And in the final days of Great Butane, the country pulled itself asunder. Brother turned on brother, friend on friend, mother on child. In sweltering squash courts, high achievers dashed their racquets against the bright walls, grasping the graphite splinters and driving them, remorseless, into their opponent’s heartless cavities. In airless, air conditioned studios, televisual presenters frothed and roared. Their eye balls foamed and their teeth melted, the viscous gloop rolling down their quivering chins like the tears of a chastised child. The poor plodded on, selling trinkets to strangers, and gossiping bollocks, barely noticing the hordes of ravenous aristocrats that circled, blue blood thrumming with the desire for cheap flesh. As the asphalt blazed and the tides of techwaste rose, SMAGGHE & CROSS were prepared. They went to the special shed and untethered the special boat. They hoisted the mainsail and set the controls for the heart of Tir Na Nog. They performed the navigation rituals that had been passed from initiate to initiate. They observed the stations of the cross, they consulted the oracle GLOWING PALMS, they gathered knowledge of the dark arts of sea-faring and piracy from DAVID of THE JUNTO CLUB*, and they dashed caution to the wind. A burning world at their backs, a universe at their feet, they set sail. They set sail into the night, through the day and beyond. They passed through sleep and dream, then through the crack found at the break of the day. They found themselves in the land that had been foretold. They were on their way ………… they were on their way ………… to PARADISO. *Fun Fact! this is true dear reader. David is completing a PhD on 17th Century pirates…