“This can’t be true!  This is madness.  I—”

Soon, and except for the incessant buzzing of multiplying worlds zooming past at high speeds entering the Captain’s orifices and that of the monkeys, all that can be heard is a King-Clown chanting with his bells jingling.  There are no tambourines.  And this fool dances and chants.  And this fool chants and dances until all that is left standing is himself, ignorant of the eternity that is now enveloping his comrades and oblivious to the incessant buzz of worlds passing him by as if in the grandest or smallest scheme of all, he did not exist.

Soon the King-Clown begins ululating, wondering if singing like an Indian or a Swiss yodeller or mixing the two might be better.

Now, even there and then, King-Clowns of the best calibre must enjoy food, drink and a time to think of all things lightly; but when the intensity of the worlds relentlessly zooming past, swirling and speeding increases begin to tire this fool, fatigued, he throws his staff to execute a fated instant as the staff flies over the ship’s side into the flat dark waters, urging the wild worlds to stop their cantankerous search for fecund soils and to follow the disappearing staff, deep, deep into the thin and shallow, glassy surface.

Once its mission accomplished and all the worlds in this universe of strange have gone and been gobbled up, this fool’s staff rises once more and hovers upright, vibrating as if imbued with pride, as if its biggest accomplishment to date was to have helped nature breed itself.

To be continued…


“Cover ears, nose and mouth!” Birdseye says.

“Magic!” Labaguette exclaims in wonder as one miniature world enters the parrot’s mouth and throat, disappearing and bouncing within the confines of his entrails.

“Finally something to shut your gob!” the Captain says, laughing.

“I could be dead.”

“Are you still talking?”

“I’m going to die.”

“One who swallows a whole world understands.”

“Understand what?” the King asks, “it’s all about living in the instantaneous.”

“We must be off,” Birdseye insists, gesturing to the Monkeys to bring the sails down.

“Knowledge is death,” Labaguette says, “I feel faint.”

“Salman Rösti once said that the possibility for creatures to swallow entire worlds exists, that it is real and that it brings understanding,” the Captain retorts.


“Off to your perching post!” the Captain says.

“Rush-dee,” Birdseye corrects.

“Don’t worry Labaguette, the world you swallowed is contained and its growth thwarted because it can’t activate its growth genesis,” the King explains as Labaguette teeters and flops to the floor.

“Let us rise,” the Captain says, picking up Labaguette and looking at him from all angles, “let the Insatiable Princess rise again.”

“ALL ABOARD!” Birdseye orders, a pirate in the making not noticing that none of the passengers and crew are off the ship.  Then, two tiny black worlds enter his nostrils and in no time he too flops onto the planks of the Insatiable Princess, unconscious.

“Shit!” the Captain says as the Monkeys give up their posts and rush to his aid.

“It’s time for a dance,” the King says.

“What?  You too?”

Then the King begins to dance in earnest, shaking his staff, jingling all of his bells as the sound of unseen tambourines reaching the Captain’s ears.

To be continued…


Inside the boxes, each bubble grows larger, some with colours of blue, green and ochre, others with features, shapes and colours never seen before.  All have one thing in common: they are inside the original wombs of creation: they are the energised and energising future planets, stars and universes, all in gestation.

Once nurtured and pampered, they will burst out of their square wombs.

“This could get messy,” the Captain remarks, “we’d—”

“—C’mon Captain,” Labaguette says, “it looks like we could select and have a planet with the exact dimensions and intended precisely for us: one with a single ocean to roam and discover.”

“Where lies the interest in that?”

“A life spent roaming for eternity as the unconquered and unconquerable pirates of an entire ocean, planet and with Rum aplenty.”

“Pirates without combats?  Have you completely lost it?”

“I’ve roamed enough.  I deserve a rest.”

“You’re half my age, you’ve at least another three quarters to go and you wanna retire?  You’re yet to accomplish your lifelong and ultimate goal, Labaguette: will the hero within remain where it lays?”

“Tis’ self-made and it’s enough.”

“You sure haven’t made it yet.”

“There is wisdom in isolation,” King U remarks.

“We’d better make a move,” Birdseye interferes.

“What took you so long?” the Captain asks.

“Multiplication.  It’s their gift.”

“We can all see that.”

Then, a small black world bursts out of its box, as if its purpose and intent have misfired and out of it, a multiplicity of tiny black boxes come out, each in turn producing miniature size worlds that pop out, fly in all directions, threatening to infiltrate the Insatiable Princes and its residents through orifices of all kinds.

To be continued…


Influenced and stimulated by what they see, the next lot slide over the surface until they reach the platform’s edge at high speed and are projected far ahead before taking a slant and falling, falling, down, down, down into darkness.

Those that are left appear more resistant and are able to command a nesting place.  They settle on the surface and begin a process where buzzing, gurgling and lighting take place simultaneously until black pigments are lost and translucence and transparency are achieved.  Then, one by one, little by little, small individual bubbles pop up before being formed and born into round spheres, one in each box.

“Tis’ a miracle !” Labaguette exclaims.

“Science in the making,” Umbilicorberto confirms, looking at them with a long view.

“They know,” Birdseye says.

“Precisely, they know what you don’t,” the Captain remarks, looking at Birdseye, “we’d better be prepared, the boxes are of no use.  I suspect foul play.  Look at them!  Their newly found creativity is giving birth to hybrids.  We’d be better be on our way.”

“To where?” Labaguette enquires.

“We’ve within the confines of the original state!” Umbilicorberto remarks, climbing down from his observatory and then dancing on the deck with the three monkeys following him in his rhythmic footsteps, imitating him.

“There’s yet new life in this desolate area!” he continues.

“King U,” the Captain says, “you’ve seen this before?”

“It’s in your books, Captain.  The intrinsic generation of new organic matter that is born out of the never never.  The origins’ origins.”

“Tis’ a rien de rien,” Labaguette mutters, “nothing more and nothing less than a never never.”

To be continued…


Then the King, jingling his bells to signal a change of course, climbs up the mast in a flash, as if he too were a Monkey.

“What’s gotten into you King Krackskull?” the Captain asks.

“King Umbilicoberto,” the King yells.

“Dark waters,” Labaguette says, “I shall not dip a single feather in it.”

“What’s gotten into you stupid bird?” the Captain asks.

“The King is no longer a king and he’s gotten himself a new name.”

“He already has one.”

“The latter is honest, he can handle it.”

“He’s still a King.”

“STILL AMM!” the King adds.

“Not for long.”

“Beg your pardon?” the King asks.

“What would you know about it?” the Captain continues.

“You’re still searching, are you not?” Labaguette asks the Captain.

“I’ll stand by my name, there’s no need for alterations.”

“Sure.  So, who are you?”

“I shall lead this conversation,” the King insists.

“I am who I am!”

“He changed his looks and changed his name, he’s—”

“You’re nothing more than a chameleon, fuck off!” the Captain says to Labaguette.

“The truth—”

But the Captain has clicked his fingers faster than Labaguette’s last word and one box has come out of its orderly lot to rescue Captain Traumatic and entrap the parrot before flying off and settling besides Birdseye.

The remaining group of boxes keep hovering above the surface, observing it, taunting and tempting it, spitting sweat, trembling, fidgeting, uncertain of their ways until the more adventurous ones take the lead: they land on the surface, bob up and down and then disappear reshaped into black oily bubbles that bubble up some more before being gobbled up without further ado.

To be continued…


“What’s changed?” the Captain asks Birdseye, “you were confident swimming or flying in it, or whatever it is you did.”

“That I knew.  Anything else, dangers, I don’t feel.”

“Because there’s no imminence and you can’t call it at will,” the Captain concludes.

“Slow!” Labaguette says, “you’re too slow Birdseye.”

And this is how, with barely one single syllable words, Labaguette convinces the Captain to stay.  And this is how, with so little foresight available, Birdseye convinces the Captain to send a few boxes out as explorers of their peculiar environment.

Even the Monkeys are it.  They have decided that the water is ice and smooth glass all at the same time and they are sliding on it using their feet, hands, bellies and anything else they can think of so long as they can muster a giggle.

“This is no party ground, you monkeys!” the Captain yells as the boxes come out of the ship’s hold and begin scanning the area, led by Birdseye.

“There isn’t much to explore,” the King says, “there’s nothing to see, it’s a flat, smooth and transformable lake.”

“Your vision is no longer fit for a King,” Labaguette says, “you don’t look like one and you don’t act like one.”

“Where’s your modesty?” the King remarks.

“Looks matter,” Labaguette answers, “I’ve up-ranked since my feathers have been cosmetised and my flying ability restored.”

“This new outfit is kingly and I feel happy in it,” the King says, “I feel renewed.”

“Then this water is holy,” Labaguette remarks, “you’ve been baptised.”

“It’s no water.”

“It’s magic.”

“It’s science.”

“From now on, I’m Umbilicoberto.”

To be continued…


When the King gets up again, all look at him in astonishment: his tiny crown is now a wide brim golden hat bearing colourful lozenges and its tip jingles with a golden bell.  In his left hand is a gold staff with three more golden bells topping it up and he is wearing a shiny and colourful body tight suit.  He is wearing slippers made of glitter that curl up at the toes.

“My, My!” Labaguette exclaims, “from King to—”

“—Tis’ nice,” the King remarks, “She Coat will be jealous.  I’ve never had something to suit my rank.”

“Your rank?”

“It is a perfect fit,” the Captain interrupts looking at Labaguette with one eyebrow raised, “fit for a King of your standing.”

“You should try it Captain.  Your old jackets smells of—”

“—Non, non, non Capitaine!” Labaguette says, “I beg you not to exchange your jacket for—”

“—I’ve no intention to rid of it,” the Captain maintains, “You’re pooping on it has added much needed padding to my shoulders Labaguette and, besides, it’s been with me since the beginning of times.”

“I wonder,” the King says, “have I been made the new leader of this platform?”

“What’s there to lead?” Labaguette asks.

“Let’s give this place more time,” the Captain says, “we need to explore it.  What has your wisdom got to say Birdseye?  Any danger we need to be aware of?”

“I see nothing, I feel nothing.”

“That’s it settled then.”

“I mean I see nothing, I feel nothing.”

“I heard you.”



“Disabled.  I cannot see and I cannot feel.”

“For how long?”

“This place.”

“We’d better go then.”

“Wimp!” Labaguette says.

To be continued…