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224 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 16, 1971
“Thank you for the wine. What kind did you say it was?”
“Vino de casa mixed with a mere smidgen of old Dr. Hammerfinger’s essence of instant powdered Power-Pack brand acid. Brewed by gnurrs in the secret laboratories of UCLA in preparation for the big all-Europe turn-on.”
“Whatever it was, it surely was,” Cordle said deeply. “Pure elixir to me. You could sell neckties to antelopes with that stuff; you could change the world from an oblate spheroid into a truncated trapezoid… What did I say?”
There was also the usual microbiotic-food console, set now at Fat Black Andy’s Soul-Food Composition Number Three – hog’s jowls and black-eyed peas. And there was a Murphy Bed of Nails, the Beautyrest Expert Ascetic model with 2000 chrome-plated self-sharpening number-four nails. In a sentence, the whole place was furnished in a pathetic attempt at last year’s moderne-spirituel fashion.
Inside this apartment, all alone and aching of anomie, was a semi-young housewife, Melisande Durr, who had just stepped out of the voluptuarium, the largest room in the home, with its king-size commode and its sadly ironic bronze lingam and yoni on the wall.
“Go on,” I broke in impatiently. “Get to the heart of it.”
“Well,” the voice said, “I realized that my world existed upon many levels – atomic, subatomic, vibrationary planes, an infinity of levels of reality, all of which are also parts of other levels of existence.”
“I know about that,” I said excitedly. “I recently realized the same thing about my world.”









