I feel it like breathing. I know its sunny with a light breeze from the vibrations around me. I am not alone. we are many & holding each other. I feel us feeling each other, passing something like tastes, strange information flowing through us like water, or echoes of water. Something moving is nearby - its big & its moving this way. Its human. Curious, slightly excited but energetically positive, amiable. I intend now to perceive as the human…

Here I am, in lightly wooded foothills. The plants in particular seem to be the object of my curiosity. Im kneeling now and opening my bag. I seem to be some sort of scientist judging by the gadgets & notepad. It looks as though I’ve chosen a specimen. I am attaching some sort of a cathode to the broad leaf of a flowering plant. The cathode is connected to my gadget by a thin wire. Now i don headphones. The sound is chilling. An electronic wail undulates through my ears as my human calibrates the machine. It seems as if the plants reactions to the various stimuli inflicted upon it by this human are being translated into sound. Having just left the neighboring plant for this human body, the voices of the plants are still fresh in my ears - and this ghostly electronic wail is a strange echo, like an auto-tuned opera playing in 8bit from a single speaker submerged in a cavern.

The human harms the plant and the gadget howls. He moves to harm the plant again and I break protocol - sending him halting urges. The plant wails again as if this human’s intent was enough to harm it. We begin to sweat, a cold chill runs down our spine & our hairs stand on end. I feel the voice of the plants again, faintly, but in this human body. It flows in like water, but the flow is interrupted & eddies in our belly. I feel the man notice the feeling. He beings to take notes furiously, then stops.

We notice the plant begin to glow. Euphoria vibrates throughout as the plant projects a second form, glowing ghostly. It grows and looms over us. “UR-PFLANZE” he cries out. The second form is energetic and grows brighter & larger until the tip of the leaf with cathode contacts our forehead, through to our pineal gland. Its energy is at once a vibrantly youthful & ancient sensation as perceived through this human body. The base of our spine begins to tap the earth. I intuit the first strange waves of transmutation and retreat to my noospherical vehicle - the nearby plant i came in on - to avoid any direct effects of such transmutational quantum weirdness.

I feel the presence of the man wane from my awareness as i commingle again with the plant. I feel the presence of the man, his mass and his energy reverberate, then dissipate. once again I perceive the flow of undisturbed plant energy, like water - and for a moment, the slightest taste of his salt, as the gadget in his bag hums, warbling.

This photograph is a peculiar example of what is known amongst Bureau explorers as an “eyeball jam”. Known officially as Obscurantelesis: the practice of intentionally blocking the perception of an object, moment, or even thought by means of telepathy. In this instance, the group of women pictured have created an artifact which, in regard to the purposes of noospherical exploration, is effectively a dead end. When an explorer enters the collective consciousness with this photo as a reference point (known to travellers as anchors, vehicles, and beacons) the effect is that of bumping into a solid sphere of fog. Depending upon the explorers level of experience with “jams” and the level of skill with which the “jam” was executed, the explorer may not even perceive that there was anything to obscure to begin with & wander right past it into oblivion.

What makes this artifact so unique is that the women pictured are recognized by the Bureau’s elusive Department of Secrevy to be skilled agents of an allegedly short-lived OSS operation, recruited for their exceptional telepathic abilities for use in espionage and information security (as the nazis were rumored to be exploring all sorts of paranormal &metaphysical weaponry). It is believed by the Bureau’s trusted Council of Oracles that at the time of exposure, the women were intentionally interrupted in the midst of a telepathic cypher. Their impeccable reaction was to enact a rare form of obscurantelesis, enabled by their concerted energies, which acts much like a two-way mirror, allowing them to block the content of their cypher from outside telepathic prying whilst simultaneously allowing them to view the identity, motive & thoughts of whoever may be snooping. The product of this technique being photographed in action is a picture which allows the subject to view the viewer. According to the Department of Interversal Contact & Causal Anomalies, it is highly probable that the woman looking directly at the camera not only perceives your gaze, but is privy to your thoughts as well.

Geomancy.

Reading the roll across cobblestones of a pocketful of pebbles

Deciphering the lean of a mountain range, the way the glaciers laid

Divining a motion from a boulder’s erosion

Cracking clay from the plains to reveal a way

In this stone it was an earthly druid’s divination tool, one of a few, a simple, yet effective system to communicate with the intuition. Amergin, the seer of Luatha De Dannan spent three years of his ride around the sun in this stone. Thrown from time to time by a bright young bard named Tuan th’Gwion on an agreement; that while Amergin was collecting wisdom from the element, Tuan would be under his tuteledge and consult Amergin through the stone.

These were days of mystic power and epic manipulations of elements and perception. In the hands of humans, living amongst humans, this stone was present for the making of legends. Though sworn to secrecy by the powerful pair of bards, its story leaks lightly from where significant blows broke it open. Within the cracks can be glimpsed: a fire which falls from the dark of the heavens, a siren wills to tempt him into the ocean, a band of marauders & a feast before a famine.

Before long, Tuan learned to tune his intuition, and had no need for a system for performing divinations. Amergin left the stone and wished to thank it for its wisdom, so he left a vein which wobbles in you spin it on its poles - a symbol of the journey of the bards & of the soul.

This egg timer, materially native to our Earth in this particular expression of spacetime, was re-engineered by a Mauretanian polymath visiting from a parallel Earth whose reality diverged from ours somewhere around the 14th century.

Batouta, the ninth of his lineage to bear the name, was a master dreamer with a predilection for exploring the peculiarities of time which arise from its interaction with consciousness. According to Batouta, and confirmed by a handful of Bureau explorers, there is a confluence of fields most readily perceived in the dream state, in which time ebbs & flows like a tide onto the shores of eternity. The metaphor Batouta used to describe this interaction, later wielded by our shared reality’s own William Blake, was that of a romance. The undulating embrace between the two creates all manners of causal & perceptual phenomenomalies. Moments seem to dip into endless suspension, eons race before the brave dreamer’s eyes, effects precede their causes, and a plethora of paradoxes which elude our waking reason abound. In a feat of masterful lucidity, Batouta was able to wake on our Earth long enough to tinker this factory-made egg timer into a poetic record of the lover’s dance between the cycle of time & the undivided immensity of eternity.

A nameless man, due not to a lack, but to an abundance of names to which he paid no allegiance, was on passing through a small settlement in the territory now known as texas. The man made a comfortable living selling various tinctures & miracle oils, exotic trinkets and dubious talismans. He lived on the road, careful never to leave a trail or linger long enough for return customers. 

In this town he found a young man, lost in bewilderment. His name was Mark Whittleby, sole inheritor of his late aunt’s dairy farm - long derelicte and covered in strange glyphs & doodles. Whittleby had sold all but one heffer, and desperation was beginning to sink it. The nameless man saw a perfect opportunity to turn a handful of seeds he’d been carrying since he crossed the equator into a decent dairy cow, easily unloadable to even the most discerning clientele.

This is when the nameless man worked his magic, weaving a web about these jicama seeds to transform them from tropical zygotes, hardly suitable for texas soil, into magic beans, “blessed by a sorcerer in a place of mysterious power, where the continents collide and the sun draws forth colossal jungles from the earth. Where all manner of spirits and monsters prowl, and the plants must grow epically large, poisonous, carnivorious, or elusive in order to survive. These seeds,” claimed the nameless man, “are the seeds of ‘the vine of dreams’ which has the unique ability to bear the fruits it finds in the dreams of jungle beasts. The sorcerer who blessed them fed me the brightest colored flesh of the most fantastic variety of texture & taste” the man described, “the most puckering sours, heavenly sweets, tastes which do not yet have words to describe them. But in order to grow such a vine, you must sleep with your head upon the Earth, close enough for the seeds to overhear your dreams. You must water the vine with tears of joy. Most importantly,” declared the nameless man, “you must believe in the seeds, see them growing in your dreams and they will hear you & grow all the fruits of your wildest imagination. Surely, you’ll fill that there barn with the fruit of your dreams come harvest season.” The part about no work required but dreams and joy was what sold young Mark on the seeds, and as swiftly and mysteriously as he appeared, the nameless man left with the last heffer.

Whether the nameless man was aware that the seeds had actually been blessed by a nahuatl sorcerer remains unknown, but that these seeds would change Mark’s life forever was very clear to both men. Our lives are composed entirely of decisive moments, constantly forking paths which lead to all the infinite manifestations of our personal realities, but for mark whittleby this was a fork in his path which led him in an infinite number of wildly different but equally odd directions. For sake of reference & brevity, this report will explore the lifepath of a Mark who believed steadfastly in the magic of these seeds, and of a Mark who realized himself a mark and vowed never to be duped by another man again.

One planted the seeds in the fertile soil of his belief, the other planted them underground, shrouded in doubt - only to unearth them days later, having decided they were worth far more as a magic trick than as magic seeds.

A year later, the Mark of doubt, following the model of the man who duped him, found his stride as a travelling salesman, weaving fanciful tales to turn trinkets into sustenance. He still carried these very seeds, but claimed them to be mummies teeth, removed by a priest of anubis & ceremonially sanctified to ward off starvation and circumvent the judgement which comes after death. Doubting Mark spun this story so well & told it so often, that when he finally found a buyer at the Museum of Man who could pay what he demanded, he discovered his fortune shrinking at the rate his hunger grew. Within weeks he starved from an unconscious belief in cursed mummies teeth, which he knew were just a nameless man’s handful of seeds, but the fear that they were really teeth & really cursed just wouldn’t leave him be. So the Mark of doubt’s belly ate him alive by the power of his belief. At the moment of his death, poor Mark realized that he had only duped himself.

For as Mark of doubt lay dying, the Mark of belief was feasting. His long year of dreaming & weeping tears of joy at the harvest that would save him had at last manifested in a pile of technicolor delicacy. The barn was filled, and news travelled fast of the young dreamer’s crop. Hungry folks and skeptical scientists came from all around to get a glimpse of the young simpleton roaring with laughter and pouring out ters between bites of bright orange melonberries with pink stripes & deep purple speckles. The mark of belief never went hungry again, with all the fruit he could dream into being.

This particular vein of reality has become a landmark for the Bureau’s cryptobotanical council as - despite the vast weirdness at play in our multiverse, finding a plant which grows from the seeds of another, fed only by the power of dreams and joyful tears, and bears fruit that vary wildly from one vine to the next, is an exceptional rarity. The power of consciousness & intentional belief, however, has been observed to manifest wonders of incredible variety & magnitude in every corner of the multiverse.

THIS MAP, MASSAGED FROM STONE, IS SAID TO LEAD ITS HOLDER TO THE LAND OF VIOLET SKIES THROUGH A MYSTIC PASSAGE GUARDED BY ANCIENT HOWLING JINN.

A MAN, WHOSE NAME WAS THE SOUND OF A FOOT GRITTING GRAVEL & THE FLUTTER OF A BIRDS WINGS TAKING FLIGHT, CARRIED THIS STONE FOR NEARLY A THIRD OF HIS LIFE IN SEARCH OF THE MYSTIC TUNNEL. IN HIS LAST FEW YEARS, GRITTING GRAVEL BEATING WINGS BECAME DESPERATE AND OBSESSIVE OVER HIS SEARCH. HE CAME TO BELIEVE THAT IF HE ACCOMPLISHED A BIRD’S EYE VIEW HE WOULD EASILY FIND THE TUNNEL, AND THUS, THE VIOLET SKIES.

AN OLD MAN KNOWN AS THE SOUND OF A LIZARD’S TASTING TONGUE & A DROP OF WATER INTO A VOID, PRESENTED THE MAP TO GRITTING GRAVEL BEATING WINGS WITH THE INSTRUCTIONS “FOLLOW THE CLOUDS WITH THIS POINTED TO YOUR HEART AND AWAY FROM THE BRIGHTEST SPRING STAR.” GRITTING GRAVEL BEATING WINGS NEVER FOUND THE MOUTH FROM WHICH THE HOWLING JINN HOWLS, BUT HE DID FLY A FLIGHT BEFORE HE FELL FROM LIFE. THAT DUSK, AS HIS AWARENESS WANED AT THE TWILIGHT OF HIS LIFE, THE DESERT SKIES DID SHINE VIOLET BELOW THE BRIGHTEST SPRING STAR. EVEN IF ONLY FOR HIM, THEY DID SHINE.

ACCORDING TO THE BUREAU’S DEPARTMENT OF LORE COLLECTION, THE HOWLING JINN STILL RETURNS ONCE IN A CROW’S AGE AND HOWLS THROUGH THE MOUTH OF THE TUNNEL TO VIOLET SKIES. THE TUNNEL IS BELIEVED BY THE PHENOMENOLOGICAL PANEL TO BE A RHYTHMIC GAPE & PUCKER IN THE SPACETIME FOAM FACILITATED BY AN UNUSUAL CONCENTRATION OF ENERGY IN THE CAVERN AT THE MIDDLE OF THE TUNNEL. THE DIMENSIONAL, PHYSICAL, AND PSYCHOLOGICAL LOCATION OF THE LAND THAT BOASTS VIOLET SKIES REMAINS UNRECORDED.

THIS IS THE CHALICE FROM WHICH OLIVIA REESE AND WILLIE CLAYTON DRANK, ON A DOUBLE DOG DARE FROM RAINEY MULLENSTHORNE, FROM THE EVERBLEEDING WOUNDS OF “THE WEEPING SEER” (A TREE IN WHICH ONLY THE WHIPPOORWILLS NEST.)

ACCORDING TO GULF COAST LORE, THERE RESIDES A TREE SOMEWHERE IN THE MIRED & SALLOW SWAMPLANDS OF THE SOUTHERN UNITED STATES UPON WHICH WAS LYNCHED A “VOODOO PHITONISE” FOR THE UNEXPLAINED DEATH OF SOME THIRTY-THREE FIRSTBORNS. HER ABUNDANCE OF MELANIN AND MYSTERIOUS PRACTICES MADE HER DOUBTLESSLY SUSPECT, AND WHEN HANGING FAILED TO KILL HER, THE MOB OF CLAMOROUS SETTLERS PUT TORCH TO TREE. A CONFLAGRATION ENSUED WHICH, ACCORDING TO LORE, EMITTED SHRIEKS SO PIERCING IT WAS BELIEVED THAT THE HEAT OF ALL HADES WAS FUNNELED THROUGH THE MOUTH OF THE PHITONISE. ALL TREES WITHIN SIX ACRES WERE LEFT CHARRED AND DECREPIT, ALL BUT THE TREE THAT HELD THE BODY OF THE NOW LIFELESS, NAMELESS, VOODOO PHITONISE.

THE SETTLERS AVOIDED THE TREE AND ITS MENTION LONG AFTER FOR FEAR OF ITS POSSESSION AND APPARENT INFALLIBILITY. DAYS AFTER THE CONFLAGRATION, A TEAM OF MEN WERE SENT TO FELL THE TREE AND “FINISH THE JOB.” AFTER A DAYS SAWING FROM DAWN TILL DUSK THE MEN RELENTED. “THE TREE,” THEY SAID, “BLED SO PROFUSELY, THAT THE MOTION OF SAWING BECAME LIKE BINDING A BOG.”

IT WASN’T UNTIL THE BIRTH OF THE 20th CENTURY THAT THE LORE OF THE WILLOW NOW KNOWN AS “THE WEEPING SEER,” POSSESSED BY THE GHOST OF A VOODOO PHITONISE RESURFACED, THEREUPON BECOMING A CENTRAL FIGURE IN THE RITE OF PASSAGE TAKEN BY LOCAL BOYS FOR MEMBERSHIP IN AN ELITE THEY DUBBED “THE EYES OF ODIN.” FOR, AS LEGEND NOW STOOD, “ANY BRAVE SOUL WHO DRINKS OF THE BLOOD OF THE WEEPING SEER WILL SEE THE CONDITIONS OF HIS DEATH, AND TASTE THE SWEETEST TASTE OF AN INTREPID LIFE. BUT BE HE OF THE BLOOD OF THE PHITONISE’S HEADSMEN, HE WILL SEE HIS DEATH OUTRIGHT.”

AND SO IT GOES THAT ELEVEN YEAR OLD OLIVIA REESE AND THIRTEEN YEAR OLD WILLIE CLAYTON IMBIBED A THIMBLEFUL APIECE UNDER THE WATCHFUL EYE OF RAINEY, TWO YEARS THEIR SENIOR. FIRST OLIVIA, WHO IN HER CHARACTERISTICALLY VERBOSE WAY DECLARED THE DRINK “STUPENDOUSLY PIQUANT,” AND AFTER THE VISIONS STRUCK HER, WITH AN ASSURED SMILE, “DISTURBING, YET LATENTLY SWEET.” THEN WILLIE, WHO, UPON TOUCHING THE VESSEL TO HIS LIPS, FELL LIMP UPON THE ROOTS OF THE WEEPING SEER.

This is a photo of Oli Elsing, a strong-willed boy who caused quite a stir in his northern swedish community when he displayed the ability to willfully control the melanin in his skin.

Oli was believed by his family to be mute, for he was born without crying. In order to confirm their suspicions, his parents called upon a specialist from Uppsala, a devout lutheran doctor. At one point in his inspection, the doctor gave Oli a surprise electric shock to see if he would cry out. Oli’s response was instead a sepia-toned facial spasm of violent images which deeply disturbed the doctor. He was so disturbed that he declared the boy to be in need, not of a physician, but an exorcist, and fled the house in haste.

Unbeknownst to his parents, Oli had long shared his paranormal dermal abilities with his sister Ana in the form of a secret language of symbols & glyphs. But after the trauma of a well attended exorcism, Oli maintained a pale white silence till he was old enough to leave home, and was never seen or heard from again. Although, the noteworthy coincidence of his disappearance & the appearance of “Claus the Chameleonic Man” in the Cirkus Sjalar’s repertoire is categorized by the Bureau’s Panel on Synchronicity as a class 6  coincidental probability.

ON A PARALLEL PLANE, A RELATIVELY SIMILAR BRANCH ON THIS OUR MULTIVERSAL BETHE LATTICE OF EXISTENCE, THE WALNUT ONCE NESTLED BETWEEN THESE SHELLS GAVE BIRTH TO A GREAT TREE. 

IT IS UNDER THIS TREE THAT YOUNG WOLUN DEMEREKC FINDS INSPIRATION, MUCH LIKE OUR OWN SIR ISAAC NEWTON. THE FRACTAL PATTERN MADE BY THE GREAT WALNUT TREE’S BRANCHES GIVE WOLUN INSIGHTS INTO QUANTUM THEORY WHICH LEAD TO HIS PUBLISHING OF UNIVERSAL NATURAL SELECTION & REPRODUCTION (IN WHICH WOLUN EXPOSES THE PURPOSE OF A UNIVERSE, IN TERMS OF NATURAL SELECTION,  AS A LIVING BEING: “TO PRODUCE A LIFE FORCE CAPABLE OF RECREATING THE FORMATIVE MOMENT BEFORE SAID UNIVERSE RUNS ITS COURSE, THUS ENSURING ITS UNIVERSAL OFFSPRING AND THE CONTINUED EXISTENCE OF LIVINGKIND.”)

WOLUN’S TEXT SPARKS A MOVEMENT IN THE WORLD OF PHYSICS, WHICH RESULTS IN THE SUBSEQUENT RECREATION OF THE “BIG BANG” (OR, AS THEY CALL IT, “THE FORMATIVE MOMENT”) THROUGH A MAINTAINED WORMHOLE, THUS BIRTHING A NEW UNIVERSE.

AND SO, A SEED TO THE BIRDS ON ONE PLANE, OUR PLANE, INSPIRES THE BIRTH OF A UNIVERSE ON ANOTHER.

SURGICALLY REMOVED FROM THE STOMACH OF ONE OLA LITCHMAN (1882 - 1978), BEQUEATHED TO AN UNGRATEFUL GRANDDAUGHTER, THIS “STONE” (KNOWN CLINICALLY AS A TRICHOBEZOAR) MADE OF OLA’S OWN HAIR IS THE RESULT OF A CONDITION COMMONLY REFERRED TO AS “RAPUNZEL SYNDROME,” IN WHICH THE STRICKEN CHEWS OR SUCKS THEIR OWN HAIR. IT IS TYPICALLY A NERVOUS HABIT, THOUGH, IN THIS CASE THE RESULT OF MALICIOUS FEEDING.

AS OLA AGED HER EYESIGHT DETERIORATED, AND HER GRANDDAUGHTER DONNA, WHO LOATHED BEING MISTAKEN FOR HER SISTER TRUDY, TOOK TO SLOWLY AND VENGEFULLY TRIMMING HER GRANDMOTHER’S HAIR AND SNEAKING IT INTO HER SUPPER.

BEZOAR (FROM PERSIAN PAD-ZAHR) MEANS COUNTER-POISON, OR ANTIDOTE. THESE STONES, TYPICALLY FOUND IN THE STOMACHS OF GAZELLES AND GOATS, WERE ONCE ATTRIBUTED WITH MYSTICAL POWERS. EDWARD IV SURVIVED A POISONED WOUND DUE TO A BEZOAR IN HIS POSSESSION, QUEEN ELIZABETH THE FIRST WAS GIFTED A BEZOAR SET IN GOLD, WITH UNICORN’S HORN, BY HER SPY AND MAGICIAN JOHN DEE. DONNA RECEIVED OLA’S BEZOAR AFTER THE READING OF HER GRANDMOTHER’S WILL AND TRADED IT, OUTRIGHT, FOR SUEDED UNICORN FIGURINES.

ON THE 16th OF MARCH, 1944, JOSEPH BEUY’S JU87 PLANE CRASHED ON THE CRIMEAN FRONT. HE WAS THEN DISCOVERED BY THE NOMADIC TARTAR CLAN THAT ROAMED THE TERRITORY BETWEEN RUSSIAN AND GERMAN FRONTS. UPON FINDING BEUYS, UNCONSCIOUS AND BURIED IN SNOW, THEY COVERED HIM IN ANIMAL FAT AND FELT AS A MEANS OF INSULATION. HE CAME TO SOME TWELVE DAYS LATER IN A GERMAN FIELD HOSPITAL.

THIS SCRAP OF FELT CONTAINS FIBERS RECYCLED FROM THE VERY BLANKETS THAT SAVED BEUYS, AND MARKS HIS TRANSFORMATION FROM LUFTWAFFE RADIO FLYBOY TO NEOSHAMAN & CHAMPION OF THE CAUSE FOR UNIVERSAL HUMAN CREATIVITY.

ANSCO MEMO CAMERA

USED BY FLATFOOT TURNED PRIVATE DICK RANDLIN HARTLEY ON HIS PROGRESSIVELY UNCONVENTIONAL CASES. IN JANUARY OF 1933, HARTLEY TOOK THE CASE OF ONE JEREMIAH VESS, HIS THIRD CASE SINCE HIS INVOLUNTARILY EARLY RETIREMENT FROM THE FORCE (FOR “MENTAL HEALTH” CONCERNS). THE 11th PRECINCT DECLARED VESS’ DEATH ACCIDENTAL, BUT JEREMIAH’S WIFE, BONNIE, WAS CONVINCED OF FOUL PLAY. AFTER TWO WEEKS, HARTLEY WAS DECIDEDLY HOT ON THE HEELS OF A SUSPECT SIX FEET DEEP SOME SIX AND SOME ODD YEARS BACK.

AN INCREDULOUS WIDOW, BONNIE VESS WENT SHOPPING FOR SANE P.I.s , BUT HARTLEY WOULD NOT RELENT. IN THE SUBSEQUENT FOUR YEARS, RANDLIN HARTLEY CAPTURED TWENTY EIGHT APPARITIONS ON FILM WITH THIS ANSCO MEMO. IN FEBRUARY OF 1937, HE WAS FOUND AT THE BOTTOM OF THREE FLIGHTS OF STAIRS IN THE LONG ABANDONED GREENVIEW BOYS  ACADEMY OF ARTS & SCIENCES.

IT WENT DOWN IN THE BOOKS AS THE ACCIDENTAL DEATH OF AN OUT-OF-TOUCH GUMSHOE. 28 EXPOSURES AND THE KILLER OF ONE JEREMIAH VESS REMAIN AT LARGE.

9 YEAR OLD SYVLIE LEWELYNN OF TOPEKA, KANSAS DROPPED THIS BARRETTE ON HER WAY TO THE SCHOOLYARD ON THE THIRD OF FEBRUARY, 1993. SYLVIE NEVER RETURNED HOME. HER BODY WAS NEVER FOUND, AND, AS SUCH, THE AUTHORITIES STILL CONSIDER HER A MISSING PERSON.

DUE TO HER ABRUPT ABSENCE FROM THE COLLECTIVE UNCONSCIOUS, SHE IS SUSPECTED BY THE BUREAU’S PHENOMENOLOGICAL PANEL TO BE THE SUBJECT OF “SPONTANEOUS DISPERSEMENT,” ALTHOUGH THIS CLAIM IS OBDURATELY DISPUTED BY THE EXPLORATIONS DEPARTMENT WHO MAINTAIN THAT: BECAUSE THE EXPANSES OF EXISTENCE ARE LIMITLESS, AND THE BEHAVIOR OF SPACETIME SO UNPREDICTABLE, IT IS ENTIRELY POSSIBLE, EVEN LIKELY, THAT SYLVIE, AND ALL OTHER CASES OF “SPONTANEOUS DISPERSEMENT” ALLEGED BY THE PHENOMENOLOGICAL PANEL HAVE MERELY RELOCATED, FORM INTACT.

EITHER WAY, SHE REMAINS KNOWN AFFECTIONATELY AS “THE DISAPPEARING SYLVIE LEW.”