top of page




AQ, a cyborg living in the year PPUD117, has descended into a “pocket universe” in search of the source of his neurological illness, for which he has found no cure in his base-reality. This particular pocket universe is based, either through chance or narrative influence, on the Golden Age of Piracy and populated, either through chance or narrative influence, by spirits of the dead. These two cantos take place in the second of the two halves comprising the book, around the middle of that latter half. AQ is tracking a dark ship called the MT Sockett and a manned balloon called the Sea Eye, as his adventures so far have suggested that his final answers may be found there. Just before the events of these two chapters, AQ came across a massive sea monster / land slug, from whose wound a hallucinogenic goo has slopped and drugged AQ. In a trippy state, he comes across an island, low on food.


Sailing lonely again, funny moon

Cutting itself down, building its-

Elf up, sun ‘thout definite ‘rection,

Stars r out e motion and feelins

Catishly quaking, rations ‘board

The AQalgian run low and out,

I come then soon and oddly acro-

Ss a knotty, fake-ass isle, where

Fantasies approach from all aro-

Und, I anchor there, a’search of

Chewables or breads, in hungry

Weakling status, notice neatly first

Off the depth of animation here,

Not too real at all, some details basic-

Ally nonexisting, some over-real,

I spy shining circles on the sands

Denoting where underneath a trea-

Sure is buried, not a’great hidden,

But I unspool wound temptation

To dig right off, wander deeper

Into island’s thin interior, find there

A German-style cottage, lit from with-

In by a blooming ufolight, I knock

At thick door, say “Hello in there, I

Am AQ, a traveler-sailor on a mission

Medical, I detour here in a hope to

Find a food and drinks, is there any-

One ‘thin here?” A drawn and sup-

Posedly beautiful face pulls into view

As door swings open, long-blonde, I say

“Oh, you’re that summoned figment

Of defeated and internalized nazi-orig-

In-story, right? That hair-antenna?”

“Mary Oarsick,” says she, thickly Germ’d

Accencion on her words, “Medium and

Conduit for the doc-star, I was gene-

Rated long-aglow for purpose of lores,

Brought down to fatherland the blueprints

For a saucer-ship, never was though, I’m

From like 198x pushed back into whirld

War story of dark and Lytton clashes,

In here I serve as treasure-guard and diver-

Ter for the vile crew of wat’ry MT Sockett,

My truest breth’, they that seed it all,

Mr. Weltanschauungskrieg and all, if

You seek ‘em, you’ll find nerve-branch ans-

Wer, seek writ of cult, O, I’d offer you food,

Water, but I’ll doubt, herr AQ, that

You’ll accept it fear of poisons...”

Oarsick shimmers like a 191x photo,

I lose my grip, attention leaks away—

Halt there flow, is that a shadow in

My face? Is that a shadow in my eye?

My face? Why? Why would that happen?

Why would that happen now? There can’

T in metal toughen’d skull reignite a

Mutant-angel’s weeping shadow PAIN?

Can there? I know that it’s you in there,

All this glowing on in my flapping mind-

Mouth whil v’rily Mary talks out ani-

Mated moundth tongue-lipping speech,

Cup overfluxing, flexing fiber, pencil-

Patterns, cell-soggy, stupid fig, I’m

Coming into, out of trance-dream,

The slug’s slop slowing, find, though

On an isle vacant, anchor’d, I am alone.


Caught and ate a sea-raw thing or two,

Sloping out of linger’d trip, I limp back

To sweet AQalgian, home-at-sea,

Recalling odd false-reality of Oarsick,

Feel some spectr’l eyes at back and pluck

A rapid-unbeing blondish hair from shirt, de-

Cide to err on skepty-side, er, ‘nother Germ’geist?...

Get the f’ling that thotform bloom’d

From solution of worm’s-blood/slime

And my future roots in tbh kinda fascist

Technempire PPUD117, and come to think,

The 117 scales on slug-draco’s lengueth…

I set out aft’all down here for lacking better

Upper-world treatment, I aft’all install’d

With all of what docts decide is right, hot cyb-

Org, allopatheurgy failing, turn to fizzy sist’,

The seltzer-system of the dancing pocket-unis,

But thing about ent’ring one is that it takes u on,

Looks back at you, I’ll euphemize, dances, plays,

Allergizes and competes, makes fun, shuffles the dead...

Now, funny feeling flowing out, recommenceth slog in

Recommended poketeurgic journey-cure… I

Am persistent, reboot the half of me that isn’t

Me, I get at sail again, gain guidance from a wil-

Ling wind, costumer-in-air of canvas motors,

Puller, wind, of psychic boat’s singing flaps,

I lacking now ecstatic guidance felt before,

I, lacking all in psychic drainage post-

Limaxial sea-ffluvium dosing, wander with AI stone

Apollochip in ship-terminal, who does offer suggestives

In coded monotone, “Float/ aloft”, “The golden days/

They gladden so”, “The ears/ hearest” and on it

I do over his droning catch a tonal scent: yes!

Again above, the Sea Eye, fitted with mas-

Sive rosy horn, a poet-voice intoning down:

“I see you seek the Sockett whence Eye comes,

To do war-games with us, very good, your

Weak Cantos will drive you to a death, a

Cure of a sort, yes? Your Navy of one!

We on air have above you on water float’d

Few times now, a way of omenizing, freak

You out, distract, but on you’ve come, so vam-

Pire, we invite you in to burn on water, you’ll

Find the Sockett in paranormal harbor there

Where, like your friend said, the vale is low,

The veil that is, at bleeding ledge, tuck’d b’low

A sucking bone cliff, fine, I reinvent it, wheel meat

You halfway, make a roadkill’d androy’d, my name

Is Jonah Judas Fisherman, will happily help

Fulfill your fool’s urge, we’ll meet at these, half:

28° 18' 9.7848'' N

69° 2' 13.3692'' W

BEN ROYLANCE is the author of A Talking Skull and the operator of Apport Used Books.

bottom of page