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Two enquiries have been asked of the cloud and sonmi, arriving by carrier pigeon, written on a scroll made from recycled rizla papers in squink ink using a 1930’s black fountain pen with no decoration barring a small gold band, and ensconced within a plastic carrier bag from Lidl; “Do the Fractured Splinters have anything in common with each other? Are they on a string like bunting pulled from the aether?”

To answer – I am as keen to know as you are. Up to now I have seen two connections, but there’s no reason to believe that is not pure coincidence. We are but the messengers. Then again, to quote a fine book and film “Everything is connected” – which is absolutely true, and there’s no doubting that other versions of myself, be they male or female (I’ve yet to find in incoming animals, but anything is possible), are attracted to the magnet that I am as though iron filings, and I recognise others I know well in this life/universe manifesting in other guises too.

It has been pointed out that the fragments could do with being a bit cheerier, but I can hardly order a jolly one as though it’s a pizza with no olives. It simply doesn’t work like that. Receivers pick up such things randomly. Think of sonmicloud as a humongous radio telescope. Much passes through, but only some are chosen, (the chosen few), or arrive complete enough to share. ‘Cloud Nine’ isn’t dark, I like to revisit that one occasionally, feel the sun flickering through my eyelashes.

The most recent offering, ‘Tar Baby’, arrived far larger than that which is jotted down, but others are demanding my attention, pricking me with psychic pins lightly, and I need to be fair, so I compact what I can, as concisely as is feasible, confer with the cloud, and then Robert is your father’s brother.

Sometimes I get just one word.

I like that.

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