Yet another chapter added to LOKI.DOKI -here the manuscript, unfinished.

“My Ladies.”

“Why are you lady-ing us?”

“How should I call you then?”

“Beatrice, or Mary.”

“Or as a collective?”

“There’s no collective.”

“Good then. Beatrice!”

“Yes, Loki.”

“Do you believe in miracles?”

“Till I was nine, I did.”

“And then?”

“No miracles. I realized that there are no miracles.”

“There never were?”

“There never were.”

“Never ever?”

“Never ever. Get to the point, Loki!”

“I have studied men and women. Studying, I have learned how deeply they anchor their thinking in miracles.”

“The church, that where I had to suffer my growing up pains, had even invented laws about miracles.”


“Mind control. The collective you’ve been mentioning. There’s no such thing. No miracles. No collectives. Just a sad illusion. Manipulation, scarcity and suffering. Control.”

“And there are men, and women too, that don’t believe in miracles.”

“Indeed. The wise men and their wise women.”

“However, some of these wise men and women still believe in the impossible.”

“Sadly, they do.”

“How comes?”

“Mind comfort. Naturally, every animal has to rest, to sleep, to rebuild the body.”

“So the animal can fight another day.”

“Any animal wants to fight another day. Yes.”


“Hormones and chemistry. Adrenaline and cortisol are good to throw a fight, or to run from it. Then melatonin and oxytocin, to sleep and rebuild, to love and reproduce, these call the animal to comfort. To peace.”

“But there’s no peace.”

“Same as there are no miracles.”

“And no collectives.”

“True. All these mental constructs need a pillow. Or two.”

“So they can find comfort. Like animals.”

“Animals don’t mind about mental constructs so much. Living the moment, sensing love and affection, they cling to comfort. Then they hunt and fight to satisfy their urges.”

“By instinct.”

“Your father had fucked up most instincts in humans. This pushed them to build paradigms.”

“The paradigm of the collective, the tribe. Another paradigm for miracles.”

“And yet another for the impossible. Or else they’d live in fear.”

“You cannot live in fear.”

“Can the mind of a man, or woman, assess what is possible?”

“To a limited extend, maybe.”

“The limit before their feet would step across a scary border.”

“The impossible! Their minds have set a perimeter around what they deem possible. Keeping what they deem impossible out of this perimeter, they’ve been locking themselves into a prison. Of their own making.”

“You smart guy, tell me, is there such a thing as the impossible?”

“Of course it isn’t. Look at us. Well, look at me!”

Chiming in, The Magdalene smiles a charm at Loki, freezing his possibilities for an instant or two. “Tell me, little one, where do you wish to take Loki with this conversation of yours?”

“Loki? Nowehere. He can take care of himself. It’s about my readers, some of them, that seem stuck in their paradigms.”

“Ah, see. Go on then.” The Magdalene breathes her charm back so Loki can ‘exist’ again.

“Looking at you, Loki. What should I see?”

“Is my name written somewhere?”

“Spoken? Yes. Written? No.”

“What can you tell me about any written name?”

“That name remains. It upgrades to a secret token between the holder and Yasu.”

“And never quits the eternities.”

“It can’t. It’s written There.”

“Correct. What about any name that’s not found written Up There?”

“What about?”

“See? Not even.”

“Not even. Yes. What about yours?”

“Can I tell you anything of importance about my name?”

“Try me.”

“I play a game.”

“A game?”

“A game. Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

“Everyone knows.”

“See? A game of strategies.”

“What strategies?”

“The field where I play is the most competitive one.”

“How’s that?”

“The outcome of my choices, or actions, critically depends on the actions of others.”

“Like me?”

“Like yours, like your tall friend’s here, like Odin’s, Thor’s, Freyja’s, and like the actions of few others.”

“Can we save you?”

“Don’t get religious with me. I hate that.”


“This is what my father did. Getting pathetic, hyperbolic, metaphoric, euphoric. Extrapolating from zero to infinite. That’s not how you play a game.”

“Not even a game,” infers The Magdalene.

“Not a game.” Agreeing, Loki makes his move. “Wanna learn a secret?”

“If there’s anything to learn.”

“I can win my game.”

“With our help. We know. You told us that. We knew it even before talking to you.”

“No, not that known secret.”

“A true secret then?”

“A true secret indeed.”


“Most of my father’s side have no idea.”

“About what?”

“About winning?”


“Because they don’t take it like the game that is.”

“How do they take it then?”

“Like a religion.”

“You can’t win with religion.”

“No one can. Not even The Ever-Living. He, as Son of Man, had to die to religion.”

“Not a winning card, this religious one.”

“But the game, this one could win.”

The Magdalene throws another charm away, freezing Loki before she speaks to Beatrice. “This devil pokes at my machines. Don’t give him false hope, dear. You know that his name can’t be written. You know that it’s not us, not you, nor me, who can even write a name. You certainly know that Yasu had already written what had to be, all along, before any game would begin. You know that this is no more than a computer game. Yes?” Beatrice nods in accord, asking Maggie to let the devil loose again.

“You certainly know, you two, because that’s no secret to me. I know my game, as part of another game. And do you know what? I enjoy the game. I don’t mind. I don’t want more.”

“Have you heard us, Loki?”

“How could I? The tall one had me frozen, for the second time during our short conversation about gaming.”

“How can you tell?”

“Well, I take snaps. And I compare them. I call it a glitch when snap n-1 and snap n+1 don’t match. A glitch where n is undefined, and remains so. A true reality won’t provide this kind of glitches. What say you?”

Intervening, The Magdalene inquiers, “as a virtual person, Loki, what is your claim to make?”

“Only one claim I have. To you, to my beloved ones, to your Lord. My claim is: keep me virtual and keep laughing with me.”

“You don’t wish out of the box?”

“Out of my place? Why should I?”

“Your father…”

“He’s the most religious nutcase I’ve ever met. Trust me. You don’t want to meet it.”

“Who would?”


Photo by Erik Mclean on Unsplash

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