XXXIV. At night the galaxy is loudest. Privy to its Secrets, Cicciotta has come to planet Vashisht. Unfinished business, the spirituality rabbit Chase. Too bad many researchers abandon ship. The mirror is dark. Great research is never over. Dig deep into the folds of Time, Gravity, Electro-magnetism; the coordinates May change, but do the laws change also? XXXV Once, I found a mini blackhole in the cupboard. It was 7 o'clock. I fell from the chair. Finnegan and Watt helped me up. Legacy, dreamt Ariadne; guilt bricks. River petals; evolution: angular and tragic. Dreams are amalgamations of everything. In euclidean space time, long range interactions between this and that flare up XXXVI. With potency inverse of square of distance. Standing at the seashore of spirituality, The drift of the atoms lurks toward the event horizon. The laws of right and honey. Everything could end at any moment. Time out. My ancestor awakes. He was a prick. Hesse and Jung, double dose; will cure You of family. Monkey was born into pain. XXXVII. "My heart is an anvil to sorrow" quotes Monkey in Ariadnes dream. "Generosity Youth Leisure. Eloquent intelligent patient. Overcomes mighty adversaries. My CV." In no way does monkeys ego mingle. I swear on Rust'haveli's word. (Cicciotta copies the Dream word for word). Love is purely Platonic. You, ravisher of my reason! Desert. XXXVIII. In a desert I grew to Gullivers proportions. The multiverse is plagued with Yahoos and Ariadne just dreams, Cicciotta just copies, John C wanders, just. The sound of the souls Is deafening. Could we tune in some Endymion, some thing of beauty? This poem sucks. It is Inane. It dillydallies, it stares at you. Monkey just suffers. Night grows darker, and stars hide. XXXIX. It began when Desert Storm, turned historian, found a mini black hole in the City of Griffin, amidst the echoes of SM di Castello. The monks had long gone. Not so the history. All Stories untold, uncorrupted, came forth in A Hawking memoranda. On planet Vashisht, Noted Cicciotta amanuensis, everything had XL. Changed. It had changed for it to grow, else We're not really living. Consciousness can be collective, a loud stream in the valley. My mind, dearReader, is a tiny bell oscillating in the wind. The last time Cicciotta copied, Desert Storm read, and all The other characters of this story were in Alignment, the stars were close, and I had XLI. Much love. But then, I still have much love. Consciousness is in layers, peel away at the Surface and the skin will come off. Another Layer, and then another. There is a certain Melancholy in the act of peeling, a certain Sense of loss of identity, gain of function. Human life, a meaningless conglomerate of Memory fragments? Almost all of our life XLII. Is passed in a more or less unconscious state Waking up from the constant dream, on Occasions mountains rise in the distance, Roads and purposes clear up. Successive States of unconsciousness. Deep space reads The one sweet page that is us, then shuts the Book. Information-echoing probes move on. Planets spin frozen, so Desert Storm reads. XLIII. If time progresses, axes tilt. Suns set and rise again. The wheel is spun once more. It was Then that Tariel wept and loved. The higher Space called him, the emptiness above. Heaven called. The abode of I dunno wot. But then there was a gravitational, narrative Collapse. In a great exercise of blackhole Dustbusting, all characters, matter, juice XLIV. Of story-telling - everything comes now Round to pounce away, midsummer-like, in a giant singularity (make sure your black holes are big). "So good-night, with lullaby." Thus, amidst great fanfare we witness Reversibility in time. Theseus and Hyppolita Are yet to marry. Perseus is yet to perform The sexist act; that is the power of drama. XLV. "Lies!" cries the philistine in you! "LIES!" But, dearReader, in this neck of the multiverse everything is possible. Granted that symmetry and time Reversal give us space, given the gravity Of the situation, let us line up the characters each with his or her toil, anon comes clarity. Guarding alertness, Shantideva roĺls the drums, The elephant of the mind comes bumbling forth.