It would be great if i could write a story that was erotically charged . If i could post a story that included great elements like forced orgasm and operant conditioning , something that included one of my favorite scenes , strapping a woman to a table and making her cum over and over again . Honestly , there is loads of content to work with , both in terms of my own personal memories , and my own personal fantasies . That·s not what i·m getting , so that·s not what you·re getting .

If the water level in , for instance , Mississipi is so dehydrated that there isn·t any clean water in the plants , when you turn the tap , nothing comes out , unless the water is infested with pathogens , something that you have to fill a big pot of and boil on the stove , and that comes with its own set of problems .

What i·m saying is , if there·s no water at the fount , there·s no water at the tap .

The Dream Lab .

Following the revelation of a clock speed for the propagation of the cybernetic time curtain , following this singular event , the Dream Factory remnants suddenly crystallized , turning from reddish iron-soaked portable breakout modules , to flat-topped metal ziggurats with crystal relay stations . And then suddenly the tests continued .

Single-person , two-player , stationary , moving , the puzzles went on and on and on . I hate puzzles . Particularly when it comes to Erotica , having to switch your brain into high-gear beta-wave state pretty much quashes lower-RPS brainwave states that work well with feelings of eroticism . If the treatment plant is calcified , there·s no fresh water at the tap .

The kings of the Dream Factory , i hunted them down . I found Lo and traced her back to her future-penthouse . I broke into The Manor and found the Plague Game Threat Surface . I captured Aion and lowered him into a bed of syringe-vine . I found Wart , not dead at all but merely in hiding , and he threw excrement at me and fled .

Then , as if the remaining bosses realized their new lab wasn·t going to hold up all the way to March of the Machine , the data collection started happening in bombs , using one virtual simulation of me to confuse another , and only looking up when the collected data didn·t mirror what my actual actions were . What would Kiara be like to these Aliens? What would Kiara be like to those aliens? What is a Nanasi? What is a Khsi? What is this? What is that? . Not exactly ripe grounds for sexual conduct .

Then , the mirror relays started blowing . My dreamer , otherwise trapped beyond the curtain of time , would have to swim an extra hour and a half, three hours to return to my body , and i felt that exhaustion viscerally .

Nevertheless , they kept trying , like Wile E Coyote trying every single episode to kill and devour the Roadrunner , they blew mirror relays on purpose in a desperate attempt to trap my soul away from my body , trapping handfuls of otherwise-innocent dreamers exploring the strange new crystal slabs growing out of Lemuria·s countryside . Dozens or hundreds of untrained oneirics , their connections to their bodies severed for exploring the wrong relay at the wrong time .

The experiments went on virtually . The experiments went on oneirically . The experiments went on in physical labs . Layer upon layer , filling whole tiers of Inception layers , as if this would be the one and only chance they would ever have to collect these data .

This went on for days . Weeks . In afternoon naps , sleeping at night , in cool sleep or in fever dreams . Night after night , i breached their safety glass and looked up their results . A study on the purpose of a bottomless pit? Ka . A Dissertation on Intrinsic Field Theory?! . When i woke up , i immediately went online and dropped a marker demonstrating my robust familiarity with the topic and citing Pursued By Hackers as the reason for only writing the thesis .

By the sixteenth straight day of nightly lab tests , i checked my watch over and over , at 0600, 0640, 0700, 0720 , it just kept saying 0730, 0730, 0730 . "Come on, don·t leave! Look, there·s still a little bit of time left!"

It·s astonishing to think that i , a sexual powerhouse with so much willingness and openness that it intimidates them , would find myself in a position where i could only ethically dispense withering death when invited to produce erotica .

There once was a world where consequences took long periods of time , where nothing that mere humans could do could be so earth-shattering as to change the history of the future , and in this world Dreamdancers skimmed the aeons and found them , like the aeons upon aeons of natural equilibrium seen in the Saurian Period .

Every night , to go to bed , and see for millions and millions of years happy families and hard-wrought battles , to swim out in the 90-minute spans between dreams , two or three times a night , swimming out farther , like youths at a watering hole .

The oil changed that . Cybernetes changed that . When the technological boom caused by the discovery of the liquid hydrocarbon soup that once was the entire planetary biomass occurred , the future bent dramatically . Dreams, plans, ideas , whole worlds would have been nullified in the span of a couple short centuries . The oil gave birth to plastics , plastics gave birth to computers , computers gave birth to cybernetes . With the advent of great machines , and the ability to design systems that could change supply line decisions to meet any demands or whims , the concept of enduring empires of aeons vanished .

And then , new ways of intelligence , new ways of existing , evolved within the shattered pandaemonium that was once the subtle loom of time , whole ecosystems developed in the tangled knots of worked and reworked causality locking up the system .

And then , they still come to me and say , Sister , Daughter , what wonders do you have for us today?

If the pipes at the plant are calcified , the water doesn·t make it to tap .

You would think this would be basic knowledge for such exacting intelligensia .

des