Since my mom is only a spirit now, she's easy to cart around.
     Today I show her things captured and created in the universe by the
mind she created. The mind she hosted. A mind linked with hers,
noologically and biologically and psychemorphologically speaking.
     I take her to an open air swimming pool in a chink in red Martian
hills, between Olympus and Tharsus. One hell of a view. Cyberplasmic
attendants bring us alcoholic beverages, dainties, sweetmeats.
     We go surfing in the cold ammonia clouds of Neptune. Even with a-g
it's a bit of a slog. Neither of us care for it very much, so, panting,
we grin and leave.
     By the shore of the Tethys sea, we watch the sunset, while thick,
heavy lizards browse in the surrounding brush.
     Among the nanostars in an Osmium Pentangle, we speak of the
archetypes of form, and of preposterous universes to come.
     On an endless plain of hangnooses, with a sky of rubber and mercury,
we debate the pros and cons of suicide.
     In a houseboat at the vertex of the sky, filled with sunlight, we
dine with Varuna and his attendants.
     When it's time for her to go, she dials the controls for the
underside of Skyandsea. Her body disintegrates into atomic seconds, the
six colors, and five notes, the eighteen essences. Before long all that's
left is dust spiraling in an oblique bar of sunlight. Even though it's
nighttime. Soon that bar of light also is gone.