…or else continue up the TOWER and be destroyed…

I wandered vaguely around nowheresville when the man in the blue cap approached me, his long latin mullet flowing out the back. Ride her truck, Jon, dearie. Vs everywhere all around the five sided space coeffecient. Trickster ghost walks around me, his hat pulled low like he’s trying to sell me oranges off the I-5. Or maybe he’ll ask for some change.

“Cho meng, I can chow choo where the TOWER ees, meng…”

I wanna ask his name but know that such data remains irrelevant in my current state.

“Learn chore numbers, meng and choo won’t have dees problehm, no?”

Hard to argue with a man in a hat like that. I make idle threats about how I know what the TOWER looks like and how I work for very important people, but he says he’s not trying to trick me and he’s never even heard of A.R.M. The white dust kicks up hard from the rocks in the road guiding the experience of walking in psychogeographic spaces since time immemorial. I keep falling sideways, losing the view of my guide and glitching in and out of places I’ve never been, couldn’t be and should never have known about. Indians from long dead colonies on east coast shores trading wampum for maize, circling settler wagons and then burning them to the ground. We had a phrase back in those days “one settler, one bullet.” One day when I settle down, get married and knock up a transvestite I can tell my kids all about my past life as an Indian and watch them gawk in wide-eyed indifference.

The Indian is gone. I look down and notice flowing blonde hair, and just about the hottest set of tits and ass I’ve ever seen. I turn to tricksterguide.

“Why am I a woman here?”

“Why are choo a woman eneeewhere, meng?”

Ego erosion, beyond the physical loss of the self in spacetime. Directions become reversed and the flame pours on hard again stripping away all the flesh and bone, but more the idea that I should be afraid of walking around with tits and ass, hunting white settlers, death, life, sloth, activity… all dualities, potentialities and moralities become irrelevant in the TOWER. Dualities manifest as odd juxtapoz… “gestalt dynamics” he cries out “GESTALT DYNAMICS!” synchronicity solution equation pumping out ineffable answers and swordsmanship.

I can’t see the snake or the dove, but I know that they’re there. The eye blots out all, its massive presence emitting blinding light in all directions infinitely simultaneously. The weight of the building crushes me and I’m afraid that I’m going to scream or break out, fall back into matter and see the same old dreary shit that surrounds me when I jerk off.

“Congratulations… you have left the tower. You may choose another ____.”