Preceding the invasion, general staff report that their intrepid commander spent months in a mountain fastness obsessively rewatching Kevin Costner’s Waterworld at different speeds, hoping that the spasmodic alteration of playback rates and introduction to the film’s runtime of sudden, unscripted mid-dialogue pauses would create new words and worlds, new sentences created by the force-bidden reordering of syllables.
Spoonerism as divination. Punning as the pruning back of chafe to reveal occulted alchemical gold; new possibilities present in the dissected celluloid but not in the old, amounting to ex nihilo creation.
The journaled desires of long dead hedge apothecaries articulated in puzzling glyphs are now accomplished nightly, without fanfare, by means of remote control.
Lesser trodden ways are travelled. New leys rank with amniotic fluids, womb-wet, along which Lily could evince new ways of conducting war. dreaming about what it would feel like to make all land disappear and sink down to the ocean floor; to reflood the earth as in ancient times and build an interspecies Atlantis.
Soon, when a schism writ in the ink of Dali’s dreams ends the reign of Saturn and renders all clocks redundant, and when the events we falsely perceived to have taken place in a linear timeline are reordered, Atlantis will be rightly seen as a prophecy of the future.
Alchemisland 
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