He had to admit that he had lost the factual overview of his cosmic positioning temporarily out of his sight, out of his senses, because of all the definite vortex-thrust pleasures.
He did not have the slightest idea where he was, why there were three enchanted fairies on his healing pillow and, above all, why there was nothing left to drink. He tried a reboot-start with the Janus series of numbers, which should have been something of an emergency activation code according to the chronicles of all beginning-ends at all tempests.
Never before had anyone reported on their non-function. “At some point is always the first time” thought Soltek and he tried the thing to win something kastrytic, but in fact all the energy storage really seemed to be completely empty and it moved: nothing.
There was nothing on the central LED firmament other than helpless jumbled numbers of data with no apparent sense or meaning. Common to all these discordant signatures was this dreadful sense of meaningless, abysmal meta-egalitarianism. He heard the lord of the black-eye scornfully and triumphantly blaspheme at the insignificance of his helpless flirtation. Soltek had to swallow and already wanted to turn to the emergency button, as this subtle breeze from a not quite surprising corner of his body seemed to bring some order into the diffusivity of the resolution. It was a relic of the holy Su Ki Ni, which brought the rhythm of life back into action with a downright banal-vulgar metabolic process.
If cats already have seven lives, then such a cosmic star traveller should have engraved at least 23 of them on the middle-aged eternal score and with that in mind he bit into the magnificence of benevolent nature and surrendered to the primary inebriation of oral intestination and did what was hardest for him. He ignored everything and was just here, looking forward to the next fart.
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