I am not Iandor

I am not Iandor and these are not the confessions you have been promised. Oh, I know you'll want them. They're hot and sticky enough.
Iandor's like that - eager to shock and fearful of monotony setting in. On Iandor's current mission for instance there is an amazing sexual encounter that arises during Iandor's recapituation of the evololution of the intelligent species Pronosics on the target planet Prono . (I prefer the alternate spelling: Pronostics. It is more descriptive of this dreamy bunch of astral freakers.)
Iandor, despite heir yogic training, is generally drawn to the generative organs of any species shey explores. This was true in this case but it was more like an attempted return to the womb - Pronostics all have wombs - than a stab at baby making.
Miscegnation is not Iandor's mission. Don't get me wrong. Iandor is an eagle scout told in future tense. But, this is not exactly another tale of time and space. For one thing, I am the anti-substance of time and space. Heygul is my name, the Angel Heygul, first discovered by the Persians. The Arabs were naming stars and the Persians were naming angels.
Naming angels is a good thing for the namer - it attracts the angelic anti-substance. Once you have that you are in possession of a Vessel the shape of an Idea. And as long as you focus on the name you'll find you have more ways to move than flies circling in a warm room. That's what Iandor has been doing a lot of - moving. Heir species calls heir a Starbreaker. Romantic space opera slush. You'll get plenty of that if you're still living by the time we get down on the planet TENDERLY, an HQ site for Iandor's Order - the Colgars. These Confessions involve revenge, retribution, revolution, and resolution. They take place in a cycle of time.
Angels like me aren't bound by time and space. We are omnipresent - one of the traits of the godheads themselves. Not omnipotent however. Omnipotence is an ambition that has kept Iandor's Humien species in hot water. Omnipresence is a mindblower for you embedded Humeins. You imagine all of god'seyes are on you in your present.
Angels don't envy the godheads, the unnameable substance at the core of creation. We celebrate eternally with a chorus of hums that Humeins have confused with harps. But that's not all we do. Unbound by time, we actually do everything simutaneously. Unbounded we are all everywhere. Omnipresnt. It all goes back to those presents under the tree, the liturgical nows we celebrate together. The pure gift of the creators- Grace they call it
Humeins are dedicated to right here, a privileged present - but really it's a universe of privilege. Everyone of you is riding a cascade of Presence. It's pouring thicker than salt.And the joke is that what's in there is the Present - packed with every idea the godheads ever had.
Humeins fondly believe that they are not social creatures. They imagine themselves as Angelic beings that are species in themselves.
What's a species? It's an idea looking for another idea it can fuck. But an angel is a continual self-fucking. An angel's orgasm isn't something to get hung up on however. It's the background radiation of angelic existence - its noise our anti-substance makes. Humeins sort of get that but think it applies to them. The narcissism of delusional individualism. You're as social as Wasps in the evening, as Bees in the afternoon - collecting, collecting, collecting.
Iandor has a decent grasp of this in fact. Shey never doubts heir life of service. She shares that with the mission of heir Order: to keep the Humein species from its career of involuntary genocide.

Coming next time: The fastest gun in the universe.