After many hours of creative solitude accompanied by the music of Ice Atan, Reese Cerussite’s book, and the letter from his mother, witch Dous Anka, Manqui imagines Choky’s wanderings with accelerating procrastination. However, he has shown enough patience waiting for him to return.

“What is my little jackal Choky looking to find? Did he find anything first? At least, I made sure he has all the solutions for any problem that arises. Me? What else can I do now?” he wonders, and confused, struggles to decide his next moves.

However, he has tricks to help him move forward; he is an agrotecton without a doubt, with ready-made business plans. Searching for a few Thirds, he quickly comes up with the next part of his work, Cho of the Commons.
After some thought, he will invest his last, for today, mental energy reserves into music. He searches through the library of the metallic storage crate of the Iannui homeostatic unit and then places in his old optical disc player the third disc of Ice Atan, Halls of Delight.

It’s never too late to say never, he thought, and resumed reading while simultaneously listening to the adapted version of Ice Atan in a traditional Cretan song that was once a southern island of Greece.

His favorite composer used vocal samples from an old local singer, based it on the original scale of the old piece, G diminished, and orchestrated it with new and intense, for his era, sound textures, a, in many ways forgotten, sound snapshot of past earthly glories.

Dancers in the sky, Cretan folk song

In the sky, in the sky they dance,
they wed in Hades and they’ve come out,
and they’ve come out, and they’ve come out calling,
all the embittered ones, Christ to me,
Christ to me, Christ to me calling,
and with the embittered ones, to make peace,
to make peace, to make green candles,
with aleximniés torches, to light them up,
to light them up, to light them up, to turn around,
Hades all around, to see the new ones,
to see the new ones, to see how they look,
how the old ones sleep, to see the babies too.

With memory-laden torches, green candles light up and quickly play a musical piece produced by the old, beloved composer, composing entirely his music, using, recklessly, fragmented voices from an old human creation in the form of an English-language electronic game.

Clowns, composition by Ice Atan
-Spot?
-Where can spot be…?
Pressed, people, happy.
-You’re a clown! A jester! An entertainer!
You’re supposed to make people happy, not depressed!
There once was young circus clown,
who imagined the sky falling down.
He imagined so bad,
that it made him quite sad.
On his face
he wore always a frown.
-I sneak to the mirror
in the darkest of nights,
I stare at my image and
just see the clown.
The louder he laughs,
the harder I fight!
Oh sinister world,
full of hardship and frowns.
-People happy, spot, pressed.

On the occasion of another song in the same aesthetic and technique, it leads him to a somewhat different train of thought. Roots wonders if even Ice’s song speaks of baggy pants.

Loose Fitting Pantaloons, composition by Ice Atan

-The world is a veil of tears when you are young.
Everybody is against you.
But there are worse things than tight hats
and pinching long sleeves you know.
-Loose Fitting Pantaloons, Loose Fitting Pantaloons,
Are the most loyal friends you could ever ask for.
Loose Fitting Pantaloons.
-The Autumn forest is an enchanted place full of mystery.
Strange creatures dwell there, but not as many nowadays as in the past.
-In ancient times lots of diverse tribes lived there,
you can still find traces of them in runes and in caves.
-When I was a child
half the valley was submerged under water.
Now there is only that little lake with the island,
and that is all I can remember in the moment.
-When you are old
there are tight pains and pinching pantaloons too, pantaloons too.
-Loose Fitting Pantaloons are the most loyal,
are the most friends you could ever ask for.
Loose Fitting Pantaloons, Loose Fitting Pantaloons, Loose Fitting Pantaloons.
-I once knew a guy who sold dreams at considerably higher prices.
Now that I think of it, that guy might have been me.
-When I was little clown
we used to wear real hats with big fun bubbles.
I could knock out a fool brown ox with my bubbles.
I know that poor animal, poor animal.