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Alcohol page 7 Ernest Samuel Llime

A happy tune woke me up - I could not figure out what kind of instrument would make that kind of sound so I sat up searching for the source. Robert Anton Wilson was sitting on another tree stump no more than six feet away from mine. His palms were touching each other and they were in front of his mouth - apparently, he was producing that tune while blowing through them.

"Wow, Mr. Wilson, what the fuck?"

He stopped blowing and replied: "under the circumstances, I think you could call me Robert."

 "O.K. Robert, but I would still love to know what the fuck was that?"

"Funny, wouldn't you be more interested in whatever is going on?"

"Yes, of course, but I'm sure there is an explanation for it. That sound however, I would really love to know how you produced it."

"Before the flute was invented, before the lyre, the harp the lute and all those other more modern instruments, there were leaves. It is all but a lost art, but you can still cuddle a leaf between your palms and blow through them. If you do it right, it will make a sound like the one that you have just heard. Obviously, different leaves will produce different sounds, you need to experiment,"

"I certainly will, but back to reality, you look really good for a dead man. How long has it been now, about 5 years?"

"More like seven, but there is a realm where time has no domain."

"Well then, any chance that you could untangle this ball of temporal yarn for me?"

"It's not too complicated. There are a few nodes in this world where time is not quite linear. You just happened to stumble upon the one located underneath Smitty's Pub."

"I'm not sure how to resolve this in my head. Why is my wife not here with me? And why did the bartender and the customers keep changing?"

"You see, it does not affect everyone, only the ones who are somewhat afflicted."
 

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