What is your name?

My name is Rosen…A Sol.

You will note the complete lack of other letters, titles, and qualifiers—don’t worry, this is intentional (if you have some stuff though, I think that’s swell).

I am, however, well-qualified in the English, oh yumye, so do not hesitate to give 100% of trust to friend writer. Him word you long lines, yes?

What is your quest?

To seek the soulful Divine in all things, to learneth righteous valueset through heartfelt experience, and to rock the cat box from here to the end of time.

Watch me work, baby.

What…is your favorite color?

Umm…been kinda favoring green lately, maybe? For some reason? …I think?—no wait, red—waiiiiighhhhhhhh…!

What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swal—?

Just don’t.

Where in teh heck are you, man?

Probably in my spaceship making tea and singing Bulgarian Orthodox hymns (if it’s after 8)…or in the midst of some rowdy restaurant palaver with gnarlsome back-of-house pirate-chefs…or on a stage making noises (if it’s after midnite)—also letting it all hang out, in that case—or maybe wandering around the woods somewhere. Not all who wander aren’t lost, amirite.…hello-o? Anybody spare a square…?

Why, where are you? Ya need a horn, matey?

Well…I’m right here—sorry, I haven’t got a square to spare! And yeah, actually some sax would be sweet rn—do you know the lead on ‘Roxanne’?

BwaaaaAAA-bahh…! Do do da do do duh da DAAA daa…

Do doo da daa doo, do da-da do DAYA da do, dah-doo-dahh…!

Hm. Not quite what I was hoping for, honestly, but I’ll take it. Hey by the way, what’s with your trippy logo thing?

RAAAWWKKKKSSAAAAANN—putonthereeeeeddlightt!—oh, sorry, I got carried away there…ahem. And you must mean the Canticle.

Wait, you sing, too? Dude! And yeah, is that what it is?

Yes, and yes: it’s a song.

A.k.a., a representation of the metaphysical manifestation of the collective psycho-spiritual transmutative force present within art and creation—i.e. an “Einstein-Rosen bridge” (take it from a Rosen who knows’n)—gateway to consciousness, portal to higher vibrations, heir to the immutable power of the co-witnessing act. And in turn, the seed- and flower-of-life depiction found everywhere on Earth is the sacred geometry describing our human, generative power—here seen passing into Susurria as the egg of consciousness.

So basically, buckle up, buckeroo—you’re going for a ride (if you want to).

And welcome back, by the way. We missed ya!

Why are you such a flowery writer?

Well, when I was a kid I accidentally consumed a whole seed packet of scarlet begonias…never been the same since. That’s probably also why I’m into the blues, come to think of it.

Come on, is that a true story or a writer-story?

‘Once in a while you get shown the light
In the strangest of places, if you look at it right…’

Will you please stop messing with me?

Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn…!

Mandrake…Have you ever seen a commie drink a glass of water? Vodka…that’s what they drink, isn’t it? Never water?

Well, I…I believe that’s what they drink, Jack, yes.

On no account, will a commie ever drink water? And not without good reason?

Mmmn, a—ha heh, hah…yes…I, um…can’t quite…see what you’re getting at…Jack…

Women, ah…women sense my power, and they seek the life essence. I do not avoid women, Mandrake, but I, I do deny them my essence.

Hehe…er, ah, yes…heh…

What about my bloody parrot?

The smell of fresh-cut timber! The crash of mighty trees! With ma best girl by my side…we’d sing…sing…SING!

But…why are you so weird, tho?

IDK, folks…probably the grain alcohol and rainwater.

But don’t fret yourselves over it none.

I mean it’s not like there’s an international communist conspiracy to sap and impurify your precious bodily fluids, or anything. So…that’s good. Right?