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Konfessin Mouser K.
AE Reiff

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Leland Pitts-Gonzalez
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Tom Bradley
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Matthew Revert

Konfessin Mouser K.
AE Reiff

Dear Mousier,

Down on level four, we loved the human we never saw. I should go there and extend the hand to bots, slang for the Severed … Persevered, some said. Who would have thought to despise the remaining class, but for markets? It’s harder to despise organic fit for extermination. Imperfection was not so loved then. In space, in ourselves, even the communicative Zero boys grappled with "you have lived (always lived) in the castle, but in the basement." Down in the basement! Ho, in spades: "Based that one could remove filters imposed by brain and perceive wider Reality," we took off epidermis, bio derm plant, down, down, got rid of boundaries, eradicated liver, heart, spleen to see the way TM did. It feels good to compare mice or insects. Who can see the UV when you can't even bingo? Take an insect eye. Want an insect brain? We treat A Heads with respect. They’re worth ye old standard, minus the visible so ill defined, almost worth cloning. Ain’t got no home in this world any more!

Time to shampoo,


Take psychedelic gene therapy or get picked up by pincers that reach out the telly by night. Snatch Zeros for the new. We get through the day, the week to merge on a patch of grass, but the air is cold. Too late now for anybody who bought the long life and health pack. Insights better than DT creased the magnetic. Zoomers sought the time unbelievable, would have said, “Why didn't you tell?" No complaint. Old H knew he could live in the light. I didn’t get that long out of the darkness myself before I escaped. They had to reenter the dark. To the light, light.

Your K.

My Dear Mousier,

Letters, notes by flashlight. Is it day? I led three lives, first as an ant. The second with Machines and the Headless, boys without brains, like a mouse without the planting. The third was escape, then life in prison, then escape. I guess that’s five. I got out twice. You have a hard time counting in the loft.

Down in the belly, Egypt ran simulcast with the Vatican, the National Mall, this anniversary (Port Day). We gathered to light a figment. Boys in white and sunglasses so the "petrified ray" wouldn’t turn to stone, so Obelisk Ra petrified, four-sided, top-sunk like fields of stone, feldspar spears bigger than where the Promise Keepers pray. Did they know? Who can say? That’s when I planned the escape.

Your prisoner,


We had pickup games, Puritots vs. Babonians round the maypole. This stuff was ahead of its time. Among obelisks of Wilderness Park I climbed the Needle to the top, spacetime ratios down the front. It was the old good news to back Caesar, dream of the body, Caesar’s body on a spit below. They lit it on fire with pitch and A-burned his every move. This was transcribed and given in Viagra to the sun, divin-E. It must be the candy.

Your K


Spacetime existence you can’t control outside the machine. No WONDER they said in the labs the thing was its own, preyed in the fifth dimension. That dream called it universAlatry, which tore THE HOOD. No greater break-stone met in the tank-back of Jupiter. Not fifth level stuff. Machines can’t just shut off. Over and over nutshell summations to the world boost stele politics.

Hidy hidy hidy Wold


Down in the tank tentacles touched and physicists picnicked wonder. Three erections, JASONs, RAND and Brookings completed the hyperlink, biggest symbol of Nation. Nothing To It boggled the minds, did, but didn’t, for across the hall myth heads of Schwartz got a ghost on the next floor to contact. Contact with entity. Tranbogists back-roboted DNA mollusks. Giant mummies disappeared from morgues, museums of the lost Tut. One day the boys smuggled out a tape, been playing in my head: [covert link] 2.0: "The brain don’t need the body any mo."

[ ] K.

Kurk Wold worked on the Nano Uber Alter Bot project, among others, which means he spent much of his professional life in prison and underground. He reports these experiments as escapes because the science is a little unbelievable. AE Reiff translated the letters of scientific shorthand from Wold’s numerical code palimpsest of the Mouser Airpark with its eight and more unfathomed levels and the Distortion Dome of air.