it was a long time ago. it was a dark and cloudy night after a long trip through endless space. i met her in a shabby jazz bar on pluto. it wasn’t love. i have no idea what it was exactly. but it was awesome. it began with a plutonian kiss.

there could be lots of reasons: those funny mushrooms on uranus, one or two original pangalactic gargle blasters, or a knockdown bash on your head. sometimes you only have to miss the right junction to feel like you’re in a wrong sphere.

as a spacetraveller i had to do a lot of time-jumps. so i met commander cliff allister mclane from raumpatrouille orion on the secret mission dx-17 against the frogs. this one is for you and your crew!

my first anti-gravity vehicle was a spacecruiser made by nauricon for the f300 racing league. i never was a real good race driver, but because of my smooth driving people called my cruiser “the blade”.

as i wrote in daily burnout, sometimes life as a interstellar agent in a secret mission is no picnic. sometimes it’s even worse, like entering the deep deep underground where an old devil awaits you with a greeting “welcome to hell”.

as a widely travelled interstellar agent i had to accomplish a lot of strange and dangerous missions. sometime i had no sleep, no food, no drink for weeks. in times like that, i suffered from daily burnout.

on a long trip thru endless space even an autopilot needs a break. then i have to wake up from my cryo sleep, time for a nightshift.

where i come from, every family has their own emblem. but not as drawings like those in other galaxies. we have musical emblems, crafted by our ancestors, the old folks, many many centuries ago. this is my theme.

numbers. numbers erverywhere. they follow you whereever you go. there is a number for everything. 13 for bad luck; 1 for the winner; 7 for a week; 42 for the answer to the question of life, the universe, and all the rest… this one is dedicated to a unterestimated number, the number of all numbers. the mother-number.