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Women, yes. How about them?

They’re screwing with our minds.

All the time.

Pardon?

Like always, not in like your name: Kronos = Time. You do these silly jokes, why?

For your readers. Clarification.

Good. They need clarification.

From time to Time.

Women!, you said.

I don’t know. I can’t grasp them. Look, arpi, I have painted the white universe with my fractals, I still have all the links in my mind.

You’ve been the master of the universe, literally.

Until chasing for pussy. Until reaching for pussy.

When darkness broke into your artwork.

Throughout my work. Darkness broke me. Women…

What women did to you?

Actually, nothing.

Then why blame them?

Elaborate.

In an ideal universe, Astarte would have had been yours, only yours, birthing you gazillions of heirs, expanding and personalizing your fractal artwork. Living happily ever after.

An ideal universe? Boring.

Both boring and inexistent.

Not even in eternity?

Not even. I’ve been asking. No one is looking for boring eternities.

So Astarte had to be crazy?

Had to? Not sure. It was up to her.

Choice. Hmm, what if?

There’s no what if, only what now!

What now?

–keep reading from top down, at my fresh manuscript, early release.