by a chemical brain inside a metallic spider.

Booker, Frauke, and Alvaro huddled in a triangle in front of towering Douglas fir trees. They were gone for three days and reappeared five miles from where they had disappeared. There was no alien tower there. A man named Warren found them while patrolling the forest. The cosmic ray information was useful.

US intelligence took statements from Booker, Frauke, and Alvaro.

Engineers, chemists, and physicists collaborated to design a new space vehicle with a chemical brain.

A few months later, the spider-like object would fulfill a panspermia mission. The space spiders, called Anansi Capsules, would aim to find habitable planets to modify human DNA and enable life in an extraterrestrial environment.

The Anansi Capsule was an 8-foot-tall mobile figure with eight appendages for hand tools.

After descending, the capsule would unfold into a complex 16-foot laboratory.

The Anansi Capsule would manufacture and raise two biological beings for several generations.

It is unknown whether the new offspring would preserve or understand their origins, but they could be alive to continue exploring space.

A few months after visiting Montana, someone mysteriously provided a grant to de-extinct the woolly mammoth and thus include it in Booker’s future project.

From The Eclipse © Mitchell Pluto 2024 Séance channeling memory transfers . Spiral in Stucco © Mitchell Pluto 2025 Memory Transfer

Espiral en el Estuco (Spanish Edition) Paperback – Large Print, 23 April 2025

Spanish edition by Mitchell Pluto

El surrealismo oscuro y el absurdo crean efectos psicodélicos. El zen y el jazz de Coltrane ofrecen una vía de escape de la veneración política, permitiendo viajes interestelares. Cada capítulo explora el surrealismo y las técnicas budistas. Estas ayudan a sobrellevar el trauma de sentirse atrapado, como un animal en un anuncio repetitivo.

Phantom Soup: Short Stories for the Evicted Citizen

To write something and leave it behind us,
It is but a dream.
When we awake we know
There is not even anyone to read it.

The 8th day of the 4th month, the 3rd year of Kōshō (1457)
Ikkyū-shi Sōjun

Ghost Ride

Accessible for reading.

In case you overlooked it, this universe wasn’t lacking in ambition or size.
It was putting on a spectacle with its production.
The cosmos is just incredible; even haters gotta admit it’s breathtaking.
Zanni, the defendant, is still waiting for a verdict.
In space, sentences float around and words drift apart.
His black and white checkerboard suit embodied the polarities of opposites.
He is a man without a country.
A joker in a deck of cards.
Through gestures alone, Zanni attempted to decipher the universe’s communication.
There was drama everywhere, but Zanni just didn’t understand how it worked or how it occurred.
No one ever knew the truth; it died with them, leaving only unanswered questions.
Everyone figured the headache meant they knew what the problem was.
Less pain means clearer perception and a more optimistic outlook.
Honestly, it wasn’t a matter of right and wrong.
Or pain or pleasure.
It dealt with items of worth later becoming trash.
You could tell what things meant to people by how often they handled them.
It’s a space ballad playing both life and death.
No one will sing the sad cowboy songs of unrealized dreams anymore.
It’s alright.
We are part of a sombrero galaxy, a galaxy that is an eternal sunrise.
Zanni was in a giant empty room with waves of random stuff.
His world symbolized a particular responsibility of being.
Special car keys for a 2025 model, a mobile wallet, a decorative cup, a gold pen, a seasonal tire, headphones from 1979, crumpled up Kleenex, a 1990 professional styling brush and a flashlight from 1899.
These objects surrounded Zanni.
Thankfully, a consumer digital camera from 1996 captured a pic of this.
But for who?
Regular waves swapped out old things for newer ones.
Zanni contemplated this event.
He figured the most likely explanation was that he was inside a massive vacuum cleaner.
He experienced a strong connection to things he saw on his trip.
Zanni speculated that the objects he couldn’t name were from a future timeline.
Things appear and vanished super fast out here.
Zanni drifted between sleep and wakefulness.
We can refer to it as a space fog in the mind.
A magnetic memory was his most beloved possession.
It echoed because Zanni repeated it.
He brought it back to mind in a re-run.
Zanni felt the luscious lips vibrate against his ear. It was a figurine of a woman.
Her name was Colombina.
The teal diamonds and magenta triangles on her dress flowed together to create a pattern of doves.
Hand in hand, they created poetry.
The rhythm of their partnership quivered in the shared space.
The couples’ bond created a constant interplay of elements through the intercourse of their geometric patterns.
Zanni maintained his embrace for as long as possible before the vacuum wave separated them.
He could not pinpoint the incident’s time without a clock.
The arrangement of numbers magically shapes the surrounding space. A regular watch shows what’s going on between the numbers.
Of all the puppets, did he alone ponder his whereabouts?
Only he understood his own thoughts and feelings.
Sometimes Zanni heard voices that didn’t belong to him.
Intrigued by the mysterious voice, he followed it.
The voice led him back to his body.
Those seizures and hallucinations gave epilepsy a mystical quality.
His memories of himself were likely because of thinking about Colombina.
He owned the moment, his own little universe, for a single second. Zanni saw himself as a buoy, helping other objects find their way.
But Pantalone, a hunchbacked old man, considered himself the universe’s ultimate authority.
He was a drifting turtleback tomb from another vacuum wave.
Pantalone preferred the nickname “god.”
His face twisted in anger as he guarded his belongings. Losing things got on his nerves. His tailored red suit reflected Pantalone’s importance.
Every item got a brand and price label from him. He believed he understood your true worth more than you did yourself. He used his talent to make you think whatever he wanted.
Those close to him risked having their self-image stolen and used against them.
Pantalone intended for everyone to rent from his cloud.
He lost money in the vacuum wave, then recovered his losses.
This activity provided him with enjoyment, a sentiment he wished to share. Provided that he had more.
Scattered dollar bills wandered everywhere.
The bills, by themselves in space, lacked any connections.
Now, Pantalone found himself surrounded by dancing product wrappers, toenail clippings, old grocery lists, damaged furniture, empty food containers, broken appliances, crumbled up receipts and dead batteries.
Think of it as a garbage cloud.
Several real estate agents, their eyes wide with nervous energy, tried to appear calm as they floated past Pantalone.
They pretended to own a spot by treading in one place.
While this was occurring, Harry Houdini sailed by and unlocked a satellite.
Intrigued by Pantalone’s possessiveness, Zanni examined the egocentric and deceitful nature of his own point of view.
He observed the ego’s memories fade as the mind surrendered its ownership.
Once the fear was gone, relief came.
Houdini cracked his knuckles. “No worries are necessary. Don’t sweat it. It is a simple lock to open. “
The hierarchy reflects the relationships between things in a chain.
An x-ray showed how brain waves link things up through information chains, like you see in neuron activation patterns.
This electromagnetic wave made Zanni wonder about the engineer of the universe.
It appeared the designer wrote a script for a big stage performance but remains anonymous.
In the meantime,
Pantalone reached his own planet.

Phantom Soup: Short Stories for the Evicted Citizen Paperback