“Shut up and dance some more!”

“Who are you to speak of good, evil and trespassing?”

“I am the King of all things.  This is my Kingdom. They belong to me.  You belong to me.  Worlds belong to me.  Universes belong to me.  You’ve released deadly sins into the air.”

“Beg your pardon you… King who?”

“King-of-here and King-of-now.”

“I too was a King.  I had a real name, I—”

“—You’ve no crown, You dance and you behave like a mad creature.  I must say, it is entertaining.  No king acts like you do.”

“My words are kingly.”

“You have said nothing of substance and you dance like any fool would.”

“My crown is large and wise.  It is precious and shines of a thousand fires.”

“I see no crown crowning you.”

“It is self-contained.  It is within.  It shines all of its own, with all its might, can’t you see?”

“Sure.  Look, I don’t know where you come from.  I don’t know what you want and I don’t care, but sure as I am long lived and as I live long, you’re no king.”

“I am not your prisoner.”

“I need entertained for I am lonely.”

“I too was once lonely on my planet.  They,” King U says pointing at the unconscious crew lining the Insatiable Princess’ planks, “are entertaining and as I lost my world, I care not to find it again.”

“You’re odd.  Dance for me!”

“Look what your worlds have done.  Look at them.  Are they sleeping or are they dead?”


“Fix them first, wake them up!”


“They’re not dead?”


“King or fuckwit, I beg you, tell me if these copses are creatures or dust.”

To be continued…



The King-Clown’s heart glows, a tempest of glory raging inside it.  The victory is his.  So too are these new territories: his wand radiates, emanating light.  Then, remaining undetected, a small turtle shaped clouds float leisurely not far above and expands sluggishly.

As the King dances, he begins to sweat profusely and his lips grimace before contorting and extending unnaturally onto each side of his face, an intended grin of sorts until finally, the turtle cloud opens.  At that point, it launches lightning bolts, one by one, two by two until it climaxes into groups of copious bolts.  Soon, one bolt strikes the King-Clown’s wand, splitting it in two, thus beheading the bells in one strike, thundering promptly, adding a previously unimaginable dimension to the empty skies.

“WHO COMES NEAR?” a deep and invisible voice bellows.

“WHO COMES HERE?” King U retorts a similar tone, perusing his surroundings for the voice’s source until, blaring in his face a ginormous King of another kind appears out of the turtle-cloud, generating storms, cyclones and tsunamis with one swipe of his hand on the surface of the thin oceanic platform, disrupting any peace and stability this universe’s boasted scarcely a few seconds ago.  Clapping his hands provokes the storms already in place even more.

“Can’t you see?  They’re all asleep,” King U says.

“You stand.”

“What do you want from me?”


“I have done no harm.”

“This is MY Kingdom!”

“Why not greet us pacifically earlier and make your presence known?”

“You happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“It needn’t have come to this.”

To be continued…


“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…