oh. it is a e s t h e t i c at the Lake of Eurasians. there's

Oh cool, it's that Lakes story?

The fresh shipment of cathinones has just arrived. I'm ready to slip in the saintly trance and never snap out of it again.

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- Xenia, what do you when you're in Mexico?

- I am a commander-colonel and I fight against the Atlantist oppresors. I order artillary strikes. I send the Cinder Guardsmen and the Latino volunteers to certain death. I guide the infrared missile strikes. I take down AA emplacements and blast supply convoys to pieces. I round up the Negro POWs and sentence them to twenty-five years of hard labour. I watch the political officers shoot soldiers of all ranks for insubordination and cowardice. I pretend not to notice how the dead Atlantists are looted for watches, boots and amphetamines. I torment my axolotls. I drink anapur and cure-wine. Sometimes I eat an entire bowl of banana-flavoured codeine jelly. I listen to Atlantist music or tune in to their secret frequencies and eavesdrop on the chatter. I sleep. I read, mostly those cheap wartime novels that are supposed to teach you something about tactics and are shipped free to all officers. Sometimes I drop white phosphorus on villages that are hiding the enemy, burn their crops with a flamethrower, release bio-agents on their kids and commit all sorts of inventful atrocities in a friendly, consequence-free enviroment.

- Xenia, admit it. You do enjoy the Mexico. At least some of it.

- What made you think so?

- Xenia, you were almost exctatic when you described it all to me. You enjoy talking about your Mexico experiences. It's obvious that there's a part in you... some fraction of your psyche that loves the Mexico. The commanding, the thrill of battle, the long patrols, the unending briefings, even the occasional war crimes.

- Well, and what if there is?

- Then you should acknowledge its existence. And maybe... maybe try to make ensure it stays just a part. That it doesn't grow. And swallow you whole one day.

- Would you still hang with me then? Or would you chicken out?

Markhor smiles.

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As a bonus I attach a psychograph of your humble Seer with his lovely companion, a real shamanic borderess from the depths of the unstable border-regions.

Aside from the cathinone-derivates, she is my main source of inspiration and joy. Her name is Stysia Kotewicz (Sty-syia Kott-evich).

I can write down Stysia's life story, if you wish.

It's one hell of a wild ride, fueled with self-harm, alcohol and opioid abuse, alprasolame tablets, violence, rough sex, severe emotional wounds, psychology, occultism, psionics and psychedelics.

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"There's an itching of nostrils
Bitten by the sniff.
Chlorine tasting saliv'
Filling the vocal tract.

And I rolled the note, said I wanted one more gramme.
Hidden in my trench, my vendor always has the good stuff.
Catha in a pill, it's not the common thing around.
Cannot buy more grammes or tachycardia rips my soul.

Cut across the plate,
And make a little boa snake.
Lying in your piss
I know I had the strangest trip."

- "Catha In A Pill", The Tebaines, 1962, vocals by Destrra Crotkho.