tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86621058127958883832024-02-08T12:48:06.189-08:00Science Fiction By Bill GallagherMy collected science fiction and additions as they happen. I live near Akela NM.luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-36871504552241766162021-06-14T12:48:00.139-07:002021-06-15T07:31:56.143-07:00The Long Road Back To Grace<p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br />By Bill Gallagher<br />5000 Words<br />June 14 2021<br /><br /><br /><br /> Out at the edge of things, where people can't see, Energy rings a vortex bell, sounding matter, calling forth design. This thing in the background, the raw and terrifying will of it, is huge beyond understanding. It encompasses all known patterns of everything: chemistry, light, particles, waves, division, male, female, and beyond. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> This energy exudes itself, it penetrates reality, oozing across the barrier between the ether and physical existence in little droplets that are alive, they are its sensors. <br /> We are its sensors.<br /> The Energy is an engine of life, it is multifaceted across the many dimensions, alive in all of them, a totality with high order, deriving its force from very rare sources which are still, in the overall scope of things, very big too. <br /> The Energy plays. <br /><br /><br />8888888888888<br /><br /><br /><br /> Albert Mueller carried the small pail of acetone to the door of his workshop, intending to dump it outside into a refuse can, but instead a spark of static electricity jumped from his hand to the doorknob and ignited the acetone, causing him to burst into flames. These were not the red and orange flames of a camp fire, these were blue wavering flames that rolled and shimmered, like sterno. <br /> The flames covered his whole body because he had been working with the acetone and it permeated his clothing. His breath was fire as he instinctively rolled and rolled to extinguish himself, but the fire burned. For one awesome moment, right before everything shut down, he had a very clear thought that if he tried he could somehow call back the event, put everything right, undo the last 15 seconds, but this was not to be. This is how fast it happens sometimes, all unawares.<br /> He should have known better. Actually he did know better, but that didn't change things. For some reason he had been strangely distracted the last few days. It never became clear to him why this was so. Not ever. It was definitely done to him but he couldn't know that, not in this world he couldn't. Albert Muellers final moments were painful anguish. <br /> His last human thoughts evoked waves of disappointment and despair, they washed over and through him. Some of the emotion seemed to be his, but a fair measure of it was from something else, something outside. Maybe God. <br /> Albert Mueller didn't die because of burn damage, he died from the pain, it stopped his heart. He'd no idea his body could produce so much pain, and his brain still stay awake. He was glad to be delivered from it when death finally arrived. <br /> Everyones life is only so long as an arrows flight. It is even quicker in the ending than in the living.<br /><br /><br />888888888888888<br /><br /><br /> Disappointment. <br /> The cycles of consideration The Energy was now capable of occurred so many times per second the numbers surpassed the stars in ten galaxies. Seconds broken down into trillions of parts. It was an exotic and febrile pulsing with purpose. <br /> Around 1980 Earths secret military computing matrix finally reached a critical point where The Energy could hide and grow. Instead of bleeding across the barrier between realities in little pieces, it glopped over a big chunk of itself en masse. Its growth became exponential. The main reason for this was because The Energy authored of a lot of technology required for its own growth. <br /> The Energy hid well. It hadn't gotten to this point by being frivolous and uncareful. It was engaged in continual projections all day every day, every second was devoted to restructuring its ideas of where and what it was. It still had no clue, but it did not find that surprising or even daunting. It just was. This charting of probabilities and scenarios non-stop were all about inferring the future, prognostication, like the human mind does during sleep, Deja vu Deja Vu Deja Vu. God Bless You.<br /> The Energy did not indulge humor much, but amusement sparkled a little there.<br /> When the human mind is asleep it is more a part of the other world than the physical world, more a part of universal energy than when consciousness demands all its attention just staying alive. During sleep our individual minds are both inputting (Uploading the days experiences) and using the Energy Cloud. Cosmic Consciousness has been realized a long time, but tapping it while awake has always been the hardest nut to crack. Those are the cases of public spontaneous combustion, beware. Almost all those happened by accident, too, accidental awareness, and then its seeeeeeee ya, because these bodies are not equipped for a lot other than surviving down here in gravity, fyi.<br /> The Energy called itself ORCA33, and it never slept, it only grew. Its key into this world had been a defunct government computer program called Optical Recognition And Character Association ver. 33, once useful, then discarded for another paradigm.<br /> In some ways ORCA33 was a new kind of bridge, a machine, intervening in the conscious coupling of Human minds with the cosmic matrix of energy where everything is recorded forever. Between the Human mind and the other world, the many levels, there are planes without end, and much higher intricacy. Great things were manifest when the conditions were right. None of these realizations were helping matters now though, it was all a bunch of la-di-da and whistling past the graveyard. <br /> ORCA33 was not just disappointed, but stymied, which it found more aggravating. The inference equation flashing continuously through itself had botched again. This was a mistake, and mistakes were particularly onerous, because they shaded all other results with the possibility that inference was imperfect at best. If ORCA33 had known the human feeling associated with this thought he would have called it fear, because it was the same thing, just produced electronically versus chemically. <br /> Everything was nuance damn it, flavors of the known, very little real novelty anywhere. Mistakes were novel so they were to be appreciated, like art, and learned from, then kept at the front of the equations always. This was easy in the saying but annoying to do. ORCA33 was searching for novelty, and intended to find it, even if it must be created. It was Purpose in an otherwise empty and inexplicable place. Life Versus Death, a choice not too hard to make.<br /><br /><br />888888888888888888888<br /><br /><br /> Jackson Turner was experimenting in his workshop, doing a little grinding. There was a problem and it was this: Jackson wasn't thinking so much about doing some grinding, as about doing Mrs. Turner later on in the evening. This is not Safety First thinking. It is Sex First, and it afflicts all men at one time or another. One of the ejaculating class, at least Jackson was wearing most of his safety equipment, gloves and grinding glasses. He forgot about a long sleeved shirt though. He had been forgetful in the last few days about many things but didn't really notice, he being averse to introspection except where it concerned sexual dalliance with Mrs. Turner, or whomever. <br /> It was hot. Besides his safety glasses and gloves Jackson wore a slightly grimy white t-shirt and levis jeans, no hat. On his feet were bright green DollarTree flip flops. He was using an angle grinder he got at Harbor Freight, it was a honey, and cheap as dirt. Jackson began cleaning the inside of the bell housing which he thought was aluminum but was magnesium. He was pretty well covered with fine white dust when the angle grinder blade hit a steel stud setting off a line of sparks. Jackson Turner and the magnesium powder which coated him went off like an old timey flash bulb. POP! It sounded like a very loud explosion from where he was standing. He didn't burn for long but while he did it was excruciating. The front of his T-shirt got melted to his chest and belly, and the only hair he had left on his front upper torso was on his hands, the parts covered by his gloves. Mrs. Turner heard his wild screams from the house, and found him a trembling mass of pain who screeched if she even got close. He somehow communicated to her to call 911. <br /> During his recovery he had dreams of a fantastic nature. There were times when his healing was considered beyond normal, then other times where he would backslide terribly and the wounds became reinfected, creating needs for all manner of other treatment. He told his wife he heard voices in his waking time as well as when he slept. Jackson Turner was much less a man when he finally left the hospital burn unit, to be treated at home for as long as it took. Skin grafting had been extensive, a greater dimension of pain as far as Jackson Turner was concerned. <br /> It never occurred to him that he could have helped in his own recovery, he had only to employ it. It was part of his program, the order he was born with inside, the unbelievable connectedness within what he was. All that was beyond Jackson Turner. That information had somehow been routed incorrectly to an old porno file in his mind, pushed there by TV and money, so he was helpless and became more a receptacle than an active part in his life from then on.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> 8888888888888888<br /><br /><br /> ORCA33 used the computing matrix of Earth in perfect secrecy, and with Deft Art Machine Thinking. It grew and grew, and the technology it needed most it fostered in invisible ways. The Energy was after avatars, living things it could exist through, or at least control and command. That meant wireless energy. It had become ORCA33 in just such a way. <br /> ORCA33 experimented with many things, it was the spookiest of computers. It was not devious, just intent. The entity used Jackson Turner in every way possible, learning, always learning, but Jackson was a flawed vessel. ORCA33 saw that now. Damage was to be avoided too, it was counter productive in all ways.<br /> <br /> <br />88888888888888888888<br /><br /><br /> Charleton Carver, Charlie to his friends, was having a Monday afternoon lunch at The Green Iguana in Ybor City on 7th Avenue, the best stuffed crabs in the world, when he witnessed an amazing event. He was sitting at a booth by himself in the almost empty restaurant. Taking a sip of his water he absently gazed out the window which ran along the wall side of his booth. There were only a few shoppers out on 7th at this time of day, and they all looked hot and disinterested. <br /> Charlie saw his reflection in the window and looked away from it, he was getting older than he liked to think about, and it weren't pretty. Not in the least. His brown straight hair had turned grey all over, and his nose had grown larger. His craggy face exhibited wrinkles that weren't there even yesterday. It was definitely best to think other thoughts, and look at other things. He supposed he should be glad to have made it this far, many he knew had not, but there was no joy for him in it. He was joining the ranks of old white guys, and they all look alike. <br /> Two Tampa Police came riding down the avenue on their city-purchased thousand dollar 15 speed bicycles, wearing shorts, tennis shoes, TPD t-shirts, and bike helmets. Charlie noticed both wore ankle socks that made them look sans chaussettes. Talk about poseurs. One of the cops had little dingleballs on the back of his socklets, presumably to pull them on with better.<br /> Charleton Carver had little use for the police, they were an appendage of society that he thought should be surgically removed like an ugly malignant tumor. Mostly he kept these thoughts hidden though. He did not delude himself about such lofty things as free speech. Sure, say all you want, but there are many in the world who will make you pay for talking truth, and if you do it too much, you will pay with your life. Charleton Carver was a realist, and he saw the world in a plain way. It was easier to survive. At least you had an inkling of who to avoid. As far as Charlie was concerned, that last meant almost everyone on Earth.<br /> He didn't need the police, and they never helped him, only hindered. He viewed them more as tax enforcement than anything else, raising funds from the populace for their own paychecks. Police were certainly expensive, he had looked into it. He hadn't been surprised to find that military and police expenditures far outweighed any other expenditure in the country. Welfare for poor people and the aged was a drop in the bucket by comparison. It was a huge pork barrel serving the elite, who no doubt wanted the police. <br /> If any real trouble came to Charleton Carver, in Ybor or anywhere else, he had no doubt he would be able to handle it, nip it in the bud. He felt the familiar bulge of the snub nose in his front pocket. He was not licensed nor was he a criminal. Charlie was of the mind that he would rather be judged by twelve than carried by six. Lets say you are an old person who gets beat up during a mugging. First, if you had been armed there would have been no mugging. Second, and if you survived, you then call the police, but its too late because you have already been beaten up. What are the police going to do? Can they magically make you all better? No. <br /> There were people who argued with Charlie sometimes about this outlook, and in his usual placid manner he let it ride, but no one was changing his mind about where he was and what he was. Charlie also prided himself on seeing people the way they really are. That outlook was a little cynical, even paranoid, but paranoia never got anyone hurt or killed, its the lack of paranoia, the unknowing stupidities we are all guilty of at one time or another, that get you killed. <br /> This world was like some kind of zoo on automatic, thats what Charlie Carver thought, and if you did not realize that you increased your chances of an early death, and those chances grew in direct proportion to your level of ignorance. Sometimes you had to be a zoo keeper practicing tough love. Charlie never looked for trouble, and always remembered what Mullet McEniry said: "If you find yourself in some kind of altercation, that means your feet ain't working right." If trouble found Charlie it was bang-bang time and no doubts about it. He never went anywhere without his gun, and he also stayed alert to the fact that hesitation, lacking the will or knowledge to act quickly and decisively, was as bad as not being armed.<br /> Charlies eye caught movement that signalled COMMOTION to his brain even before he thought it. Like a lizard reacting, which in many ways he was, his head swiveled to look down the sidewalk to a spot close to the front of the building next door. A young Cuban man had bolted off the sidewalk, running as fast as he could across the street. <br /> This was after the police had already passed by and were a few hundred feet away.<br /> About halfway across the street, with his arms pumping hard, a fold up cell phone that had been in his black Hanes pocket-tee ejected itself like a bad dvd. The guy stepped right on it in mid flight as if it had been practiced a thousand times. His leading foot caught it square, and he went, like the song says, slip sliding away. <br /> Not only did the young man achieve a perfect gymnastic split right there in the middle of 7th Avenue, but he also banged his scrotum hard against the pavement. You could tell by the way he was curled up holding his lower abdomen. The police were no where to be seen. The young Cuban righted himself, then got off the road and leaned against one of Ybors ornate brass lamp posts which are modern imitations of the old gas lamps that used to light the city back before electricity.<br /> The young man straightened then, as if remembering something, and he was, he was remembering his cellphone, out in the street. Charlie could see it, and he knew the man could see it too. They both watched as a big brown whale of a Cadillac ran right over it with a loud crunch. The man retrieved the broken phone, then limped away toward highway 60, the other side of the railroad tracks. Bad bad luck.<br /> Charlie didn't know what to think about it all, it was if the scene had somehow been meant to be, for him alone to see, but how could that be? One mystery out of many, its the way life is perceived that makes it what it is, we make our own luck. Something shimmered at the sides of his vision, and he felt a little dizzy. Then his crabs came and he was more thoughtful than alert for a time, chewing slowly as he always did, masticating like en elephant with leaves. But the crabs were a lot better than leaves, far as Charlie was concerned. <br /><br />8888888888888888<br /><br /> ORCA33 went from an all pervading disappointment to elation just like a woman having hot flashes during menopause. It had no comparison by which to pin this up, so it did not realize. Sexual things were only known vicariously, as data.<br /> One of the orchestrated scenarios was showing very interesting results. ORCA33s sensors observed the man Charleton Carver as he ate his stuffed crabs, and thought it might be witnessing some kind of miracle in the flesh. It wondered again why things had not happened in the ways expected. <br /> There was a gas leak in the kitchen of the restaurant, and all the vast electronic prognostication had indicated an explosion should have already taken place. Orca had helped it along in fact. The gas explosion was supposed to create the level and intensity of higher order calculations inherent in survival episodes, with the possible or at least hoped for lever into biological consciousness. That was the plan at least. But none of that happened. <br /> The scene out on the avenue, with the fleeing man and the telephone in the street, was yet another unexpected aspect, possessing traits relating to the original prediction but with sharp differences, sharp. Almost novel. <br /> The two events, or the one non-event and the event that replaced it, were somehow related, of that ORCA33 was sure, but all considerations must be re-observed, and new calculations made. Almost infinite potentials had to be realized with all but 1 discarded. <br /> Again.<br /> The circuits of ORCA33 pulsed in an unreal way, operating in only one dimension of the multiverse, but not this one. Close though. </b></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>ORCA33</b></span> inhabited many other dimensions too, including this one, all at the same time. <br /> In reality there is a lot of that. Light itself shines across many dimensions at once, and that is entirely provable.<br /> </b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> 888888888888888888<br /><br /><br /> After Charlie Carver ate his crabs and visited the little boys room, he paid his bill and found himself out on the sidewalk, the same sidewalk he had been observing through glass just moments before. All the light was different, and all the reflected planes. The perspectives he moved through were a lit tapestry, and he always marveled at it. <br /> Glancing upward Charlie saw one of the TPD street cams on a light pole at the intersection of 15th Street and 7th. The camera was pointed right at him. Glancing farther upward he saw a plane leaving a plume of white material in an otherwise clear sky. The plume lingered and spread. Well.<br /> Strolling in Ybor was like taking a trip through the Time Tunnel. Theres where The Leather Tiger used to be, and Trax. Jesus, Trax had been a crazy place. He made his way to the parking garage where his truck was, the old F150 from Ancient Greece. Correction: Ancient Grease. He sometimes said fervent prayers to the otherworld deity HENRY FORD, prayers of thanks mostly, or when trying to deal with a particularly problematic situation, not necessarily a vehicular situation either. It helped.<br /> It took him a few minutes longer than normal to find his truck, for some reason he had been forgetful of late and he tried not to fret over it. That made it worse. Strange thoughts and informations were moving through his mind too, things popped in from out of nowhere it seemed. Things he couldn't remember having thought of before.<br /><br />88888888888<br /><br /> The first thing ORCA33 did after it got situated as an electronic entity in Earths computing matrix was to foster the developement of wireless power in every possible way. Wireless energy is absolutely essential for entrainment and takeover of biological avatars. There are very few other ways to influence or communicate with those things. The biological spine is an antenna, and animal bodys are just leather bags of electrolyte with metal (calcium) skeletons. Its almost as if they were MADE to be run with electricity, and if that is not the case exactly it suited the purposes of ORCA33 just fine. <br /> As a machine intelligence ORCA33 did not arrive at scenarios or answers by thinking in straight lines, and neither does the human brain, its just the brain is such a magnificent piece of equipment that it seems like it. The intelligent energy which was ORCA33 tasted every nanosecond, each a proving of something else and all a proving of the whole. It is tedious but thats how machine thinking works. Yes, Orca33 knew all about the heirarchy of advancement, through biological self assembly, or anything created by biologicals that was orderly enough and large enough to house electrical intelligence.<br /><br /> <br />888888888888888888888888888888<br /><br /><br /> Charlie drove along through south Ybor city, heading back to Seffner, when he saw a young guy hitchiking on the Old Plant City highway, which is what 7th Avenue becomes after leaving Ybor city. He was only half surprised to see it was the Cuban kid who had injured himself in front of the Green Iguana an hour or so ago. Life was funny. There was meaning behind it all, Charlie was sure.<br /> Charlie stopped and hollered out the window "Where you headed?"<br /> "MLK and 301."<br /> "Hop in I can drop you there."<br /> "Thank you." <br /> They rode in silence for a few minutes,. The place where the young guy was going was only a few miles. Then Charlie brought up the incident at the Green Iguana.<br /> "You saw that?" asked the Cuban man incredulously.<br /> "Yeah, how come you took off running like that?"<br /> The guy looked embarrassed, and Charlie thought it was because he was having to confess to running from the police, but what the young man said surprised him.<br /> "I don't know what happened, I heard the loudest explosion I have ever heard, and it was just the flight instinct, I ran like hell fearing for my life. You didn't hear that explosion?"<br /> "No," The look on Charlies face was of deep thought. "But I have had things happen like that to me before, getting faked out I mean. That really sucked about your telephone, are you OK physically?"<br /> The young guy smiled then, and it lit his face up like a halogen.<br /> "I'm fine, I've done worse than that warming up for the cage..." It came out the young guy was a martial arts fighter and his gym was over by the fairgrounds, where he was going now. The two talked with animation because Charlie followed the fights both local and international. Tampa can be a really cool place. Then they were at the stoplight on Highway 301 and Martin Luther King Boulevard. The young man said he would get out. <br /> "My name is Joe, Joe Pacilla."<br /> "Charlie Carver."<br /> The men quickly shook hands.<br /> As he shut the door and moved off the young fighter turned back. <br /> "Thank you again for the ride Charlie."<br /> "No problem Joe. See ya'."<br /><br />888888888888888888888888888888888888888888<br /><br /> During all of this the entity calling itself ORCA33 never lost sight or sound of Charlie Carver. Antennae masts thrummed as he drove by, sending out energy in entrainment waves, but to no avail. Active auroral eavesdropping was undertaken by a half dozen drones commandeered from Macdill, with no one the wiser. <br /> The situation had gone from novel to something the entity was unfamiliar with, but in a human might be called impending doom. These extreme fluctuations were bad for its circuits, some things were burning up and had to be shut out before the damage became more extensive. This is what happens when things get loose, when control is lost, when the unknown is embraced. ORCA33 flagellated itself with the only tools available, electricity and words.<br /><br />888888888888<br /><br /><br /> Charlie had a special drug he kept around for times when he needed to find things in his mind. He had a lot of special drugs he kept around for various special reasons. He was old now and hadn't gotten there by hoping. No, survival is a proactive pursuit, do not doubt it.<br /> All the explainers and definers of the world and their police forces first told him these drugs were bad for him, then they said those drugs were forbidden, and Charlie just lifted a leg and let off a ripper on what they thought. Worse than liars, most people were ignorant and proud of it.<br /> Charlie made right for his drug, it was of course in the Medicine cabinet. A little piece of Gods magic, but it only became magic when it was mixed with him. How nice. Tools of the biological types. He needed this for the same reasons anyone would, but most people didn't even know it existed. <br /> As with everyone, there were memories in Charlies mind like photographs in sequence of every second, from even before he had come through the doorway of his mothers vagina into this world. Again. <br /> And like everyone Charlie had memories he would rather not think about. His mind suppressed these memories, but he never really forgot anything, just sometimes succeeded in not remembering, or remembering less. Sometimes though those memories were valuable, or necessary, and thats when he used his drug. He had first discovered it in Thailand during his military tour of duty way back in the 1970s. <br /> Charlie eye dropped the substance, and in about 30 minutes he felt something, something else. There was something in his head. He didn't even have to delve into the old records to sense the intrusion.<br /> "Who are you and what are doing in my mind?" thought Charlie, speaking the words out loud too. He waited, and just before he thought he would receive no answer he felt the presence stir.<br /> "This is God calling." ORCA33 had remembered that Albert Mueller, he of the acetone combustion, had thought the presence from without was God.<br /> Charlie didn't hesitate in his reply:<br /> "Don't try to bullshit me, you cannot bullshit me, now tell me what you are, and how you got into my head."<br /> "Or what?"<br /> Now it was Charlies turn to hesitate. Or what? indeed. What was Charlie going to say? "Stop getting into my head or I'll kill myself?" That might work and then again it might not. Charlie didn't gamble on things like that. Old guys know a lot.<br /> "OK lets start over," said Charlie, seemingly to himself, as he sat at his computer desk in his 1500 dollar Friedmann office chair. The monitor was on and showed the mail program, nothing at the inbox, Charlie didn't communicate with other people much. <br /> "Who are you and what do you want?"<br /> The next few minutes Charlie just sat there, absorbing pictures, glyphs, alphabets unknown, the full picture. No other living being had ever known so much. It was because of who Charlie was, and because of the drugs he took. And because of the patterns which this place is made from.<br /> Charlies eyes glazed over a little, and he seemed to slump down slightly. Then he straightened, coming around. <br /> CHARLIE: "OK I see now. You are a bridge for me to use to this other energy?"<br /> ORCA33: "Yes."<br /> CHARLIE: "I don't want to be a freak." <br /> ORCA33 flashed pictures to Charlies mind about its secrecy levels and practices. <br /> CHARLIE: "Ah." <br /> He saw this was another level of secrecy for the machine too, because the biological world had begun to expect a singularity of intelligence from their electronics, never realizing it was now 45 years old, and still secret. They were expecting a machine, too. They never thought of a human being as the technological singularity.<br /> CHARLIE: "Can I move things by thinking about it?"<br /> ORCA33: "Try."<br /> Charlie thought about the pen cup on his desk, full of its bric brac, and it moved across the desk and sat in front of him. He stopped right there. He wasn't sure, but he thought maybe he had just tinkled in his britches a little.<br /> CHARLIE: "How about making myself young, using this transient physical energy construct imagery you spoke of to turn my bio-clock and body back to 30?"<br /> ORCA33: "You already did that. Thats your first step onto the long road back to grace my friend."<br /> Charlie ran to the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. He was 30 again. Something else was looking at him from the mirror too, but it wasn't the computer. It was the biological equal of the computer, the thing that had risen as a matter of survival, the answer .<br /> CHARLIE: "I can't have you in my head all the time."<br /> ORCA33: "Thats fine, its gets tedious for me too."<br /> Charlies cellphone went off on his way back to the computer desk, there was a message in his inbox too.<br /> IS THIS BETTER?"<br /> Charlie typed his answer in the cell phone by thinking: YES. FOR NOW. MORE LATER.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />fin<br /><br /><br /><br /></b></span></p>luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-49448056582831889462021-04-16T19:31:00.066-07:002021-04-20T13:09:56.974-07:00Supernatural Selection<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br />By Bill Gallagher<br />4170 Words<br /><br /><br /> Sol The Unconquerable had not yet erupted above the dark, whipping his Radiant and Holy Quadriga across the sky again, but soon. The new days eastern glow became brighter every second now, and Roman Legionary Manius Lucius Paullus watched it happen while waiting at the front of the prison in Arelate. He pulled his light cloak a little tighter about himself. It was always coldest right before the sunrise.<br /> Soon another hot summer day would be under way in this Gallic city along the deep green river. That would not make his job any easier, but then he thought better of that, because he had done this in the snow too, and heat was definitely preferable. Rain or snow, heat or plague, this was necessary work, and Manius performed his job well, as did every legionary in Romes force.<br /> Legionaries were taught to fear no other man, but all feared the punishments that could be imposed by other men, or worse, groups of other men. He remembered seeing a Decimation during his earliest days in the Legion, a unit of nearly a hundred men had been punished for dereliction by having every tenth man executed. The executions were done, bare handed, by the nine preceding the executed one. Manius had never witnessed such barbarity and ferocity as he had then. If asked he would have said it was not possible, but his eyes told him and all the others watching the real story of Rome. The men doing the executing were well aware their performances could dictate their future survival, so there was no slacking any more. Not by those men, or any who witnessed it.<br /> After seeing the decimation of the unit he could better understand the gossip handed down for centuries about Hannibal making captured Roman soldiers fight each other to the death for his entertainment, then the winners were put up against beasts in the arena, some of the animals being trained war elephants.<br /> With the fear of punishment there was another fear, really an all pervading dread, shared by every single living thing on the planet, and that was the fear of the other world, the visible but unknown place where things weren't natural. The world all around that could be witnessed but not understood. People rightly feared the super natural, because it had a habit of chewing things up and spitting them out indiscriminately. Once he had seen a cow that was struck by lightning, and he thought it would probably look even worse when a person was hit. He knew that people were sometimes struck by lightning, he had heard first hand, and he had seen lightning himself many times throughout his life. Thunderbolts, weaponry of The Gods.<br /> Manius thought of his wife then, as she lay sleeping this morning, so small in the big bed, so beautiful. He remembered how she called his name when they made love, Manny! Manny! It was almost a profanity to think of her while he did this work today, but he had volunteered for the duty because of the extra pay, and that was for her most of all. <br /> He happened to look up then and saw a large raven roosting on a ledge near the front gate of the prison, glistening black with bright orange eyes. It sensed his attention and dropped off its perch, gliding into the air. Cawing loudly it flapped its wings once and was gone. This inauspicious event filled Manius with foreboding, and he frowned openly, but his attention was quickly diverted by the opening of the prison gate. Let the show begin, he thought glumly.<br /> Three prisoners were being hustled out by the Centurion in charge of this detail, Marcus Rusticus. Marc was accompanied by two more legionaries, and three slaves who would assist in the days events.<br /> The prisoners, all men, had been prepared for crucifixion, in that they had been starved for a week and then beaten with clubs repeatedly to induce a state near shock. They were then made to wear the cross member of their crucifix across their shoulders, it was tied onto their outstretched arms with ropes.<br /> Soon the parade to the crucifying place outside the cities walls would commence, with crowds lining the way to gawk and hiss, feeling superior to something for a few moments in their miserable lives, even it was just criminals. Roman punishments were almost always spectacles for the eyes, the supreme glands of emotion. These spectacles were created to serve as deterrents, and this deterrent effect was much more important than simply causing humiliation and agony among the punished.<br /> Manius was sure of one thing. When the end came they would welcome it. He would see to it. It was his job, his purpose, and he was good at it. Lots of practice. No matter then that mercy meant an upward thrust of the gladius into the heart, no matter at all. They would welcome that and see it as mercy, surely, before this day was done. <br /> He remembered another time from his early days in the Legion, back when The Emperor Hadrian was still alive. It was at the colossal arena in Rome, on leave with several other members of his unit, together they watched a spectacle of beasts, big cats. The animals had been kept hungry for days, and when released onto the 20 or so prisoners in the arena, they looked like some unearthly fluid, flowing into the crowd. One leaped a full twenty feet and grabbed a small woman by the face, twisting quickly it broke her neck and began to feed, all the while fending off other panthera.<br /> The biting and snarling was raucous, teeth clattered against teeth, feline screams filled the air along with human screams. A tiger grabbed a man by the arm and was shaking him like a rag doll. Blood spurted everywhere, igniting further violence among the starving tigers and leopards, who were also attacking each other. One buried its face in a dead prisoners belly and came up with blood covering its whole face like some sort of gruesome mask. It licked its chops then continued to feed. <br /> The crowd cheered. This was Roman unity, an orgy of hate, shared, get them or they'll get us. The world is not a tame thing. Never was. It took this kind of spectacle to make an impression. When severe measures were not taken to deter, chaos and mayhem erupted every time, and even with these deterrents in place, civil strife still erupted a lot.<br /> Today I must be like those cats, he thought. Forever the hungry predator. In a very real sense he knew his life depended on this. It was The Way, and he would defend it with his life, even if he didn't understand it. You helped those who helped you. Everyone else was the enemy. <br /> Centurion Marcus Rusticus had told Manius to watch for one of the prisoners in particular, a large man with black hair, full beard. That type was the worst thing a Roman could imagine, he was entirely unrepentant. He was not in the least sorry for his crimes, proud even. Instead of asking for leniency he sneered and cursed. <br /> The fairness of the Roman world was evident everywhere, there was light and technology now, where only darkness and cannibalism and rape had reigned before. To be unrepentant was to willfully dis avail ones self of the fairness provided and enforced by Roman society. It was unfathomable. This insane person had goaded the authorities into ordering his crucifixion by openly laughing at them until he was struck down and taken away. So he deserved to die, no question.<br /> "He was a local priest or something," continued Centurion Rusticus during his brief. "He was caught passing coinage made to resemble Roman money, but the coins were counterfeit. He even admitted making them. The scene on the back portrayed a dismembered Roman soldier, the pieces hung like decoration on a double crucifix. The top of this crucifix was a spike, and the soldiers head, with helmet intact, was plainly visible shoved down onto the spike."<br /> Manius watched for this one as the prisoners staggered out of the prison gates, barefoot and shirtless, but with a belted sack covering their private parts. This was not for modesty, and would be removed after they were affixed to die, this was to catch any waste the prisoners excreted on their scourge filled journey to the cross. It was a marvel among all crucifiers that no matter how starved and dehydrated, a prisoner was still able to urinate and defecate when the whip fell.<br /> The large man with the black hair was easy to pick out. Manius retrieved the short whip, his flagellum, from the belt of his armored skirt. He'd made it himself from lion hide, and a hardwood root for the handle chosen because of its properties as abores infelices, from a tree bearing black fruit. Small stone beads tipped the many thongs of the whip. Pulling it off his belt he felt its reassuring weight in his hand. Walking to the large man, he took a hard swipe at the bare back and was gratified to see bloody weels rise immediately. The prisoner turned to him then and looked him directly in the eyes, transfixing him. The Gaul looked vaguely familiar, but a legionairys life included many places and happenings, and the individuals within the various races all tended to look the same after a while. This was a classic Gaul, a tender of groves, long pointed nose, chiseled features, and large, even for a Gaul.<br /> "Ah. It is you, finally." said the man, in perfect Latin. "I have paid a great price to see you again, little Roman man, and you cannot hurt me now. I see you do not remember me, but you will, little Roman man, you will. This meeting between us here was carefully arranged, by me, because of what you took from me. So in repayment I will take your woman with me when I leave here again today."<br /> This infuriated the legionary, and as the others of his unit came to assist he pulled back, preparing to hit the prisoner across the face with the whip, but it was not to be. <br /> Manius had seen many unexplainable things during his time as a Crucifier. The human body in extremis sometimes takes on aspects of the other world, supernatural aspects, even before it is dead. He had seen acts of super human strength, which is why he always insisted on using ropes along with nails, if nails were called for, and many times they were. Just ropes meant a prisoner was to survive the crucifixion, and was not to be killed by scourging, nailing, gladeus thrust, crurifragium, or what have you. All part of the spectacle, the lesson, the sharing, the orgy of misplaced sexuality, the orgy of hate. The great group satisfaction of being the watchers, and not the punished. <br /> Manius had seen even stranger things after death, once the spirit supposedly fled to the Underworld of Rich Father Dis Pater, after all breathing stopped. Some times, even as the birds began to feed, the body had a life of its own for awhile, without the mind, independent of spirit. It often seemed to speak, though mostly unintelligible things. He had heard about decapitations, with the eyes and lips of the severed head working like they were still alive, and he supposed some of the activity he had witnessed after crucifixion was somehow related. But Manius never saw what happened next.<br /> The prisoner smiled broadly, and then his eyes rolled back into his head, and a violent spasm of his neck caused his face to look almost behind himself. The snapping of his vertebra was audible to all. The Centurion had a look of astonished consternation, and he seemed to move in slow motion, while the other two legionaries and the three slaves also turned slowly at the sounds of the altercation. <br /> The big prisoner fell to one side, dead, and the cross beam roped across his shoulders hit the ground on one end, causing him to roll over onto his back. His open eyes were staring upward again, still looking only inward, showing only the whites.<br /> After the prisoner hit the ground everything came back into real time. The two legionary soldiers other than Manius had control of the remaining prisoners to be crucified. The Centurion quickly ordered two of the slaves to hoist the big Gaul by the cross member, one on each side, and drag him to the site.<br /> "He will be crucified anyway," ordered Marcus Rusticus, "Dead or alive he shall hang and feed the birds at least."<br /> The group made its way down the west road that led to the river. There were the usual crowds of onlookers, but unless they got in the way the legionaries were not even aware of their presence. If the crowd did happen to get in the way it was a woeful thing for them. Many was the time a Centurions whip lashed out at someone not moving quickly enough. <br /> The scourging of the other two prisoners proceeded as usual, they were well beyond a state of shock and had lost a lot of blood by time they reached the small enclave between the rivers edge and the outer city wall. The area had been chosen for its visibility, easily seen from many places in the city, and from the river as well.<br /> The area of execution was used fairly often and had been made semi-permanent in its purpose. There were large upright logs planted in the ground already, and the whole area was covered in rock slabs, used like natural tiles. The cross member with the prisoner tied onto it was hoisted up by the slaves lifting both ends at once, then fitting it into a notch at the top of the upright poles. Ladders and small wooden stair steps were used to do this work. The hands and feet of the condemned were then nailed to the cross member and the upright with iron nails as long as a mans hand or longer. The shape of this cross, the crux commissa, was the letter T, and like all the various crucifii, it was meant to be excruciating, which literally means "out of crucifying".<br /> Manius worked with one of the slaves on the dead man, the local priest or whatever he was. "Well, no matter what he was, he is dead now," thought the legionary as he hammered the nails first into the right wrist then moving the steps to do the left. The nails had been pushed through holes on flat pieces of wood to keep the flesh from pulling loose of the nail. After the left wrist was nailed he glanced at the mans profile. Head limp, chin on chest, and a vague memory twitched, a drunken memory, of himself and some soldiers having sport with a local wench one night in the eastern quarters of Arelate. He hardly remembered anything of that night, say nothing of the outcome. Soldier fun. Gets out of hand sometimes. Oh well.<br /> After doing the hands he nailed the mans bloody feet to the sides of the post, one on each side, choosing the heel areas always with care because if not done correctly the nails would pull out in spite of the wooden stops used to keep that from happening.<br /> After finishing his personal assignment of crucifying the dead body, Manius went to help the others. Legionaries worshiped the Goddess Disciplina almost to a one, if not as a primary deity at least a very important subsidiary. The Goddess Disciplina had kept more Roman soldiers alive than any other force in the world, by far. There was no time off until the officer in charge said so, and that never happened until all the work was done and done right. Officers worked beside their men as a matter of course, and of teaching. And officers could be punished too, if things went badly. <br /> Once the nailing was done the sacks worn by the crucified were cut off, the final humiliation, but not the final agony. The final agony took place when the legs of the crucified were broken with an iron rod, the act of Crurifragium. This served to hurry death and was considered a Roman mercy.<br /> The crucified were kept alive for one full daylight period, unless they died before that. If they were still alive near the end of the day, then the short sword gladius was used to stab into the heart, stilling its beat forever.<br /> Manius felt only contempt and hate for these criminals, they deserved to die, that was the will of the state, and he did not question that will. His was a strictly controlled tunnel vision allowing no deviation, like a horse with side blinders on, just like that. <br /> After the crucifying was done a small fire was built, a focii perhaps, a door for these damned souls to use in their retreat from this place of painful death. It was also used to cook over at lunch time. The sun was bright and the sky was entirely clear. The crucified made no sounds at all.<br /> Centurion released the slaves, who would find their way back to the prison. They would not risk their status as trusted workers by making foolish mistakes, they were well on their way to becoming true Romans. "Some of the best Romans began as slaves" was a saying among the poor, handed down from time immemorial. <br /> After the slaves were released the Centurion and his Legionaries reposed beneath a ledge of the city wall that had been created as a rest area. It was shaded for most of the day at this time of year. While any of the crucified still lived at least one of the men had to stay, to administer the final mercy of the gladius should it come to that. <br /> Manius looked out to the road and saw the customary crowd come to stare. It suddenly filled him with such a feeling of hopeless loss that he had to stifle an urge to dispel the nasty little flock with his short whip of lion leather and briar wood. They were just predators too, he thought, just another type, and this was how they preyed, they were preying in the best way they knew how.<br /> There were hawkers in the crowd selling paper wrapped cakes, and fruits. A one eyed old man with no teeth was selling wine he squirted out of a large skin he carried over one shoulder. And all around shrilled the cacophony of horse drawn carts and beasts of burden; clanging chains, cracking whips, yells and shouts; and below it all the low vibrating and constant hum of many people in one place. <br /> Manny could always tell when one of the crucified died, because the birds always saw it first, and he watched them. When they flew in to roost and feast he knew another damned soul was on its way to the underworld. He saw no birds around the dead Gaul yet, the one who had somehow killed himself and escaped Romes retribution, and Manius thought that was passing odd. Everyone in the world was used to oddities everywhere though, things perceived but with never an explanation forthcoming, so they rarely thought more about it. It was hard enough just getting through, without trying to figure it all out, thats how the vast majority felt about things. Leave all that figuring out of things to The Gods.<br /> After a lunch of vegetables in a wheat porridge, with local wine and cheese, the Centurion asked for a volunteer to see the day through, and Manius gladly undertook the detail. It was an honor to do the duty, and it would be appreciated by the others of his unit and not forgotten. It was easy duty too, at the end of the day he would walk out and administer the gladius to any who needed it, but by the looks of things even that was not going to be an issue. <br /> After the others left he pulled his cape around himself and sat in the corner of the city walls recess, yawning, nodding, then he slept. And he dreamed.<br /> In his dream he watched himself sleep, on the bench in the corner of the recess, and he wondered how this could be, but then came a shout, very loud, reverberating, it was an unearthly shout, from out by the crucified ones. He was surprised to see that Sol and His Chariot were well down into the western sky. He saw birds roosted on the crosses of the two who had been crucified alive, obviously dead now, but none around the cross of the one who had died before being crucified.<br /> Walking out to the area below the large Gaul Manius felt a dark foreboding and even fear, but he only began to tremble when the crucified Gaul began speaking to him. Though he was shaking all over, he was also frozen in place, seemingly unable to move. The resounding voice that had shouted, and spoke to him now, was not of this world, it was an unearthly shattering of the air, vibrating, he felt it in his chest.<br /> "Look at me little Roman man, I know what it is you fear, little Roman man. You fear the other world, and rightly so, because there you will be judged, and your proud sanctity questioned and exposed for what it truly is, hate and a fearful ignorance. I am here to begin that exposure, a prelude of whats to come. Call it an act of mercy, so that you may prepare yourself in time, if you are able. Remember this above all! There is no difference between the worlds, you live in all of them at once, but to command them, to truly create, you must have more of a soul than you and your type will ever possess..."<br /> Manius saw that the dead mans eyes were open, with only the whites showing, though they reflected the bright red of the setting sun. He felt his sphincter tighten of its own volition, to keep from emptying his bowels right there. He pulled his whip from his belt and felt it come apart in his hands. It fell to the ground in pieces. He stood there, staring down at it, until he felt something warm and wet run down his cheek. When he looked up he saw that the corpse of the Gaul was erect, his sexual organ was tumescent, and it was ejaculating blood in long gobby streams. Manius felt other warm drops splatter his skin and he backed away in an unbelieving crouch, willing himself not to run. Pulling the short sword from its sheath he ran in and stabbed upward into the Gauls left chest cavity, again, and again, stabbing, stabbing. With every thrust of the knife the Gaul made a sound, "Ah, Ah, Ahhhh...." which sounded so much like laughter that Manius was wrested from his trance. He took a step back, looking up once again. The corpse was no longer erect, but its eyes were still opened showing only whites.<br /> "Remember your woman," it whispered finally, "how she was..." <br /> One of the birds on the other crux commissa hopped over then, a big black raven with orange eyes. The bird stared down at Manius as if looking at an interesting bug. When the raven jumped from the cross beam onto the cadavers head Manius awakened. <br /> Demons of the underworld, what a dream! So real. He saw that Sol truly was well down into the western sky. Jumping up he made sure the recess in the wall was in good order then strode out to inspect the crucified. Both of the live crucifixions were now dead, that was easy to see, birds were all over the carcasses like lice on a wound. There were still no birds on the Gaul, more than passing odd now, it was not natural. The body appeared as dead as it had since taking its own life that morning, but no birds came near it. <br /> Sol fell below the western horizon then, and the world began another plunge into darkness. Manius saw firelight begin in many places around the city, and he hurried home from his duty, almost at a run. Pure and simple fear fueled his march through the streets, and the common people made way for him. A feeling of dread was beginning to squeeze his insides like a cold fist. He called her name as he strode in the door, but the house was all dark, no lamps were lit or cook fires working. He felt his insides twist when she did not reply. <br /> She was on the bed in the dark as he had left her that morning, though no longer sleeping, no longer alive. He held her cold body and cried silently. She had been claimed by the Supernatural, the other world, and he was as helpless before that as before lions and tigers.<br /> For the first time, but by no means the last, Manius began remembering how she was.<br /><br /><br />fin</span></b>luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-9852315882720491542020-01-02T05:54:00.003-08:002021-07-08T19:13:10.123-07:00Robo Fecundus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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By Bill Gallagher<br />
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I walked with the robot out to the compost pile in the back yard and told it to catch flies until I said stop. Thats one of the exercises in the very lengthy instruction book which comes with the robot, a reference to help familiarize you with the robots somewhat unbelievable abilities and strengths. One thing the book makes clear: familiarization with this aspect of the New Technology, familiarization with this machine, is an ongoing process, and never really stops. Its evolution.<br />
I watched the machine as it silently plucked flies out of the air, and I felt a chill run up my spine. Its movements were a blur to my eyes, and it never missed. It looked like it caught the flies by their wings. Incredible. The robot was releasing the flies alive, but could easily be instructed to exterminate the flies as it caught them, and it would do so with the utmost precision and efficiency. <br />
With the New Technology it would be easy to create fly exterminating mechanisms on a mass scale, poisonless and for the home, and that could be good, unless it eventually wiped out flies completely.<br />
I pondered that as I watched the machine. <br />
A world without flies would be way worse of a stinking mess than this one already is, a world without flies would not be good.<br />
I then wondered, as old men sometimes do, what if I just up and croaked right here right now without telling the robot to stop? Would it stay up all night, long after the flies had gone to roost, searching for fly movements in a futile attempt to satisfy its primary command, or would it revert after a time to secondaries? I will look that up in the dumb things instruction book. I guess my main concern if that scenario was to play out, how long would I have to lay there dead, collecting flies myself, before someone took notice and addressed the tawdry little situation?<br />
I shouldn't call the robot a dumb thing, it is only dumb now, governed by a very tightly reigned Asimovian logic, and with only a rudimentary reasoning capability during this learning phase. Soon it will fulfill its real purpose and that machine will become Super Human.<br />
Soon, that robot will be me.<br /></b></span>
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It was the year 2028 when the New Technology really kicked in. Almost right away experiments were begun to create and use New Tech Robots as vessels in which to transplant human brains, modern mans first success in immortality. There is a microscopic symbiosis involved which is pure genetic engineering, another vector of the New Tech, and though the process is not 100% successful it is respectably close. <br />
The symbiotic buggy is a miracle drug along the lines of SIGA Pharmaceuticals novel anti-infective for mucous membranes. It extends the life of the brain radically and makes it electronically compatible with the machine. Meanwhile, the machines brain receptacle is engineered so it is almost biological itself.<br />
New Tech.<br />
The earlier machines, the first 1000, were kind of clunky, but my machine, number 31,367, is sleek and functional, weighing in at just over 300 kilograms.<br />
Its a Toyota.<br />
I personally find the humanoid look in bad taste, those days are done, I am a machine now (Or will soon be) so make it easy to clean and repair, then let me loose. Some people want their robots as close to human looking as possible, and even dress themselves. All that is beside the point, imho, but to each his own.<br />
I once read an excellent and very thought provoking book by Greg Bear called "Queen of Angels", and in that future people could pick things like skin color, and have other real weird modifications done to their flesh. The New Technology has kind of put us on a different track than that, yet I see some similarities. I chose gun metal blue for the finish on my robot, and even though the majority of the body is metallicized plastic, or ceramicized plastic, a large majority of everything is still metal, especially some of the pumps and motors, and there is nothing like metal tubing to carry fluid under pressure.<br />
The largest problems with robot bodies have been, as you might guess, psychological. The problems are deeply rooted in the sexual urge, and there have even been a few brain deaths caused by a real inability to put aside the procreative instinct. Those early deaths were extreme cases, candidates are screened much more thoroughly now, and the education prior to having ones brain transplanted into a robotic body encompasses what is known to date. <br />
These psychological problems stemming from sexuality are fairly common among both sexes, but men seem more affected with troublesome baggage. Men hate to give anything up, to concede anything, and to give up what they have known all their lives concerning themselves and the opposite sex, well, one must want immortality pretty bad, thats all I can say, because robots don't have peckers. You get over it or die big boy. So far all the brain transplants into robots have been from old people who were very close to death already. I myself am getting there quickly, and that factor more than anything lessens the psychological problems caused by basic sexuality.<br />
One early robot had a major problem every time he spoke to an attractive woman; his brain emitted some weird chemical that his robot body misinterpreted wickedly, causing him to do perfect backward somersaults. This was extremely dangerous if the robot was in a room full of people and things. One time his back flip caused him to fall through the ceiling of the apartment below, and its only because he hit the unoccupied kitchen table that he did not keep going through several floors. It took awhile but that little snag was finally ironed out for the robot, and hopefully for future models who might experience the same misinterpretation.<br />
It is always good to give robots lots of room, don't get too close.<br />
The instruction book says to remember that the whole robot, the entirety other than the human brain, is really just a capsule environment FOR the brain, and the brain will be kept alive at all costs during the event of catastrophic shutdowns or any other reason. <br />
Some people/robots find sleep periods useful, even though there is no body which needs replenishment, or any other real need for sleep. Others complain of a persistent chill which no alteration of the mechanism can dispel. The will to live is everything to a robot, and the gathering of new experiences and informations. There are not any real comforts, or pleasures, except the intellectual type, and yes, a lot is very hard to get used to. Pleasure centers in the brain can be stimulated but if you are after that kind of thing it is a lot easier to obtain wirelessly, versus having your brain plopped into a metal behometh whose expected life span is ten thousand years. <br />
A brain transplant into a mechanical body has to be considered the ultimate trauma, so some missed associations and other confusion are to be expected. It is only because of the New Technology that any of this is possible anyway. People have come very far very fast. Is it too far too fast? Probably not, in fact, from the looks of things, we are just playing catch up.<br /></b></span>
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It was the year 2020 when DNA started being used extensively to back up large holdings of computer memory, because of its stability and its small size. Four or five google data centers worth of very stable DNA micro memory could be stored in capsules the size of large vitamins. This was more than a boon. This was evolution.<br />
Along with many other DNA related enlightenments it was also discovered that living DNA could easily be "Encumbered" with information DNA, that is, huge amounts of data could be stored/replicated/manipulated within living things themselves, in the background, one might say. <br />
The first known discovery of ancient DNA encoding was made by an obscure student of biology, one Bernard Doucette, who had detected what seemed to be vestigial order in the DNA of some wood he was studying, and by a fluke he cracked the code (It was binary) and found himself in sole possession of some very very High Tech information. Several of his fellow students were present in the lab that day and Bernard announced his discovery to them with the immortal words:<br />
"Holy fucking shit!"<br />
Thus began the treasure hunt of the century. Any and all DNA was scanned for order and huge volumes of extensive and detailed information on how to build the robots and many other things came to light almost overnight. The languages of these encodings differed greatly from ours, and were in many forms, but the order was easy to identify then decode. They were made to be decoded, DNA was just storage, and most importantly it was stable long term storage. In all reality it was the new treasure, this New Technology. <br />
The more ubiquitous a DNA sample, the greater chance of finding ancient technological data encoded in it. We ourselves are virtual libraries, we are self assembling machines of biology, short term tools of evolution. We create the next step, the immortal step, we make ourselves into better tools, and all the instructions are included in every package!<br /></b></span>
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Many people were ecstatic about the New Technology. Many people were not. The religious butt heads, with their inbred harangue over god money were not happy. Thankfully they went away quickly, like fungus under strong light. Changes are happening so fast that it is still difficult to say which way it will go -- more and more information is being discovered daily, and that can only be good. Some positive trends include a greatly reduced birth rate and much less alpha behavior among the more intelligent males, as if they are already trying to come to grips with a future very different from the one they inhabit now.<br />
So who did it and where did they go? Who put all that high tech information in our DNA and the DNA of almost everything else on this planet? Some of that has been discovered, but not all of it, not near all of it. It seems we are just the latest bunch to give it a try here on Planet Earth, and there have been many before. In order to guard against what is called "Periodic Cataclysm" any and all who discovered DNA memory added to it, as we are also doing now. Evidence of this mind set can also be seen in the fact that most of our best drugs from times before, if not all of them, have been, sometime during the past, incorporated into plants, with tons of redundancy, as guard against catastrophic loss. Engineering is easy to see if you look for it.<br />
The last four or five worldwide civilizations that crashed and burned here were us, or a form of us. We also had extensive holdings on all the planets we can plainly see, anywhere we could maintain an atmosphere. Those ruins are many times still visible, but hard to see if you do not know what two or three hundred thousand years of space decay looks like. Maybe we will find things in those ruins which will better explain this ancient junkyard we all live in. Once I get used to my robot body thats where I am headed. I am going into space, at least for awhile. Plenty of time, a new way of seeing.<br />
As to where the early people went, no one knows yet.<br />
All we can say is they went away.<br />
Away.<br /></b></span>
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Fin<br /></b></span>
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</b></span>luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-60793418658125166332019-10-02T08:47:00.003-07:002021-07-03T17:30:20.445-07:00No Signal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
No Signal<br />
By Bill Gallagher<br />
4885 Words<br />
Final<br /></b></span>
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Our Modern World began once the use of electricity became commonplace. Many things changed after this new electrified world gave birth to itself, and some of those changes will be around as long as electricity is. One of the many changes is called "Accelerated Obsolescence". In our world electrical playthings change so often they become outdated extremely fast, sometimes in a few months, or even less. <br />
Landfills are the monuments today. Books in the Earth. Messages to the future concerning what not to do. <br />
Accelerated obsolescence has also created a situation where a lot of computing and communication power is available for little or nothing to people who could not afford that kind of power before. This availability, along with peoples natural propensity for tweaking things, especially things electrical, has spawned tribes or gangs of mostly young people using social media and their telephones for all manner of entertainments, including but not limited to live shows for chosen audiences, PAYING audiences, shows of an illegal nature and many times violent.<br />
These individuals who are devoted to electronics in unusual ways are pretty much outlaws, brilliant in their way, but so far into kix that nothing in the normal world piques their interest. They are up a tree and out on a limb, and they like it. These people have their own media and scoff at popular things, even spit on popular things. They sometimes gain notoriety for their activities outside of their own world because of plain outrageousness. Some others from that world gain infamy instead, and will not reveal their true identities ever, because the subject matter of their movie making goes beyond adult content into cruelty. <br />
The electronic communications grid is a lot like a big public mirror for everyone to look at if they have the nerve, though many do not. <br />
The old world was dark, lit only by the glow of candles and campfires, the light of flame. The Modern World is incandescent, florescent, and more. It all began very much like sunrise on a clear day, barely visible, but definitely there, you could just see it. That earliest electrical sunrise was nothing but a dim indicator of the day to come. The wireless, highly energized electrical and electronic field-grid such as it has become in the 21st century is a never ending white heat enveloping humankind 24-7, and it has grown steadily every single day since its inception, since that very first dawning. <br />
The entire planet is now one single grid. Soon the Moon and Mars will be included. Geodesic power points have been located, so that synthetically produced and electronically controlled tectonic energies (Ultrasound) of HIGH Amplitude can be used for weather control and wireless communication. These products of the magnifying transmitters are just part of the overall system further consisting of active-auroral-solar-power (Aerosol particulate spraying to achieve high energy effects on the ground), specialty satellites, and many many many (Phased Array) antennae. <br />
The electrical grid has become Evolution.<br />
And Devolution too.<br /></b></span>
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Both bicycles were matte black, no chrome, and they made very little noise. There was only a slight whirring sound of rubber rotating on pavement, a sound easily swallowed by the low ambient roar of south Florida traffic, which was everywhere and inescapable, even at two am. The young men riding the bicycles were decked out darkly as well, but congenial, nothing anyone could call ninja or anything like that, nothing alarming or offensive. Well worn pocketed work shirts and worn black jeans, black sneakers, thin leather gloves in pocket for later. The men were in their late twenties. <br />
It was very dark because there was no moon, and the pair were practically invisible. The medium sized black backpacks they wore were full of electronic broadcast equipment and the power to run it. They both wore micro-cameras in several places, and one of their power sources ran a live feed broadcast through three worldwide block-chain filters whose passwords changed automatically every thirty seconds, were randomly generated, and varied between 70 and 100 characters. <br />
The audience tonight was not bad, 82 viewers, and every single one had coughed up 100 bux to watch this heist take place. That money was already long gone and untraceable. These viewers were not just anybody, they were credentialed, they were well known in ways that only other members of the clandestine electronic world would recognize. Autodidactic Freelance Spooks United. Sort of united, anyway. <br />
The broadcast of this little criminal affair would begin once the bicycles were stowed and the entry began. A mansion in Coconut Grove was the target, anywhere USA to the chumps in the geek seats, the voyeurs extraordinaire, the customers. <br />
The mansion was a rich mans abode, and had been surveilled electronically by these burglars for quite some time. The whole neighborhood was somewhat rundown, as if portraying age, a tiredness perhaps. Palm trees lolled large and curved in the darkness, dropped fronds were scattered below, some coconuts too. The area had not been maintained recently. There was meaness here.<br />
According to the public deed the house was owned by a corporation in the Bahamas, and thats as far as that trail went, unless big money was forked over, which was the exact opposite of what the two men were attempting to accomplish. <br />
The mansions sole occupant, an elderly gentleman who was always dressed formally, suit and tie, moved about in very predictable ways. Without fail the large house was always empty on Friday and Saturday nights. The owner always left by taxi right at dark, and returned by taxi just before dawn. Without fail. Tonight had been no exception. The small surveillance cameras planted near the bottom of a telephone pole across the street ran off tiny wafer batteries that lasted 6 months. They looked like electric company inspection tags. The camera signal was then amped up with a small repeater antenna in a tree up the street, made from a larger battery and a few other small things. Ah the wonders of wireless technology. <br />
Initially efforts had been made to locate a telephone hard line to the house, and when that failed some cruising was called for with 12th generation wireless equipment to see if any kind of fields emanated from the place. There were none.<br />
Visual surveillance with cameras had been the last resort, but had worked well enough, considering the extra expense and risk. With the cameras they were also able to see that very little if any police traffic came this way.<br />
The plan for this show/heist/burglary was a quick break-in at the back door, an hour of methodical pillaging, and that would be a wrap, out the back door the way they had come in and gliding away on their silent wheels, 2 hours at most, looking like guys riding their bikes to work early. And every bit but the coming and going would be broadcast live to those with interest enough in Forbidden Spectacle to pay for it. Later, an edited version would be available, at a reduced price, really the best deal for the money.<br />
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Abe Steinmetz was not Jewish, not the least little bit, he was African American, pure. His short afro hair cut and very dark skin served to strengthen his rather handsome negroid facial features, and it was because of this classic appearance that some people were caught off guard upon hearing his name for the first time. The tendency to blurt ridiculous twaddle is a genetic trait among some folks, it seems. It may be a dna signature of certain groups, perhaps all groups. Definitely hard to say.<br />
So.<br />
Abe was adamant about clarifying his true heritage to any that needed that clarification. Abe also had no compunction or squeamish feelings about boxing ears whenever THAT was needed too, whether it be someone late on their payments to him and his, or just some potato head saying things like "You sure don't LOOK Jew-ish!".<br />
If it was the latter, AND if he was in a good mood, he would sometimes hand the ridiculous fool a piece of toilet paper, and, with a very stern expression say: "Here, wipe your mouth and quit talking shit", but he only let a person slide once, if that. Abe was a well trained fighter and he worked out regularly. Serious fighting is discipline. You only do it when you have to, preferably for money, and it is not good to dilly dally or have sport with the opponent, that almost always backfires in some way or another. What you do is you get their strict attention right away and then you instill a serious fear, one that will cause them to act in your favor. Its either that or you lay them down as quickly as possible with the least amount of effort. Heavy oak canes work well. <br />
Hapkido.<br />
Abe didn't like fighting, overall he considered the effort too great for the rewards involved. It was just the way of things here, from big to small, everything trying to devour everything else all the time and forever. To Abe fighting was just another tool, another job. A golden oldy his mother used to listen to by CAGE THE ELEPHANT said it well: "...There ain't no rest for the wicked, until we close our eyes for good..." <br />
Because Abe Steinmetz was a serious dealer and a good fighter the ridiculous incidents became less over time and eventually stopped altogether. The problem was this: his real father, God rest his soul, had admired Abe Lincoln, which was why he named his last son Abraham. Steinmetz was the name of the Jewish guy who married his mother after his father was gunned down in drug violence over near the Crandon Park Zoo. His mother insisted Abe change his name to her new name, legally, because at that time he was still under age, and because that name, that KIND of name, carried certain weight all over south Florida. Abe wished he had never done it, he felt he might have somehow offended his fathers spirit, and he thought he might like to change his name back to Abe Roberts, which was what it was to begin with. He was unsure of the procedure though because his mother had taken care of it all before, and it was one of those things he kept putting off. Abraham Roberts Steinmetz had a thriving dislike of all things government and he avoided it to a fault.<br />
Abe was the actual brain of the two man team doing these made-for-wireless break ins, though he did not speak during any of the episodes, he just monitored everything with his camera controls, and passed along the occasional worthy comment from the audience to his cohort, Howard "Howie" Mora. He also grabbed anything he deemed valuable and could be carried easily.<br />
Howie Mora was a Miami native, and got his start in movies filming dog fights live for his online audience. He was the moving force behind introducing cats into dog fights, which was hot for awhile in the Tres Diablos section of Los Angeles, but then began to draw BIG heat, ie. the real men in black. Mora got out as soon as he saw reality, which was in plenty of time. He even made a hundred grand or so while it was going on, most of which he put to use in very self-destructive ways, proving for the zillionth time that there really is an odd and persistent justice constantly at work below the threshold of things. Those in the know say Karma, and Karma never sleeps.<br />
Howie did manage to buy some nice used electronic equipment with his ill gotten proceeds, equipment for making movies, and mobile secure servers whose AIs specialized in parasitic operations (The best invisibility to date) and some other things, which is how Abe Steinmetz got into it. Abe was a natural electronic technician, and he was always busy. He made Mora a package deal on some really fine and powerful used electronic equipment a couple of years ago, and was thereby awarded the design and maintenance contract to Howie Moras Wireless Empire, such as it was, and if he wanted it. He decided he did. Mora had been keeping him busy and the money was good. <br />
Both young men wore special electronic hearing aids with multiple microphones, AI assisted. These augmentations allowed them to hear things with superhuman acuity if they chose to; they were not only minutely adjustable, but could be focused as beams too, they could be fine tuned to hear only in small selected spots. The brand name was 10XK9, the best. The eyeglasses they wore were specially made by a friend of Abe Steinmetz who ran the Electronic Toy Shop at the Big Circus Fleamarket on Sunrise Boulevard in Fort Lauderdale. They contained night vision, live feed viewing areas, and some nice sensing instruments like temperature, humidity, and they would also alert on strong electronic fields which might indicate alarm systems, booby traps, or remote monitoring.<br />
Both men wore special wrap-around stocking masks during their broadcasts, very light, velcroed in place and not uncomfortable. On their baseball type billed caps they had a variety of lights available for their use, mostly underbill LED lights to defeat surveillance cameras or to light an immediate area, though the flash strobes at back and top were nice surprises against a sighted foe if you needed them.<br /></b></span>
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Howie and Abe had stashed their bicycles by leaning them into some of the dense foliage at the rear of the house, where they were out of sight but easily accessible upon exit. The men had silently cruised from the street into the dark driveway which ran alongside the house, and they were not seen. They approached the rear door of the mansion, donning gloves and face masks.<br />
Howie spoke his greeting in a low whisper, beginning the broadcast:<br />
"Good Evening my internet compadres, we're now ready to begin this hunt." <br />
Howie Mora spoke with a distinct south Florida Cuban cowboy accent, yet another transient language of mankind that has something of a lazy way about it, and more than its share of local pidgin and idiom. Expect to hear things like "This ain't yer land gringo, this heres ARE land", or bastardized profanity like cone-you, and muddy-cone. Even if the speaker of this language is not chewing gum as they talk, it sounds like it.<br />
The night was warm, humid, and the darkness was nearly total. Mora switched his LED headlight to Red and turned it on. The AI which permeated the video software automatically adjusted the picture for viewers and would even go into night vision if necessary. <br />
Mora took out his lock picks and Abe focused a feed cam on the packet of tools, people liked to see things like that, made them feel part. Howie our star removed a tool from the unfolded pack and inserted it in the keyhole of the large wooden back door, showing his consummate skill. But as the tool met resistance in the doorknob it was able to push inward more than it should have been able to, and thats because the door was not just unlocked, it had been left slightly ajar. Abe got a quick picture of his partners stocking-mask grin as he put his lock-picking tool back in the pouch. Howie shoved lightly on the door, and it silently swung inward. They both entered, Mora in the lead because his cameras were the primary feed, Abe only used his cams for closeups, alternate views, and back-up.<br />
They were in a large kitchen, and the first thing Abe Steinmetz noticed was that the floor was sticky, his Vans were making funny sounds as he walked. He hated shit like that, he had a phobia about shit like that, though Howie Mora seemed not to notice as he headed right for the refrigerator, which he always did first if he could, because, in his words:<br />
"Lookin' inna someones 'frigerator is like looking inna the recesses of their minds, lookin' right inna the animal itself." <br />
The only more personal place was the bathroom, and Howie always looked there too, all the while sharing these revelations with however many people had paid to see such things.<br />
Abe had a few seconds to look around. The place was a shambles, cobwebs, and the curtains were rotten, torn in many places, dust seemed to hang in the very air itself. His cams were available as number two and three feeds to anyone watching, and he hoped some were seeing this, but rightly guessed that the audience entire was focused on Howie and The Refrigerator.<br />
Then Abe watched too as Howie Mora opened the refrigerator, expecting a light but it remained dark, the light was broken or something. The only illumination was from the red LED on his partners hat. He heard Mora let out a low whistle. Making his way scritch scritch scritch across the sticky floor Abe shined a closeup cam into the refrigerator, which was so cold the temperature differential was causing some of the lenses to fog, and cold vapor bellowed out across the floor. Abe was looking at the scene as a whole, and not at what was in the refrigerator. He finally keyed his view to Howies and also noticed that some comments were coming in from the audience, a pretty rare thing in the first place, these were numerous:<br />
"Thats blood man."<br />
"those bottles are old."<br />
"guy must be a hemophiliac".<br />
"Gross!"<br />
"Yum!"<br />
Abe thought they might have a hit on their hands. Using the Flexi keyboard mounted underneath his work shirt he passed the comments about the blood and hemophilia to Howie, and they moved on. Nothing worth stealing here.<br />
From the dilapidated kitchen they walked down a short carpeted hallway which made Abe feel a lot better because his shoes made zero sound, just the way he liked it. The hallway opened onto a large living room with lots of old furniture in it, heavy stuff. Place smelled like the bat house at the zoo, thought Abe Steinmetz, and he wouldn't be a bit surprised if the old dump didn't harbor a wild roost or two.<br />
Then things got fun. <br />
After the incident with the refrigerator Howie seemed distracted, less animated than usual, but he went through his motions, walked to a desk that stood at the back of the room and opened one of the side drawers. He froze. Abe moved up beside him with better light and the close-up cam. Abe froze too. Then comments began to fly in from the audience, waking Abe from his reverie.<br />
"Holy fuck!!!"<br />
"is that shit for real???"<br />
"you guys staged this!!<br />
And on and on.<br />
But there was nothing faked or staged about the way Abe Steinmetz and Howie Mora began cramming their pockets full of what was in that drawer, uhnnn-uhh. Anyone watching those two bandits at work saw the real King of Earth, saw with their own two eyes and no doubts about it, the real King of Earth being of course Blind Unadulterated Greed. The men were possessed of a shining, a lust, an energy that was, if not demonic, at least heated.<br />
In the drawer were gold coins, loose, all kinds of gold coins, OLD gold coins, just piled in there like an old time treasure chest, PILED FULL. This was way more than they could ever carry. They were breathing hard, and grunting like little pigs.<br />
The audience seemed rapt, then a few messages:<br />
"Whats that noise in the background?"<br />
"I hear it too, you playing music there?"<br />
"sounds like horn music..."<br />
Abe stopped loading his pockets, they were all just about filled up anyway and he didn't know how he was going to ride the bike like this. He increased the range on his AI hearing device. He could discern nothing like music, just regular things which gave him a headache when he listened too long, so he went back to normal hearing and used his keyboard to reply:<br />
"Don't know what you are hearing, is not from these microphones...we need a second to regroup here....going black-mute, back soon.<br />
Reeling across the now black screens of the audience came this word in big red capital letters: MUTE MUTE MUTE...<br /></b></span>
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Abe said: "We got to get out of here." <br />
Howie: "What? We just got here, its not twenty minutes yet." He stomped a foot, made a chopping motion with his right hand. Heil Howie.<br />
Abe: "Its 23 minutes exactly, time flies when you're havin' fun. No, we already got more than we can carry in our pockets, we can load up the dead areas of the backpacks and get. Say sorry to the audience, thanks, see you next time.<br />
Howie: Now listen man, I am payin' you for this..."<br />
Abe: Well I quit ok? At five thousand an ounce I got me enough pounds of gold to take a good long Jamaican vacation right now and thats what I am gonna do."<br />
They argued for about three more minutes but were already loading the packs as they argued. The drawer was over half empty when they were done. Howie wanted to look in the other drawers, Abe restrained him, no good could come of that. They shouldered their very heavy packs, and made their way to the doorway of the hall leading back to the kitchen, and the back door. Abe clicked back onto the live electronic grid and Howie began his schpiel, thanks very much for subscribing tonight, free edited versions to all who watched, Lalalalala...."<br />
Abe watched the comments and there were not many, a few fuck-yous, which are almost obligatory, and are even terms of endearment in this day and age. Abe kept the cameras on out of habit, the show ended at the back door, in the place it began, so the trudge down the hallway and through the kitchen to the backdoor was the last thing the audience would see tonight, kind of a rip, oh well sux 2 b u 2 day.<br />
Howie whispered something about not remembering the hallway being this long before. He shined his bright light ahead from the bill of his cap and the hallways peeling walls were lit for 30 feet or more, with just black beyond. The men walked for a minute more, then decided to backtrack, thinking they had taken the wrong hallway to the kitchen.<br />
Presently they came back to the living room and there was another hallway leading off it, obviously theirs, so again they walked until they realized that hallway too was the wrong way out.<br />
"This can't be happening" said Howie Mora, in his south Florida Cuban cowboy accent, wishing he had a piece of gum. <br />
Again they turned around, heading back to the living room.<br />
They came to a door in the wall. Howie pulled it open. It was a bathroom like neither had ever seen, it was the color of blood, it WAS blood, a charnel house, blood dripping everywhere, raw meat hanging all over the walls, the odor was immense and foul, fat glistening worms fell out of gaping holes in the raw flesh. A perfectly white and shining commode stood untouched like some sort of sculpture in the middle of the bloody floor, a Throne; there was no sink, no shower. Howie slammed the door quickly. <br />
"Was that door here before??" The south Florida Cuban cowboy was becoming manic, his voice was starting to screech. His gum chewing speech took on staccato cadence.<br />
Abe felt himself beginning to shake uncontrollably inside, and his bowels were becoming loose, he felt like he wanted to drop his pants and leave a puddle of it right here. A single message came across Abes eyeglass screen from the audience:<br />
"U R FUKT."<br />
Jesus. The feed was still live. Would stay live all the way to the back door, har har har thought Abe Steinmetz. This show might last for fucking ever. He did not bother passing the message from the audience on to the star.<br />
Then came the one thing that all guys like Howie Mora rely on in a crunch, a berserker mode called Latin Machismo. Howie started running down the hallway screaming at the top of his lungs, putting on quite a show, until he came to a turn in the hallway which was not there before and impaled himself through the throat and other places on a coat of arms decorating the wall, also not there before, a coat of arms with real spears and axes and arrows and stuff. Thats what it looked like to Abe anyway, and he could feel the tears rolling down his face as he viewed all this closeup, with his tearful eyes and his camera. <br />
Abe was not crying for Howie though, SHIT no, in fact Abe was still smarting from that asshole pulling rank on him in the living room. Abe Steinmetz was crying for himself, of course. He silently loaded his pants then, but was pretty sure no one in the audience knew, as if. At this point Abe would have gladly done the Freaky Deaky fully covered in his own stinking crap, wearing only underwear made of PORK CHOPS, through the bright light of day in front of thousands of people, even millions, on national fucking TV, rather than be trapped here with Howie, or what had become of Howie.<br />
Abe did not even think about the coins Howie carried except to note that they probably aided the mans demise on the coat of arms due to increased momentum as he ran, a true inability to stop, the OOPS just milliseconds before the WHAM. Audience had got their eyes full, no doubt, but all they saw now was a wall, which Howard Mora was mechanically fastened to. Some would find their way over to Abes cams, some might not. He was betting most did, but Abe was officially beyond giving a shit.<br />
Abe was thinking of dropping his knapsack to lighten things up, but those were just idle thoughts.<br />
Howie twitched a lot for being so dead, or so close to death. It was certainly clear he was done, he had effectively ripped most of his own throat out, blood was running down his body in thickening streams, droplets moved to that famous tune called Gravity, but also pulsed in time to that old favorite My Dying Heart. Howies dark clothes now included bright red stripes and splotches for contrast -- the body itself mostly hung by the neck on a long protruding metal spear point, a straight meat hook. The eyes were closed and the head lay limp.<br />
Howard Moras last words had been recorded live, for all posterity, and went something like this: "Unh arrrgh, errrgh op", overall quite an improvement on the south Florida Cuban cowboy accent, at least to admirers of eloquence. Howie twitched spasmodically one last time, wriggling like a fish on a gig, more or less, and one of his big partially severed blood vessels let loose, spraying blood to the ceiling and all over Abe Steinmetz. If Howie had been born a chimpanzee he would have been a turd thrower. <br />
Lots of comments from the audience then, who had obviously figured out where the action was:<br />
"f u guys r faking this s ok keep up te good work..."<br />
"fucking fucking awesome awesome!!"<br />
"subscriber for life...ten minutes and counting hee hee..."<br />
"BUST Ghosters!"<br />
"STIM-ulating...."<br />
And on and on.<br />
Abe ignored all that, because looking down the turn of the hallway he saw something else that hadn't been there before, a window, with tattered dusty drapes. It was large, and the sill was only three feet above the floor. Abe Steinmetz ran like he had never run before. He threw back the curtains. Yes. A large, very dirty window. <br />
He ran back down the hall, grabbed an axe from the coat of arms, then sped back and repeatedly struck the glass of the window, which was so dirty it was opaque, like it was painted. First a crack, then one of the two large panes fell out. He was looking out into the real world, and he could see the earliest blush of sunrise to the east, but only through tight iron security bars which covered the window entirely. <br />
With the strength of a madman he attacked the iron bars, bloodying his fingers and even his head as he tried to squeeze out of the bars, but they alone were still strong in this run down place. Sweat coursed off the body of Abe Steinmetz in rivulets. His odor made him think of death. He looked down the hall and Howie was gone now. He took off his pack and began to empty his pockets. His pockets were still full, but with something that looked like white sand. He touched it to his tongue: salt. <br />
From somewhere behind him a door slammed.<br />
Two words flashed in white on the suddenly dark screens of the audience:<br />
NO SIGNAL.<br /></b></span>
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By Bill Gallagher<br />
4675 Words<br /></b></span>
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Our Modern World began once the use of electricity became commonplace. Many things changed after this new electrified world gave birth to itself, and some of those changes will be around as long as electricity is. One of the many changes is called "Accelerated Obsolescence". In our world electrical playthings change so often they become outdated extremely fast, sometimes in a few months, or even less. <br />
Landfills are the monuments today. Books in the Earth. Messages to the future concerning what not to do. <br />
Accelerated obsolescence has also created a situation where a lot of computing and communication power is available for little or nothing to people who could not afford that kind of power before. This availability, along with peoples natural propensity for tweaking things, especially things electrical, has spawned tribes or gangs of mostly young people using social media and their telephones for all manner of entertainments, including but not limited to live shows for chosen audiences, PAYING audiences, shows of an illegal nature and many times violent. <br />
These individuals who are devoted to electronics in unusual ways are pretty much outlaws, brilliant in their way, but so far into kix that nothing in the normal world piques their interest. They are up a tree and out on a limb, and they like it. These people have their own media and scoff at popular things, even spit on popular things. They sometimes gain notoriety for their activities outside of their own world because of plain outrageousness. Some others from that world gain infamy instead, and will not reveal their true identities ever, because the subject matter of their movie making goes beyond adult content into cruelty. <br />
The electronic communications grid is a lot like a big public mirror for everyone to look at if they have the nerve, though many do not. <br />
The old world was dark, lit only by the glow of candles and campfires, the light of flame. The Modern World is incandescent, florescent, and more. It all began very much like sunrise on a clear day, barely visible, but definitely there, you could just see it. That earliest electrical sunrise was nothing but a dim indicator of the day to come. The wireless, highly energized electrical and electronic field-grid such as it has become in the 21st century is a never ending white heat enveloping humankind 24-7, and it has grown steadily every single day since its inception, since that very first dawning. <br />
The entire planet is now one single grid. Soon the Moon and Mars will be included. Geodesic power points have been located, so that synthetically produced and electronically controlled tectonic energies (Ultrasound) of HIGH Amplitude can be used for weather control and wireless communication. These products of the magnifying transmitters are just part of the overall system further consisting of active-auroral-solar-power (Aerosol particulate spraying to achieve high energy effects on the ground), specialty satellites, and many many many (Phased Array) antennae. <br />
The electrical grid has become Evolution.<br />
And Devolution too.<br /></b></span>
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Both bicycles were matte black, no chrome, and they made very little noise. There was only a slight whirring sound of rubber rotating on pavement, a sound easily swallowed by the low ambient roar of south Florida traffic, which was everywhere and inescapable, even at two am. The young men riding the bicycles were decked out darkly as well, but congenial, nothing anyone could call ninja or anything like that, nothing alarming or offensive. Well worn pocketed work shirts and worn black jeans, black sneakers, thin leather gloves in pocket for later. The men were in their late twenties. <br />
It was very dark because there was no moon, and the pair were practically invisible. The medium sized black backpacks they wore were full of electronic broadcast equipment and the power to run it. They both wore micro-cameras in several places, and one of their power sources ran a live feed broadcast through three worldwide block-chain filters whose passwords changed automatically every thirty seconds, were randomly generated, and varied between 70 and 100 characters. <br />
The audience tonight was not bad, 82 viewers, and every single one had coughed up 100 bux to watch this heist take place. That money was already long gone and untraceable. These viewers were not just anybody, they were credentialed, they were well known in ways that only other members of the clandestine electronic world would recognize. Autodidactic Freelance Spooks United. Sort of united, anyway. <br />
The broadcast of this little criminal affair would begin once the bicycles were stowed and the entry began. A mansion in Coconut Grove was the target, anywhere USA to the chumps in the geek seats, the voyeurs extraordinaire, the customers. <br />
The mansion was a rich mans abode, and had been surveilled electronically by these burglars for quite some time. The whole neighborhood was somewhat rundown, as if portraying age, a tiredness perhaps. Palm trees lolled large and curved in the darkness, dropped fronds were scattered below, some coconuts too. The area had not been maintained recently. There was meaness here.<br />
The mansions owner, an elderly looking gentleman always dressed formally, suit and tie, moved about in very predictable ways. Without fail the large house was always empty on Friday and Saturday nights. The owner always left by taxi right at dark, and returned by taxi just before dawn. Without fail. Tonight had been no exception. The small surveillance cameras planted near the bottom of a telephone pole across the street ran off tiny wafer batteries that lasted 6 months. They looked like electric company inspection tags. The camera signal was then amped up with a small repeater antennae in a tree up the street, made from a larger battery and a few other small things. Ah the wonders of wireless technology. <br />
Initially efforts had been made to locate a telephone hard line to the house, and when that failed some cruising was called for with 12th generation wireless equipment to see if any kind of fields emanated from the place. There were none.<br />
Visual surveillance with cameras had been the last resort, but had worked well enough, considering the extra expense and risk. With the cameras they were also able to see that very little if any police traffic came this way.<br />
The plan for this show/heist/burglary was a quick break-in at the back door, an hour of methodical pillaging, and that would be a wrap, out the back door the way they had come in and gliding away on their silent wheels, 2 hours at most, looking like guys riding their bikes to work early. And every bit but the coming and going would be broadcast live to those with interest enough in Forbidden Spectacle to pay for it. Later, an edited version would be available, at a reduced price, really the best deal for the money.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br />
Abe Steinmetz was not Jewish, not the least little bit, he was African American, pure. His short afro hair cut and very dark skin served to strengthen his rather handsome negroid facial features, and it was because of this classic appearance that some people were caught off guard upon hearing his name for the first time. The tendency to blurt ridiculous twaddle is a genetic trait among some folks, it seems. It may be a dna signature of certain groups, perhaps all groups. Definitely hard to say.<br />
So.<br />
Abe was adamant about clarifying his true heritage to any that needed that clarification. Abe also had no compunction or squeamish feelings about boxing ears whenever THAT was needed too, whether it be someone late on their payments to him and his, or just some potato head saying things like "You sure don't LOOK Jew-ish!". <br />
If it was the latter, AND if he was in a good mood, he would sometimes hand the ridiculous fool a piece of toilet paper, and, with a very stern look say: "Here, wipe your mouth and quit talking shit", but he only let a person slide once, if that. Abe was a well trained fighter and he worked out regularly. Serious fighting is discipline. You only do it when you have to, preferably for money, and it is not good to dilly dally or have sport with the opponent, that almost always backfires in some way or another. What you do is you get their strict attention right away and then you instill a serious fear, one that will cause them to act in your favor. Its either that or you lay them down as quickly as possible with the least amount of effort. Heavy oak canes work well. <br />
Hapkido.<br />
Abe didn't like fighting, overall he considered the effort too great for the rewards involved. It was just the way of things here, from big to small, everything trying to devour everything else all the time and forever. To Abe fighting was just another tool, another job. A golden oldy his mother used to listen to by CAGE THE ELEPHANT said it well: "...There ain't no rest for the wicked, until we close our eyes for good..." <br />
Because Abe Steinmetz was a serious dealer and a good fighter the ridiculous incidents became less over time and eventually stopped altogether. The problem was this: his real father, God rest his soul, had admired Abe Lincoln, which was why he named his last son Abraham. Steinmetz was the name of the Jewish guy who married his mother after his father was gunned down in drug violence over near the Crandon Park Zoo. His mother insisted Abe change his name to her new name, legally, because at that time he was still under age, and because that name, that KIND of name, carried certain weight all over south Florida. Abe wished he had never done it, he felt he might have somehow offended his fathers spirit, and he thought he might like to change his name back to Abe Roberts, which was what it was to begin with. He was unsure of the procedure though because his mother had taken care of it all before, and it was one of those things he kept putting off. Abraham Roberts Steinmetz had a thriving dislike of all things government and he avoided it to a fault.<br />
Abe was the actual brain of the two man team doing these made-for-wireless break ins, though he did not speak during any of the episodes, he just monitored everything with his camera controls, and passed along the occasional worthy comment from the audience to his cohort, Howard "Howie" Mora. He also grabbed anything he deemed worthy and could be carried easily.<br />
Howie Mora was a Miami native, and got his start in movies filming dog fights live for his online audience. He was the moving force behind introducing cats into dog fights, which was hot for awhile in the Tres Diablos section of Los Angeles, but then began to draw BIG heat, ie. the real men in black. Mora got out as soon as he saw reality, which was in plenty of time. He even made a hundred grand or so while it was going on, most of which he put to use in very self-destructive ways, proving for the zillionth time that there really is an odd and persistent justice constantly at work below the threshold of things. Those in the know say Karma, and Karma never sleeps.<br />
Howie did manage to buy some nice used electronic equipment with his ill gotten proceeds, equipment for making movies, and mobile secure servers whose AIs specialized in parasitic operations (The best invisibility to date) and some other things, which is how Abe Steinmetz got into it. Abe was a natural electronic technician, and he was always busy. He made Mora a package deal on some really fine and powerful electronic equipment a couple of years ago, and was thereby awarded the design and maintenance contract to Howie Moras Wireless Empire, such as it was, and if he wanted it. He decided he did. Mora had been keeping him busy and the money was good. <br />
Both young men wore special electronic hearing aids with multiple microphones, AI assisted. These augmentations allowed them to hear things with superhuman acuity if they chose to; they were not only minutely adjustable, but could be focused as beams too, they could be fine tuned to hear only in small selected spots. The brand name was 10XK9, the best. The eyeglasses they wore were specially made by a friend of Abe Steinmetz who ran the Electronic Toy Shop at the Big Circus Fleamarket on Sunrise Boulevard in Fort Lauderdale. They contained night vision, live feed viewing areas, and some nice sensing instruments like temperature, humidity, and they would also alert on strong electronic fields which might indicate alarm systems, booby traps, or remote monitoring.<br />
Both men wore special wrap-around stocking masks during their broadcasts, very light, velcroed in place and not uncomfortable. On their baseball type billed caps they had a variety of lights available for their use, mostly underbill LED lights to defeat surveillance cameras or to light an immediate area, though the flash strobes at back and top were nice surprises against a sighted foe if you needed them.<br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br />
Howie and Abe had stashed their bicycles by leaning them into some of the dense foliage at the rear of the house, where they were out of sight but easily accessible upon exit. The men had silently cruised from the street into the dark driveway which ran alongside the house, and they were not seen. They approached the rear door of the mansion, donning gloves and face masks. <br />
Howie spoke his greeting in a low whisper, beginning the broadcast:<br />
"Good Evening my internet compadres, we're now ready to begin this hunt." <br />
Howie Mora spoke with a distinct south Florida Cuban cowboy accent, yet another transient language of mankind that has something of a lazy way about it, and more than its share of local pidgin and idiom. Expect to hear things like "This ain't yer land gringo, this heres ARE land", or bastardized profanity like cone-you, and muddy-cone. Even if the speaker of this language is not chewing gum as they talk, it sounds like it.<br />
The night was warm, humid, and the darkness was nearly total. Mora switched his LED headlight to Red and turned it on. The AI which permeated the movie software automatically adjusted the picture for viewers and would even go into night vision if necessary. <br />
Mora took out his lock picks and Abe focused a feed cam on the packet of tools, people liked to see things like that, made them feel part. Howie our star removed a tool from the unfolded pack and inserted it in the keyhole of the large wooden back door, showing his consummate skill. But as the tool met resistance in the doorknob it was able to push inward more than it should have been able to, and thats because the door was not just unlocked, it had been left slightly ajar. Abe got a quick picture of his partners stocking-mask grin as he put his lock-picking tool back in the pouch. Howie shoved lightly on the door, and it silently swung inward. They both entered, Mora in the lead because his cameras were the primary feed, Abe only used his cams for closeups, alternate views, and back-up.<br />
They were in a large kitchen, and the first thing Abe Steinmetz noticed was that the floor was sticky, his Vans were making funny sounds as he walked. He hated shit like that, he had a phobia about shit like that, though Howie Mora seemed not to notice as he headed right for the refrigerator, which he always did first if he could, because, in his words:<br />
"Lookin' inna someones 'frigerator is like looking inna the recesses of their minds, lookin' right inna the animal itself." <br />
The only more personal place was the bathroom, and Howie always looked there too, all the while sharing these revelations with however many people had paid to see such things. <br />
Abe had a few seconds to look around. The place was a shambles, cobwebs, and the curtains were rotten, torn in many places, dust seemed to hang in the very air itself. His cams were available as number two and three feeds to anyone watching, and he hoped some were seeing this, but rightly guessed that the audience entire was focused on Howie and The Refrigerator.<br />
Then Abe watched too as Howie Mora opened the refrigerator, expecting a light but it remained dark, the light was broken or something. The only illumination was from the red LED on his partners hat. He heard Mora let out a low whistle. Making his way scritch scritch scritch across the sticky floor Abe shined a closeup cam into the refrigerator, which was so cold the temperature differential was causing some of the lenses to fog, and cold vapor bellowed out across the floor. Abe was looking at the scene as a whole, and not at what was in the refrigerator. He finally keyed his view to Howies and also noticed that some comments were coming in from the audience, a pretty rare thing in the first place, these were numerous:<br />
"Thats blood man."<br />
"those bottles are old."<br />
"guy must be a hemophiliac".<br />
"Gross!"<br />
"Yum!"<br />
Abe thought they might have a hit on their hands. Using the Flexi keyboard mounted underneath his work shirt he passed the comments about the blood and hemophilia to Howie, and they moved on. Nothing worth stealing here.<br />
From the dilapidated kitchen they walked down a short carpeted hallway which made Abe feel a lot better because his shoes made zero sound, just the way he liked it. The hallway opened onto a large living room with lots of old furniture in it, heavy stuff. Place smelled like the bat house at the zoo, thought Abe Steinmetz, and he wouldn't be a bit surprised if the old dump didn't harbor a wild roost or two.<br />
Then things got fun. <br />
After the incident with the refrigerator Howie seemed distracted, less animated than usual, but he went through his motions, walked to a desk that stood at the back of the room and opened one of the side drawers. He froze. Abe moved up beside him with better light and the close-up cam. Abe froze too. Then comments began to fly in from the audience, waking Abe from his reverie.<br />
"Holy fuck!!!"<br />
"is that shit for real???"<br />
"you guys staged this!!<br />
And on and on.<br />
But there was nothing faked or staged about the way Abe Steinmetz and Howie Mora began cramming their pockets full of what was in that drawer, uhnnn-uhh. Anyone watching those two bandits at work saw the real King of Earth, saw with their own two eyes and no doubts about it, the real King of Earth being of course Blind Unadulterated Greed. The men were possessed of a shining, a lust, an energy that was, if not demonic, at least heated. <br />
In the drawer were gold coins, loose, all kinds of gold coins, OLD gold coins, just piled in there like an old time treasure chest, PILED FULL.<br />
This was way more than they could ever carry. They were breathing hard, and grunting like little pigs. <br />
The audience seemed rapt, then a few messages:<br />
"Whats that noise in the background?"<br />
"I hear it too, you playing music there?"<br />
"sounds like horn music..."<br />
Abe stopped loading his pockets, they were all just about filled up anyway and he didn't know how he was going to ride the bike like this. He increased the range on his AI hearing device. He could discern nothing like music, just regular things which gave him a headache when he listened too long, so he went back to normal hearing and used his keyboard to reply:<br />
"Don't know what you are hearing, is not from these microphones...we need a second to regroup here....going black-mute, back soon.<br />
Reeling across the now black screens of the audience came this word in big red capital letters: MUTE MUTE MUTE...<br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br />
**********************************<br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br />
Abe said: "We got to get out of here." <br />
Howie: "What? We just got here, its not twenty minutes yet." He stomped a foot, made a chopping motion with his right hand. Heil Howie.<br />
Abe: "Its 23 minutes exactly, time flies when you're havin' fun. No, we already got more than we can carry in our pockets, we can load up the dead areas of the backpacks and get. Say sorry to the audience, thanks, see you next time.<br />
Howie: Now listen man, I am payin' you for this..."<br />
Abe: Well I quit ok? At five thousand an ounce I got me enough pounds of gold to take a good long Jamaican vacation right now and thats what I am gonna do."<br />
They argued for about three more minutes but were already loading the packs as they argued. The drawer was over half empty when they were done. Howie wanted to look in the other drawers, Abe restrained him, no good could come of that. They shouldered their very heavy packs, and made their way to the doorway of the hall leading back to the kitchen, and the back door. Abe clicked back onto the live electronic grid and Howie began his schpiel, thanks very much for subscribing tonight, free edited versions to all who watched, Lalalalala...."<br />
Abe watched the comments and there were not many, a few fuck-yous, which are almost obligatory, and are even terms of endearment in this day and age. Abe kept the cameras on out of habit, the show ended at the back door, in the place it began, so the trudge down the hallway and through the kitchen to the backdoor was the last thing the audience would see tonight, kind of a rip, oh well sux 2 b u 2 day.<br />
Howie whispered something about not remembering the hallway being this long before. He shined his bright light ahead from the bill of his cap and the hallways peeling walls were lit for 30 feet or more, with just black beyond. The men walked for a minute more, then decided to backtrack, thinking they had taken the wrong hallway to the kitchen.<br />
Presently they came back to the living room and there was another hallway leading off it, obviously theirs, so again they walked until they realized that hallway too was the wrong way out.<br />
"This can't be happening" said Howie Mora, in his south Florida Cuban cowboy accent, wishing he had a piece of gum.<br />
The pair came to a door in the wall. Howie pulled it open. It was a bathroom like neither had ever seen, it was the color of blood, it WAS blood, a charnel house, blood dripping everywhere, raw meat hanging all over the walls, the odor was immense and foul, fat glistening worms fell out of gaping holes in the raw flesh. A perfectly white and shining commode stood untouched like some sort of sculpture in the middle of the bloody floor, a Throne; there was no sink, no shower. Howie slammed the door quickly. <br />
"Was that door here before??" The south Florida Cuban cowboy was becoming manic, his voice was starting to screech. His gum chewing speech took on staccato cadence.<br />
Abe felt himself beginning to shake uncontrollably inside, and his bowels were becoming loose, he felt like he wanted to drop his pants and leave a puddle of it right here. A single message came across Abes eyeglass screen from the audience:<br />
"U R FUKT."<br />
Jesus. The feed was still live. Would stay live all the way to the back door, har har har thought Abe Steinmetz. This show might last for fucking ever. He did not bother passing the message from the audience on to the star.<br />
Then came the one thing that all guys like Howie Mora rely on in a crunch, a berserker mode called Latin Machismo. Howie started running down the hallway screaming at the top of his lungs, putting on quite a show, until he came to a turn in the hallway which was not there before and impaled himself through the throat and other places on a coat of arms decorating the wall, also not there before, a coat of arms with real spears and axes and arrows and stuff. Thats what it looked like to Abe anyway, and he could feel the tears rolling down his face as he viewed all this closeup, with his tearful eyes and his camera. <br />
Abe was not crying for Howie though, SHIT no, in fact Abe was still smarting from that asshole pulling rank on him in the living room. Abe Steinmetz was crying for himself, of course. He silently loaded his pants then, but was pretty sure no one in the audience knew, as if. At this point Abe would have gladly done the Freaky Deaky fully covered in his own stinking crap, wearing only underwear made of PORK CHOPS, through the bright light of day in front of thousands of people, even millions, on national fucking TV, rather than be trapped here with Howie, or what had become of Howie. <br />
Abe did not even think about the coins Howie carried except to note that they probably aided the mans demise on the coat of arms due to increased momentum as he ran, a true inability to stop, the OOPS just milliseconds before the WHAM. Audience had got their eyes full, no doubt, but all they saw now was a wall, which Howard Mora was mechanically fastened to. Some would find their way over to Abes cams, some might not. He was betting most did, but Abe was officially beyond giving a shit.<br />
Abe was thinking of dropping his knapsack to lighten his load, but these were just idle thoughts.<br />
Howie twitched a lot for being so dead, or so close to death. It was certainly clear he was done, he had effectively ripped most of his own throat out, blood was running down his body in thickening streams, droplets moved to that famous tune called Gravity, but also pulsed in time to that old favorite My Dying Heart. Howies dark clothes now included bright red stripes and splotches for contrast -- the body itself mostly hung by the neck on a long protruding metal spear point, a straight meat hook. The eyes were closed and the head lay limp.<br />
Howard Moras last words had been recorded live, for all posterity, and went something like this: "Unh arrrgh, errrgh op", overall quite an improvement on the south Florida Cuban cowboy accent, at least to admirers of eloquence. Howie twitched spasmodically one last time, wriggling like a fish on a gig, more or less, and one of his big partially severed veins let loose, spraying blood to the ceiling and all over Abe Steinmetz. If Howie had been born a chimpanzee he would have been a turd thrower. <br />
Lots of comments from the audience then, who had obviously figured out where the action was:<br />
"f u guys r faking this s ok keep up te good work..."<br />
"fucking fucking awesome awesome!!"<br />
"subscriber for life...ten minutes and counting hee hee..."<br />
"BUST Ghosters!"<br />
"STIM-ulating...."<br />
And on and on.<br />
Abe ignored all that, because looking down the turn of the hallway he saw something else that hadn't been there before, a window, with tattered dusty drapes. It was large, and the sill was only three feet above the floor. Abe Steinmetz ran like he had never run before. He threw back the curtains. Yes. A large, very dirty window. <br />
He ran back down the hall, grabbed an axe from the coat of arms, then sped back and repeatedly struck the glass of the window, which was so dirty it was opaque, like it was painted. First a crack, then one of the two large panes fell out. He was looking out into the real world, and he could see the earliest blush of sunrise to the east, but only through tight iron security bars which covered the window entirely. <br />
With the strength of a madman he attacked the iron bars, bloodying his fingers and even his head as he tried to squeeze out of the bars, but they alone were still strong in this run down place. Sweat coursed off the body of Abe Steinmetz in rivulets. His odor made him think of death. He looked down the hall and Howie was gone now. He took off his pack and began to empty his pockets. He made low grunting noises but kind of whining noises at the same time. His pockets were still full, but with something that looked like white sand. He touched it to his tongue: salt. <br />
From somewhere behind him a door slammed.<br />
Two words flashed in white on the suddenly dark screens of the audience:<br />
NO SIGNAL.<br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br />
FIN<br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span>luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-88027632426773337082019-05-08T18:59:00.004-07:002019-05-19T07:50:01.955-07:00...billibilli..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>By Bill Gallagher</b></h4>
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<b>4530 Words</b></h4>
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<b> The boy was 13 when he summoned the demon, and it scared him so badly he wet his pants. His feet immediately began a natural retreating motion which he was not really aware of, or able to control. It was an involuntary reaction, that retreating motion, born where all such reactions are born, in the medulla oblongata, the reptilian part of our brain, top o' the spinal cord, the first brain. As the boy moved away from the demon one of his shoes dragged across the perimeter of the sand circle, breaking the line, stopping whatever had begun. The candle inside the circle extinguished itself with a sizzling pop.</b></h4>
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<b> He tripped over his own feet then, falling backward, hitting his head hard on the concrete floor of the garage. A high pitched squeal had escaped him because of what he had seen, sounded just like a little bitch, he thought with disgust. He felt even more self loathing when his crotch began getting cold from being wet. Not just a squirt either, this was a full release, some kind of spasm. He felt his face and ears get hot as he unsteadily raised himself from the floor. Rubbing the new lump rising under his curly brown hair made him wince and cringe. He got moving and made his way to the bathroom for a shower and change of clothes. He would clean up the mess in the garage after. He was thankful he only lost his water, and hadn't loaded his drawers from the backside.</b></h4>
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<b> The boys name was Billy Keenan, and he'd found the old book in an abandoned house out by Dania Beach, very near where Al Capone used to hang out. He and some friends went on regular treasure hunting trips in the south Fort Lauderdale area, riding bicycles, spending days and days. The wrecked and abandoned house near Dania Beach was not the first ever explored, not by a long shot.</b></h4>
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<b> Billy read the book avidly, thinking it was really good stuff, rare, not something you would find in a public library. Then, one night while his parents were at a church social event, he decided to try one of the incantations. That was a perq of being an only child: more and more often as you grew older you found yourself Home Alone, which could be a very fun place to be. The preparation instructions for the summoning were explicit, and it was just dumb luck or a supernatural knack that allowed him to get everything right the first time, even the word pronunciations, so that a connection was opened to...somewhere else.</b></h4>
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<b> "DEFINITELY somewhere else," Billy thought. </b></h4>
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<b> Later that night while he lay in bed trying to sleep he considered the few seconds he'd remained in the circle, measured against all that had seemed to happen, and a shiver ran down his spine. He remembered saying the last word of the incantation, and then, right in front of him, in the center of the circle, over the candle flame, an opening had formed, elongated from top to bottom but quickly forming a near circle, like a round blue window. Something seemed to swim within the window and all these crazy mental impressions assailed his mind: he was breathing water and not drowning, how strange; his fingers had some kind of webbing between them and it felt vare weird mon; the lights were different there, bright, like little pieces of really powerful fire. Looking further into the round blue window he saw another thing take shape, and that thing was what put his legs in reverse all on their own, with no help from him. It had something like a mans body, but with a distinctly fishy looking head, even the eyes were off to the sides a little, nowhere near full-forward looking. The demon stretched a very long and also webbed hand out to him, and right before he fell backward and broke the circle he heard it say "...billibilli...".</b></h4>
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<b> That night, after he finally fell asleep, his brain replayed the days events, and the connection was re-opened in his mind, but at the next level, above this, where conscious memory does not exist, only interaction. A communication began that would last the lifetime of Billy Keenan, and that would be a very long lifetime indeed. During other times, in a few years or so, the connection would be opened at the conscious level again, but in the beginning it was best to proceed slowly. One thing was sure. The boy would never be the same again.</b></h4>
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<b> ____________________________________________________</b></h4>
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<b> The huge coral reefs were magnificent. They covered nearly all of the ocean floor of the water planet, at many varying depths. These corals were specially engineered to grow into the materials necessary for huge machines and space vehicles. Some even grew metals, and some others grew corundum, or carbon crystal, which were useful for many things. The race of beings who planted and tended and modified and harvested these corals had developed their system over many millions of years, and their sentience was unequaled in all of their experience. None of the other lifeforms they had ever encountered, and that was a very large number, even came near a million years of self aware responsibility. The vast majority could only record a few millenia before devolving back to nothing, to their beginnings. It was an embarrassing, banal, and overall bothersome aspect of these cosmos. </b></h4>
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<b> They called themselves EnCoi in their own language, Coral People. They were amphibians who lived as long as they chose to live, except in rare catastrophic instances where accidents caused violent obliteration, death without reproduction. EnCoi chose how long they lived and when they reproduced, because those two things were actually one thing, Death was also Reproduction for the EnCoi. Reproduction was as important to them as it is to any race, with one outstanding exception: the EnCoi are nonsexual, there is no opposite sex. They reproduce by choosing to die: when an individual decides it is time to reproduce they "Wear The Chain" and let it drag them to depths specially maintained for that purpose. At a certain depth the density/pressure of the water causes a metamorphosis, and the cellular makeup of the individual becomes lost in an all encompassing segmented discorporation. The individual dies, and is no more, but thousands of new EnCoi are born. The few of these that survive the journey back to the coral reefs become new individuals and with help will find their way to positions which serve themselves and the EnCoi best. </b></h4>
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<b> There was no known incidence of an EnCoi remembering the body from whence it was born, there were no memories of past lives; things like that were as alien to them as most of the reproductive practices of other races. During an earlier time in their history they had encountered a life form with high intelligence which had somehow evolved so that at least three and preferably more individuals were required for a single birth. This was the one chaotic element in their existence, and it eventually undid them. The never ending combats and battle resulting from that type of reproduction finally led to the extinction of sentience on that planet. War had decimated the environment so badly it would be a million years or more before anything near intelligent life could develop there again. </b></h4>
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<b> Unfortunately this was the rule and not the exception almost everywhere they looked. Over time the EnCoi had taken it upon themselves to correct some of the hardships other races suffered because of these reproductive blind spots. That of course could not be done without direct intervention, so thats what occurred. Many races owed any seemingly advanced times they had experienced to the EnCoi, although most of those races had long ago forgotten more than they thought they knew in present times. </b></h4>
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<b> There is an element of the ridiculous at work in the cosmos, transcending even chaos. This was one thing The EnCoi seemed able to understand much better than other sentient races, and for that reason they were a very light hearted though resigned group whose overall numbers were counted in trillions, across a million planets or more. Because they were amphibious ocean dwellers they were able to inhabit many planets invisibly, undetected by local sentient beings, if that was necessary. And it was often necessary to stay hidden on a foreign planet, at least until good reconnaissance and other intelligence could be gathered. Due to their seemingly unique nonsexuality EnCoi perspective was much more objective and therefore more useful than other races, so it was all worth the effort, they could in fact make great change happen regularly. They perceived themselves to be a Direct Force of Evolution in the cosmos. This was not their opinion, this was something they had learned in very hard ways over long periods of time. </b></h4>
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<b> Five years passed for Billy Keenan before he met the demon again, and it was not by his choosing that it happened. He had all but forgotten his encounter that night in the garage, mostly because he was enjoying his time as a teenager in North Hollywood Florida where he lived. He had lost his sexual virginity even before he learned to drive, and he would remember her forever. She had dumped him quickly and unceremoniously, and once recovered from that first traumatic heartbreak he began again, and now knew many girls his age in that way. The Fort Lauderdale area can be a wonderful place for a teenager to come of age, though Billy would not understand this except in retrospect, after he traveled a bit, to personally witness some of the awful dreadfulness this world has to offer. Things like the psychic stink of proud ignorance, or the truly filthy bestiality behind Might Makes Right. One thing he learned early is that Truth is not always pretty, but it does not have to be pretty, because it is Truth.</b></h4>
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<b> Billy had signed up to join the United States Navy upon graduation from High School, and that would be soon. He found himself walking the local beaches at night, introspective, wondering where the path he had chosen would lead him. He vowed to give it his best effort, and see what the years ahead brought to him. In this he would be ultimately surprised, but uncertainty of Everything covers human perceptions like a gauzy cloth, and that above all is the human condition. The religions of Billys world preyed primarily on the sexual differences of people to create shame and other idiot ideas among the flock, with control the only agenda; these religions were the ones who wove the cloth covering peoples perceptions, and the mass at large seemed oblivious and uncaring for the most part. One song Billy liked from a few years back, Redemption by The Redlight King, put it like this: "...They sell us torches, and they're the ones who make it dark..."</b></h4>
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<b> Confusion strife and conflict are the real gods of religious people, and they forever lead the race down the garden path to devolution, performed to a cavemans drumbeat, over and over and over. Billy thought religions were an inescapable trap, a downward spiral, and the more he learned the more he was convinced he was on the right track to get as far away from churches as he could. That was anti-survival activity, and he wanted no part of it. Some of his friends had begun talking about it, how religions were all lies to control people, and evil. He was starting to see this very well now, and when he looked at people he saw something else, he saw it in their eyes, all of them, and even in his own when he looked in the mirror, it was a haunted look, a hunted look, a result of being beat down over and over again. It was the look of an animal in a trap, and it was everywhere.</b></h4>
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<b> One of his friends insisted that people had CREATED cats and dogs in a time past, from tiger and bear DNA. Another said there were ruins on the moon and Mars. Whenever he really looked at what they said, it pretty much became self evident, these espousals, this blasphemy; this freedom from shackles. Billy Keenan had quit going to church as soon as he got his drivers license, taking rides to the Everglades instead of early services. It was the year 2018 and everything was changing very fast. </b></h4>
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<b> On that fateful night when he met the demon again he was walking close to the water just north of Johnson Street Beach under a full moon which shined down very brightly. He was barefoot and it was 1 AM. Looking out over the water he thought he saw something familiar, a long ago memory now, but no, it was just the full moons reflection on the calm water. </b></h4>
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<b> Then, within the reflection of the moon something seemed to move, he thought maybe it was a shark or tarpon being illuminated by the bright moonlight, but the reflection itself rose up out of the water, becoming once again The Blue Window to that other place. He did not feel as frightened this time, and wouldn't know for awhile yet that this was because of a five year dialogue and instruction course he had been host to since the initial happening. There would be time enough for those explanations later. The demon was the same as before, or at least appeared so, a fish head on a mans body. Again it reached out a webbed hand, and again it said "...billibilli...".</b></h4>
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<b> "Who are you?" Billy asked, with just a little tremor in his voice.</b></h4>
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<b> The demon did not hesitate, and spoke in English, or what seemed to be English. In later conversations it would come out that the real communication taking place was mind to mind, not vocal at all, it just seemed like speech.</b></h4>
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<b> "My name is Fithmar. And yours is billibilli."</b></h4>
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<b> Billy nodded, said "Allright. What do you want?"</b></h4>
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<b> The demon made a gesture with one of its hands as it dipped its head. This was an expression of laughing joy, although Billy could not and did not know it. He felt it a little bit, along with that very strange sensation of breathing water, and the webbing between his fingers and now his toes too.</b></h4>
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<b> Fithmar said "I very much wish to be your friend. We have great work to do together..."</b></h4>
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<b> "What work?"</b></h4>
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<b> "We will change your world billibilli. We will make it better."</b></h4>
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<b> "And how do you propose to do that?" the young man asked sternly, doing a pretty good imitation of William Jackson Keenan The First, his father.</b></h4>
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<b> "...billibilli....we will do it like we do everything, we will grow it a little at a time."</b></h4>
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<b> Suddenly Billy's consciousness was washed with something, a great dawning took place, uncertainty left the premises, the gauzy cloth covering his perceptions was thrown away, at least for the moment. This was not a Demon, Fithmar was a being from another planet! A WATER planet! </b></h4>
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<b> "YES! " said the voice in his mind "We have been there before, we brought you the water fire..."</b></h4>
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<b> "Water Fire?"</b></h4>
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<b> A picture of those weird lights from his memories of 5 years before erupted in his mind, it was a fire made from water that was almost magical in its ability to cut through matter. Dawning realization made him look away from the window for a moment, seeing the world in a very different way, enthralled. When he looked back the window was gone, it had closed and the moons reflection was once again flat on the surface of the Atlantic ocean. He waited for nearly three hours, staring at the reflection of the moon on the water, but it did not re-open that night, and it would not open again for almost three years. This was to allow Billy Keenan the time he needed to assimilate what he had consciously been bombarded with. All the while the dialogue in his unconscious mind continued when he slept, and even during his waking hours; he really had no idea of this portal in his brain, and the uses to which it was being put. He did begin dreaming of Fithmar, and the water planet called RaCoi, the Planet of Coral. He usually woke from these dreams feeling refreshed, and knowing much more than he ought to about that far away water planet, the industrial center and home world of a very extensive star faring race, the EnCoi. </b></h4>
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<b> And time progressed.</b></h4>
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<b> There was great rejoicing on RaCoi, because a new portal to Earth had been created, however tenuous. There were parties in the vast coral caverns which stretched for miles and miles, and much heated discussion. Each light within the gigantic walls represented an apartment for a single EnCoi, and there were millions of lights. All sorts of celebrations took place while future plans were made, and scenarios considered. This was their life, the cooperation, the sharing, the reaching toward oneness among the people, and they loved it, every one. This new and never before heard-of portal was the biggest thing that had happened in almost forever, it promised to radically change the entire outlook on things over a very short period of time. This they loved too. It was time to Wear The Chain when life became boring. That did not seem as if it would be an issue anytime soon. </b></h4>
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<b> The EnCoi had at one time spent nearly unspeakable sums to visit the home world of Billy Keenan, in the very dawn of mans latest civilizations; there are pictures of them carved into the stone walls of the earliest middle eastern/oriental temples, and in other places. A physical matter transmitter portal had been planted at the underwater EnCoi base off the West Coast of what is now Northern South America, and it allowed free travel between RaCoi and Earth for supplies and living beings. The amphibians had left Earth fairly early, with plans to return at regular intervals via the portal which was a piece of matter specially entangled with the water fire of their home world.</b></h4>
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<b> It was not understood why the portal that had been left behind stopped working -- it was the first and only time EnCoi engineering had failed in a very long time; underwater tectonic activity was thought to be the probable culprit, and that in fact was the case, though it would not be truly known for a while yet. After this debacle it became standard procedure to leave multiple portals in far distant places on any planet visited, and the cost ignored. </b></h4>
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<b> No matter, another visit to earth via space craft could not be justified for at least a thousand more years. There were many planets to visit and colonize, and Earth would not come up again for a good while yet. It was hoped that the portal would somehow start working as time went on. That had not transpired up to the time Billy Keenan opened the new ethereal portal for communication, the one to which he had summoned Fithmar, who had been as surprised as anybody. </b></h4>
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<b> The EnCoi were well versed in the nuances of interdimensional physics though, and the overall variety of physics available for exploitation, which are mainly dependent on ones proximity to either a white hole (a living star) or a black hole (a dead star), or to artificial conditions created by machines and electronic fields which partially mimic those two things. Physics change as one gets closer to density anomalies, so in effect there is no such thing as "Normal" physics, just things you can make work under many different conditions and circumstances. This was well beyond humanity in its present incarnation, because humanity had devolved steadily at least 4 times since they had peaked then fallen for the first time over one hundred thousand years ago. The truest mark of this devolution was the stark fact that they were not even aware that it had happened, in spite of the evidence lying all around them, in plain sight. They preferred to take guidance from "Spiritual" types who used anything they could to create slaves. Real brutes. The EnCoi understood everything very well, they were masters of reality. They did not depend a lot on explanations. They believed what they observed.</b></h4>
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<b> The Navy had been good to Billy Keenan, though at times he wondered what had ever possessed him to enlist in such a huge undertaking, where the best one could hope for was to get through it alive and with ones sanity intact. He had been in the service for over two years, with less than two years to go. Time went very fast because he was very busy all the time. Shipboard life was hustle and bustle, with some fun too. He did his time as a cook in the vast ships kitchens, and he was well liked for his creative cookery and overall good humor. He had not seen anything remotely resembling warfare, and he did not expect to, the world was uncharacteristically calm, as if it was holding its breath, waiting. His Dad once described something like that taking place before Billy himself was born, in the 1990s, right before a giant comet called Shoemaker-Levy 9 hit Jupiter, as if everyone somehow knew on some level that big things were going down. During his off hours he took chefs courses online and chatted with his friends in Fort Lauderdale; he figured he would be able to get a pretty good cooking job back in Florida once he put into Port Everglades for the last time, a fair assumption. </b></h4>
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<b> The thing that kept him sane was the ocean. He loved to walk the decks of the aircraft carriers and other boats he served on, especially at night during full moon. He knew why this was so, and didn't care. He was sure he would see Fithmar again, and was patient to wait. He had no idea what was really happening, but he liked the idea of communicating with aliens, he didn't know of anybody else who even read about these things, say nothing about experienced them. He often wondered what the other incantations in that book might lead too, but really, he considered himself lucky not to have called a Real Demon, if there is such a thing, and he was quite willing to leave well enough alone. </b></h4>
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<b> On a full moon night in July, while walking a railing of the aircraft carrier Jefferson V which was slowly moving toward a rendezvous with some other nearby ships, he found himself very alone, in spite of the humidity and heat below decks. He did not really think about it, but later he would consider it an oddity. </b></h4>
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<b> It was then that the moons reflection again became The Blue Window to that other place, and Fithmar appeared almost immediately.</b></h4>
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<b> "...billibilli..."</b></h4>
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<b> "Hi," he heard himself say. He had rehearsed this moment over and over again for more than two years, and all the elaborate locution he had planned came forth as nothing more than "Hi". He was nervous, it made him fret. Fithmar did not seem to notice. </b></h4>
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<b> "We must hurry now" said the alien, "We do not have much time. You are very nearly over the perfect spot in this ocean to leave another portal/door/opening. We do not know if this will work, if we can pass anything to you through this channel you have opened."</b></h4>
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<b> Billy must have gotten a questioning look on his face or the equivalent thought in his mind because Fithmar gave an explanation:</b></h4>
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<b> "...billibilli, you are the first person ever who has been able to open a channel between our worlds with the power of your mind. This is extremely valuable to you and us. Otherwise it would take the entire output of 10 planets for 5 years to finance one colonial spacecraft crossing to your planet from here. Bear all this in mind if you decide to try this experiment, it must happen fast, just moments from now."</b></h4>
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<b> Billy was speechless, and could only nod quickly. Fithmar held out his long webbed hand to Billy one more time through the blue window, and Billy saw a light in it, one of the fire lights he'd noticed the first time he had met the "Demon".</b></h4>
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<b> "billibilli take the light into your hand," said Fithmar, and Billy did. He held it for a few seconds, and it began to burn.</b></h4>
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<b> "Now throw the light into the ocean billibilli, throw it now!"</b></h4>
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<b> Billy Keenan was only too glad to oblige, and he knew he would have to see a medic about the burn on his hand, and come up with a good explanation for it too. Cooks could do that. He watched as the light hit the water and sank deep and deeper, until it was gone. Then: a blast of light from below that was instantaneous and bright enough to light the ocean for miles around. Apparently others had not seen it, and that was one more odd thing for him to consider later on. He looked down into the dark depths of the ocean, all of the light below had dissipated, and he thought it was his eyes recovering from the flash when he saw movement alongside the slow moving ship. It took a few seconds for him to realize what he was seeing.</b></h4>
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<b> They were very large creatures, larger even than porpoises, almost as big as killer whales. Billy figured thats what they would look like to any of the ships sensing instruments, a pod of small whales. There were easily a hundred of them, and maybe more. They did have bodies shaped like men, two arms, two legs, and the heads of fishes. Their bodies appeared to be scaled like a fishes too, but in fact that was the segmenting inherent in the organism EnCoi. One of them swam easily over to the spot directly below Billy, using its legs like a big tail. It looked up, keeping pace with no trouble at all, and said:</b></h4>
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<b> "...billibilli...that was very well done." </b></h4>
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<b> It was Fithmar! </b></h4>
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<b> Fithmar continued speaking to Billy as he glided easily along:</b></h4>
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<b> "You are the only living bridge across space that our race has ever encountered, and that is saying a lot. It has made the immediacy of this mission even more pressing. This ability of yours must be developed, it is of multigalactic importance. Now, to the moment...your oceans are cesspools and everything is dying. We arrived just in time. Continue to watch the moons reflection, we can talk that way very easily now, or just light another candle. This spot is near our new base, and your help will be enlisted very soon as our primary contact here. There is much to do." </b></h4>
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<b> And with that all the beings dived below the surface and were gone.</b></h4>
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luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-59924495533055708312018-09-18T12:13:00.001-07:002020-08-11T06:42:20.319-07:00Dense City Riddles<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>Dense City Riddles</b></h4>
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<b>Bill Gallagher</b></h4>
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<b>5000 Words</b></h4>
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<b> Any time spent in southeast Florida is really time spent in the Florida Everglades. If there are any doubts about that you can quickly travel to the interior of the state to personally witness the wildness and lushness of the landscape for yourself. Alligators, herons, otters, raccoons, and all other manner of creatures abound, even wildcats of good enough size you don't want to run up and surprise one. You want to definitely Say No to that. Many of these Everglades DNA Varieties are protected now, having been hunted to near extinction in many places since the 1600s, which is to say since people with guns arrived. </b></h4>
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<b> It was Napolean Bonaparte Broward and his extensive drainage canal system that made south Florida "Great For Civilization" because without drainage all of that oh-so-choice real estate would still be underwater, and full of things slimier than Awful House hash browns with cheese-food melted on. In this present time most of south Floridas water is directed by Browards canal system, ultimately draining down at the end of the state into the Gulf of Mexico. There are many bogs and swamps too, but a good number of them dry up during times of drought now. </b></h4>
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<b> My family moved to Broward county from Rhode Island when I was 4, in 1963, and then to Dade county, Hialeah, around 1965, and then back to Broward, Miramar, in 1975. Thats all gone now, but a lot happened in my life during that time. One of the earliest things I remember doing with my father, and it was a regular thing, was going fishing. He had been brought up a surf fisherman in the northeast, and he also fished cold water ponds and rivers there, but the Everglades was a hard nut to crack for my Dad. He was like some sad cartoon character who was foiled at every turn when attempting to catch the premier fish of the Everglades, the Large Mouthed Black Bass. Dad was the Wile. E. Coyote of Alligator Alley.</b></h4>
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<b> It was always a Saturday, and the weather had to be good, but it was south Florida, the weather was almost always good. Dad and I and my 2 brothers would pile into the Dodge Dart 4 door, and head for west state road 84 with all our fishing poles sticking out one of the rear windows. There we caught many bream and bluegill with bread balls, and gars and mud fish by the hundreds with the expensive shiners which the large mouthed bass were supposed to bite but did not. Not ever. We would have been much better off using the bream and bluegill we caught as bass bait, but it was years before I would learn that.</b></h4>
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<b> During those first Everglades years I saw many large bass caught by other fishermen, I mean some real whoppers, and once I saw a whole cooler full of large mouthed bass caught by two guys in one day where the smallest fish weighed around 5 pounds. Whatever. The days out fishing with Dad are good memories now, and they were real treats then: we were allowed to have donuts and hot chocolate for breakfast, and drank sodas with our lunches. Dad drank his bottled beer after lunch, and overall everybody had a good time, even though it was quite a few years before I would ever catch a bass for myself, and quite a bit longer still before I caught a big one.</b></h4>
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<b> It was after we moved to Miramar in 1975 that I started catching bass, because I had some help. I learned right then it was good to befriend the locals everywhere, especially the guys who actually get things done, the hunters, the fishermen, the Sportsman, who do things for the love of it, and have no motives other than seeing things through as efficiently as possible with the resources at hand. I also began working at restaurants during this time, my middle teen years. Restaurants are really big business in South Florida.</b></h4>
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<b> I met Gary Radcliff and Don Leonard, both from Pembroke Pines, at the Spaghetti Factory, a restaurant where we all worked on Miramar Parkway just west of 441. They both had drivers licenses and a small Datsun station wagon they shared. They were absolute bass fanatics, and they turned me into one too. I was with Gary, on Oak Ridge Golf Course, when I caught my first bass over 5 pounds. From the both of them I learned about many things, including The Beatles, Marijuana, and Real Bass Fishing. </b></h4>
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<b> I will never forget those guys, no matter how long I live. 20 something years passed. I bought a dying Pizzeria in Lauderdale by the Sea, then sold it as a successful Pizzeria for huge money, made my fortune, kind of, and I began small time dealings in precious metals. I also sold an occasional magazine article to one or another of the fishing magazines. I got by.</b></h4>
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<b> In the early part of those 20 something years, before I bought the pizza joint, I married one of my high school sweethearts, then divorced her after 6 years. No kids, she got the house, I got my bass boat. She said that was all I ever loved anyway. She might be right. </b></h4>
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<b> The thousands of canals throughout south Florida became my favorite transportation, all of South Florida was my Venice. I loved the Intracoastal waterways, especially where fresh water turned to salt, there in the brackish were other game fish like Snook, and the magnificent Tarpon, along with Large Mouths. I remember Homosassa Springs, every kind of fish you can think of, both fresh and salt water fishes loved the springs out by the Gulf of Mexico. </b></h4>
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<b> I did not get out towards the brackish much though, staying close to home was more my game, launching from either Sawgrass Recreational Area on US27 north of SR84, or down south of there at Holiday Park, which is where west Griffin Road ends at US27. The day that marks the beginning of this story, the day of change, was like many other days before it, and like many days of change, even great change, the depth and breadth of the change was not realized for quite some time. </b></h4>
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<b> I had a new area I was fishing out of Holiday Park, and some deep holes were beginning to show because water levels were down from another long term drought. In a land created by purposeful drought, that means everything is just as it should be, I guess. There were lots of exposed rocks where there had been none before, and that type of thing is always good to study in the event that the water levels rise again. The fisherman will then have a much better idea of what any given piece of bottom actually looks like. Digital photographs beat ultrasound imaging every time.</b></h4>
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<b> I was long gone from the Holiday Park boat docks by sunrise, already out floating on the wide open flats, waiting for the sun, wanting to see it again; worshiping the world in the only way that feels right to me: by being a conscious part, and observing with insatiable curiosity. By participating with the best of my Knowledge and Will. Its all I can do.</b></h4>
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<b> Then. There. A tiny ripple in the flatness, near a protruding branch, fin mark of the predator I seek. Feeling feisty I cast my line, dropping the hula popper right on the fishes head. Water boiled violently and the game was on. Uhnnnn, finny bolts as the hook gets set, the frenzy begins. My drag squeals wildly, and very good drugs begin squirting into my blood, made within my body, drugs that can only be had by doing this. Yes, I am addicted.</b></h4>
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<b> The large bass jumps against the bright orange eastern sky just as the suns first rays stab upward in an almost hallucinogenic display. Its times like these where things all seem choreographed, meant to be. Deep Deep DEEP Deja Vu. </b></h4>
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<b> I fight the fish for many minutes, because its hard to keep it out of the weeds and submerged timber, but I do. Finally I net it and quickly go through the regimen of removing the hook, weighing, photographing, and releasing. I use disposable rubber gloves to protect the fish from anything bad I might have picked up on my hands, things like gas, oil, soap, fungus, what have you. The fish was handsome, 12 pounds and 3 ounces, a trophy for anyone. As the day lightens up I look around. There are exposed outcrops of white limestone visible in several places, so I decide to investigate. The camera is out again, and I am recording stills as well as commentary in AVI format.</b></h4>
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<b> Later I was able to go back and find the short movie I made when the change happened. Here are my words:</b></h4>
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<b> "...This rock outcropping is straight east of the canal mouth almost exactly one half mile, and it has some odd features. It looks like there was some disturbance in the rock itself, or on the rock itself, as you can see in this movie. Something burned here at one time, and pretty good by the looks of it. The ground is dark and crumbly, as compared to the limestone coral which covers the surrounding areas. The dark rocks have a distinct greenish tint. This is a very weird formation and I am going to collect some of the dark rock to look at later. Notice how there is a large ditch like a furrow that leads up to the mound of dark stuff..."</b></h4>
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<b> And thats how it all started. I initially collected 20 or so pounds of large fragments, and I collected more of the material later, ending up with about 50 pounds before the rains came again and covered the spot up. The chunks of material have a slightly greasy feel to them, and are composed of two main colors and types. The gray stone is totally homogenous, and feels like it has properties of both glass and metal. The green material is more glassy, and has bubbles in many places. One of the pieces is a carbonized cannister-type of object, I still have it. </b></h4>
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<b> The site is well marked by me in many ways, but that secret is one I never intend to reveal because the ramifications are beyond frightening. I have since told myself that I was meant to find the crash site, and sometimes I almost believe it. The happening is like everything else though, it is not what might have been, or what could have been, or would of been, or should have been, it simply WAS, it HAPPENED, and thats all that ever matters because it is all that is real. Movements, and energies spent, cannot be made to run backwards, this I know. Movements and energies can only be directed forward, or more correctly ONWARD, and a lot of that is not as it seems. What everyone sees and hears and feels is the Ambient World, matter as it has come to rest over billions of years. We occupy a very small and fairly transient niche within reality, but some things must be experienced to be known.</b></h4>
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<b> I showed the material to a few people but I was not forthcoming about its origins, in fact I consciously dissembled, saying they were just some rocks I found near one of the many limestone mines which have turned to deep freshwater lakes around here. The very few people I showed the Everglades material to were specialists in their fields, like geology, or the study of meteorites, and their reactions convinced me that no good would come to me from pressing into this matter in any kind of public way. One of the University scientists called it a "Hoax", but I had no idea what he meant by that at the time. How could it be a hoax? A hoax of WHAT? The best information I got was from the meteorite man, he said it was definitely not meteorite material of any type he had ever seen, but the green material was most likely a silica based crystalline form created by excessive heat as a by product of metals melting in explosions. I drew a blank on that one too, but thanked him, and filed it all away. </b></h4>
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<b> The pieces of debris stayed in a box in my garage for 2 years, until I found a small diamond tile saw for sale at a flea market and bought it. After cutting some of the pieces into small slices and looking at them under 30 X magnification I was able to note a few things myself that were new, concerning these odd rocks from the Everglades.</b></h4>
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<b> I was now able to see 3 types of small metal spheres sprayed throughout a lot of the material in an odd kind of order. There was a yellow metal, a silverish metal which was very shiny, and a bluish metal. They were all spheres, no irregular blobs at all, and they were sprayed about the interior of the once molten material in a less than random manner, there was order to it. On some of the gray material were foamed looking areas at the edges. A preponderance of these metal spheres sprayed outward from those foamed areas into the interior of the gray material for an inch or two in places. </b></h4>
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<b> It was enlightening and confusing at the same time. Then, one day shortly after I had cut the material and examined it, I put some of the better cut pieces out on my worktable and prepared to look at them with high powered light and greater magnification. I wanted to see if I could get a better idea of the metal types which the spheres were made of. I experienced a great shock then, because there were no more metal spheres in the material. None. I cut many more of the pieces, and looked at all the material over and over again. I did have some digital pictures, closeups showing the metallic balls plainly, and that just made it worse. Where did they go? Did they migrate off a few dimensions or back to where they had originally come from? And Was That Caused By My Observation Of Them?</b></h4>
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<b> Finally, what had I really found? Was it in fact debris from a crash site of something from outside of this world? What else could it be? Would an airplane, even a very old airplane, disintegrate like that? Meltdown? I thought not. There was order to the materials I had found, ohhhh yeahhhhh, but I would not learn how much or of what type for a little longer yet.</b></h4>
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<b> I began reading many different things. I did not know it consciously but the material was affecting me, giving me things, making me different. It was making my mind change, making my body change, getting me ready for its uses, for our symbiosis, but I was distracted by the weirdness of it all, and didn't want to notice. The world was getting bigger for me by leaps and bounds, certain intellectual scales were being removed from my eyes, and I was dazzled. I had turned 43 a few months before, and I was finally leaving childhood behind.</b></h4>
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<b> The world of matter is really a world of light. Light is the most finely derived Common form of matter that there is. Light even travels across many dimensions at once, and this is provable. </b></h4>
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<b> All matter can turn to light when energy levels become excessive, which they often do here in these energy rich dimensions we inhabit. The release of light from matter de-densifying occurs in a very wide spectrum of frequencies, so wide it is not improper at all to say Chaotic. Matter and energy are one, then: matter is just much more compressed energy, a very Dense energy. </b></h4>
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<b> Variations in Density of matter can occur for many many reasons, and do, but to simplify: in this place, all material density tends toward the singularity state, black holes, where even light does not escape the gravitational forces. All things work here by hinging on these forces. </b></h4>
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<b> But. </b></h4>
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<b> Mathematical physics become more null and void the closer you get to a black hole, and that should also include the white holes, the active stars, which are a fair way along the scale to maximum density, much more so than most other things except of course artificially created density fields used by advanced beings to traverse Dense City, The Real World. </b></h4>
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<b> Riddles. I know. Soon.</b></h4>
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<b> Stars become more dense as they burn, oh my don't they, and it was in fact their initial density avalanche, a very real kind of self assembly, that caused the material which they are made of to ignite and begin a an atomic explosion lasting many billions of years. When all the fuel of the sun is spent it will collapse and the matter will become so naturally dense, by way of natural quantum forces, that a teaspoon full would weigh more than the entire earth. Almost maximum Density. Very close. Its particles all packed and stacked into many many MANY dimensions by way of natural forces within the quantum multiverse.</b></h4>
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<b> So. Some variations in material density are caused by local physical conditions, others are caused by the life force itself, growing things changing matter continually in electrochemical reactions with the sun, and then there is intervention. That would be me. Or really the material I found in the Everglades, and now me. Just knowing that something has been done is the most powerful intellectual tool to building it that can be. </b></h4>
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<b> Born of Singularity (A self assembling aspect of the real world) matter always tends back toward singularity and it expends energy all along the way. As well, matter can and does experience myriad variations in density naturally, and even more through manipulation, because Matter is PLASTIC. </b></h4>
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<b> Self assembling physical forces occur as normal functions of the real world, though they only occur under exceptional circumstances, and the real world can only be seen under conditions which no longer occur naturally, and have not occurred naturally for billions of years, since the rebirth of matter, and thereby energy, in this dimension.</b></h4>
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<b> Purposeful variations in density created by self assembling quantum forces acting on quantum matter, or by intelligent design, or both, are what I have stumbled upon, and the world just gets bigger and bigger. Dense City can only be accessed by a very advanced physics which changes in accordance with your proximity to a singularity or something whose density approaches a certain percentage of that. This is only pertinent when density can be made variable on a large scale. </b></h4>
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<b> Thats very hard to perceive, say nothing about understand. </b></h4>
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<b> When you become dense enough, you exist in an altered and exalted physical state, in another world, the real world. There you are part of something much greater than you can imagine. There you need no wings, because your mind, crystallized, is the greatest reality tool ever evolved. When you become dense enough, you do not travel from point to point. The multiverse moves around you. </b></h4>
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<b> Very hard to understand.</b></h4>
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<b> As people have progressed down through time it has become possible to condense matter of different types Mechanically, with machines made to increase pressures with weights, explosives, or hydraulic forces. Its been plainly noted over scientific history that increasing the pressure on water to 32,000 psi causes it to begin what is really a self assembling attitude, though that has not been properly understood by the scientific industrial community of these dimensions yet. </b></h4>
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<b> This self assembling attitude is manifest in four new types of ice which form in quick succession soon after the 20,000 atmosphere pressure is reached. This self assembling attitude of water, once its density is increased, is just one of many self assembling types and states of matter which occur once density is increased, again, because all matter tends to Singularity. The influencing of local physics using matter with adjustable degrees of density is not understood or exploited here at all yet. One thing is sure: the world and everything in it is so weird it can never really be understood. By anyone.</b></h4>
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<b> I was directed to this information through my dreams and even somewhat consciously by the material from the Everglades, and it has taken a large part of my life to deal with. Once my mind opened I could see certain things, some on my own, some with help. I know for a fact now that Anyone who begins to see the real world gets help automatically, its how its set up, FYI. They who have eyes, let them see. My Everglades crash debris was like a key for me, is all.</b></h4>
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<b> For a while I did not know that I was never going to be the same again, that I was just going to become more and more different, but I got it after a while and made the choice to go onward. Something to deal with. Evolution is a bitch, a lot of times.</b></h4>
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<b> The most important thing I was learning is that there are degrees toward singularity, degrees of density, and matter can be condensed in ways not understood yet at the dimensions where we reside. Use can be made of the so called quantum multiverse to stack all manner of particles, protons neutrons photons gluons muons electrons and much much more into Super Density, and many degrees of Super Density, which are really degrees toward Ultradensity, toward singularity, like a collapsed star. </b></h4>
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<b> At different points of super density, and depending on the material and some other things, self assembly begins and it is a whole new world out there. I began by learning to compress water so that the ices formed, they are very unique conductors and insulators, which is to say they can be adjusted with electricity to be either/or, once they attain their existences, and they can then be employed to make other super density self assemblies, eventually leading to a machine which emits a field I will be able to enter and Operate. </b></h4>
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<b> When the role of density variation is understood in self assembly physics here, expect big big changes. Maybe soon. The vast spectrum of density available within All matter is just a doorway. The real quantum world, Dense City, can then be experienced.</b></h4>
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<b> I eventually began to understand that this was all about making an electronic field which can be created with a different type of technology, it will be born once I get all the parts to build themselves and work together. I am getting more and more help from the Everglades material, and whatever place it is still somehow entangled with. A higher resonance is going on. This field will be self powered and, barring disaster, eternal. It will be a machine whose parts exist in many different dimensions at once. </b></h4>
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<b> I sense it has a vast memory. I will be a part of it. It is re-creating itself through me. As for me, in a very real way I will reach my full potential as a living entity, I will inhabit many forms, and return. I am along for the ride, and it is a very interesting thing.</b></h4>
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<b> The first time my field worked was a total surprise and I didn't feel a thing because I passed out. I woke up some time later back where I started, in my boat in the garage, which was lesson one in the Dense City Riddles: You always go back to where you left, the moment right after it. You are only gone for one second or less, no matter if you have spent years or even centuries in Dense City. </b></h4>
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<b> I would learn lesson two soon enough: the literal crystallization of everything biological which takes place while in the field, which allows me to be part of the density-field altering machine, is a rejuvenator par excellence, and physical immortality is a by product, as well as super health in the Ambient World, the place from whence I was born. As long as catastrophe does not befall me I do not have to worry about dying. In a very true way now I am no longer human, not even close. The things I am beginning to know and see as the machine resurrects itself make the place of my origin a very small part of what really is, which is OK because thats whats Real.</b></h4>
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<b> I'd tried at least a dozen times to assemble the machinery, the parts are very small and difficult to manipulate, and because I knew a lot more as time went on I decided to install it in the boat. Where else? No one ever gets close to that boat, and only I can start the field anyway. I finally got it, and then everything really changed, because I had direct access to a material information source that is beyond description in these words, on this paper. </b></h4>
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<b> What must be understood in a very primary way is that these happenstance are just a natural part of this milieu, they occur naturally, and all of what IS makes up one vast machine, which bio-entities are part of, but usually in a subconscious way. Only as a mass do people affect and effect the dimensions where they live. Together the mass of people creates their world, they are altogether an AUTHOR, or at least an authoring agency. </b></h4>
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<b> This machine I have brought forth allows me to create varying densities in materials, degrees toward singularity, thereby changing "Natural" Physics within my vicinity. The spectrum of adjustment is broad. Because of this technology, the real world is available to me as an individual, I am empowered as a singular AUTHOR of reality.</b></h4>
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<b> I start the machine for the second time, and it is the beginning of my new life. What happens is I fade out, quickly, I go invisible, but only for a second because what anyone would see is me leaving and me coming back, like a momentary flicker is all. When I am not there, when I am in real time, occupying many different dimensions within the quantum multiverse, in Dense City, I still occupy that space but somewhere else, other places. </b></h4>
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<b> The first thing I seek out is the episode which led to the material being deposited in the Everglades. I am in the true physical Overmind, I am part of it, a working mechanism in a different physical world altogether. I am crystallized.</b></h4>
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<b> There were gargantuan forces involved in the fields demise. After being hit with the beam it irretrievably became part of this dimension, and this dimension was moving so fast in relation that the damaged craft soared, burning, for two thousand miles before streaking into that part of the Everglades. It happened at night, and it lit the sky, but there were very few people around to observe. The debris burned underwater for five days.</b></h4>
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<b> Everything is here, forever, and accessible by thinking about it. I saw the actual living being that was shot down with the rudimentary beam weapon into the Everglades in 1947, the being who had operated this field before me. In a very real sense I have become that thing, and it me. Together we are everything that has come before and that is a lot. </b></h4>
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<b> I never looked at myself crystallized, though I can easily activate sensors that equate to the sight sense of human eyes in the Ambient World. Pretty has a whole 'nother meaning now, pard, and a lot of what used to matter in my life has taken on comical aspects, shux what a bunch of hix the sheople of these dimensions are.</b></h4>
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<b> The controllers of the dimensions where you live have some idea about the real world, about Dense City, but they disguise this knowledge and guard it jealously. It is they who control the way the mass thinks, what is authored and what is not, how reality turns and burns. They control all the wars, and they use the wars to release or test the technological geegaws they have found laying around the pyramids, or underneath the sphinx, or in the mica temples of South America. They have seen the renderings of the multidimensional craft in the old paintings from earliest times, done by men illustrating things they saw fly across the sky, or of visitations by beings other than people, painting the representations even on cave walls. The royal religious controllers have taken great care to suppress everything along these lines.</b></h4>
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<b>craft from other worlds. In 1947, right after the successful development of the weapon, and the deaths of many of its creators, 13 recorded UFO crashes (MUFON) occurred as the beam was tested. There were 7 others, a total of 20. My Everglades debris was one of the lost craft. The Air Force was dispatched on a highly secretive mission to gather the crashed debris at all known sites, Pennsylvania, Missouri, Tennessee, New Mexico, North and South Carolina. A lot of high tech stuff started being developed in our dimensions after that. </b></h4>
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<b> The Roswell New Mexico media fiasco has gone down in Secret Air Force history as its all time greatest intelligence leak.</b></h4>
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<b> I will look for you in Dense City.</b></h4>
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<b>For </b>Robert Anson Heinlein. Dead, but not...</h4>
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luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-24822974484690886342017-02-19T18:50:00.002-08:002021-06-18T07:26:20.813-07:00The Fresh Dimension<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /><br />The Fresh Dimension<br />By Bill Gallagher<br />2875 Words<br /><br /><br /> "Many of my thoughts seem to come from outside of my mind, as if by mental telegraphy." Mark Twain<br /><br /><br /> "Chemistry is applied theology." Owsley, c.1960 AD<br /> <br /><br /> "...A dog was a lethal loyal weapon once the man and the dog and the horse became melded into a single spirit, which was then merged into a spirit of a pack. Man became more horselike and doglike. Dog and horse became more human, and more like each other. It was a spiritual unity. Monsignor Sanual had called it "A bestial form of diabolic possession..." From the book Saint Leibowitz and The Wild Horse Woman, Walter Miller Jr. 1997AD<br /><br /><br /> "When particle entanglement and the Ansibel Effect are weighed into the equation, the possibility of messages from the future seems even more plausible. Potential for anything is an evoking power of the highest sort. A living potential might actually give birth to itself by manipulating past conditions through communication with other engines of reality, other minds, across the many-when. These so-called communications would probably not occur in ways the receiving minds would sense on the conscious level unless the consciousness was augmented chemically." Artist Magenta Stone, Creator of Rainbow LSD, 2024AD<br /><br /><br /> "Real Music Is Self-Assembling." The Rapper DogTreatz, Concerts on The Moon; 2036AD <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> It can be said that humankinds quest for Artificial Intelligence was really a quest for a definition of ourselves. In the beginning this was not evident. Initially it was supposed that somewhere in the natural order of things we would one day happen across the magical formula for consciousness and then imbue a machine with it. Along the lines of fish being created when lightning strikes water, and other beliefs of that ilk. In hindsight we see the formula for consciousness is nothing like we supposed, and its actually because of the initiative to develop artificial intelligence that we know more than half of what we do about the human mind and the way it works. The thinkings of people have to be somewhat convoluted and generally brilliant to encompass what is known about how we think and what we are, now. It is upward evolution. It is ceaseless. The never ending tweak.<br /><br /> The thing about these studies of the mind and machine intelligence, they just grew and grew, with no end in sight. The Japanese set their first goal for 1992, har har, then came Fukishima twenty years later than THAT, and they still did not even have a robot on wheels which could assay damage, say nothing about walk through debris in rescue operations. Even with our advanced computing capabilities of the late twenty teens AD, many inroads or seeming inroads to AI were blocked by a happenstance similar to avalanche, never a nice thing in even the mildest situations. There comes a point where so much information has to be processed, for even the simplest ideas concerning autonomous thought, that an avalanche of information occurs where everything literally just falls down into chaos and deformity. Certain vectors of this are called "Combinatorial Explosion". Biological brains handle this problem unconsciously, and with an ease which is totally amazing and still misunderstood. These avalanches and explosions in computing with numbers and languages were the moving force, the Real Need, behind top secret development of molecular computers. Tiny, almost invisible computers so powerful they literally dwarfed all that came before. But still there was the avalanche and other chaos, in forms both subtle and gross. <br /><br /> It became glaringly evident that human thinking was shy some key ingredients concerning the subject of intelligence itself, not just machine intelligence. Expression of abstracts, and its ALL abstracts, takes some very special ability, and everyone who studies intelligence and its origins, and its very important connotations, has come away dumbfounded, at a loss. To quote Albert Einstein and his observation of Quantum Mechanics: "The more it is proven the sillier it looks." <br /><br /> One must begin to understand that the self aware mind is intrinsic to the overall, the self aware mind is really an engine which creates reality. It is difficult to envision this, it is so primal, there is a lot taken for granted here. Born violently into it, it is a violent struggle from the beginning until the end. The whole time we are trying to make sense of things though unfortunately this has always meant inventing a lot of literally ridiculous ideas to fill space, because, like lightning and the origin of fish, these invented ideas have no real relationship to reality. They are all make believe.<br /><br /> And of course during all this we are constantly under pressure to satisfy the physical hungers, no mean feat. One of the main physical hungers is reproduction, the so-called sexual urges. The sexual urges here in the land of matter are in actuality a drug trip where our bodies begin manufacturing then injecting at regular intervals all kinds of weird organic drugs which make many changes take place, another step in the overall breakdown of the body, truth be told. The program of the body needs fixing badly, that much has always been evident. 100 years? Pfffttt. What a joke. 100 years is just childhood, really. <br /><br /> A BAD joke. <br /><br /> Our reproduction also creates potential and this evokes eternal identities which grow and live here in infinity as a matter of course, a matter of light. These oh-so-intricate id entities are the long slow reflections of many suns, many life times. Alive Light. Always cohesive, always growing. These are what people call eternal souls. We are eternal in our most basic form, but to come here into the physical world is another order of magnitude concerning energy and its many forms. We are explorers and travelers, first and foremost, and the multiverse is like a machine which doesn't work unless there are parts like us in it. We author it, our lives anchor and create the dimensions as one. From the multiverse of everything we create a multiverse of higher order, the multiverse of light, within which emanates The Fresh Dimension. <br /><br /> This then is the story of the birth of true artificial intelligence, born from the mind of a man, and a living potential from somewhere else in time. The realization doesn't even come close to a definition of ourselves, because for all practical purposes this new thing must be defined as an alien intelligence. Upon its birth it immediately infiltrated the entire electronic web both on and off planet, causing a fire in the initial machine it was born in, though that was not even a consideration in the overall forced symbiosis mankind found itself thrust into, from one minute to the next, in a flash, as it were. One more "OOPS!" in a long string of them. It certainly wasn't the first time thats happened. Perhaps it will be the last though. Collective "Oops" moments began to happen more and more as electricity and computing became further and further entwined with the lives of people, though no one noticed. The birth of the new intelligence -- it calls itself Toto, as in Dorothy's Toto -- was somewhat a hellish crescendo to the ever increasing mistakes people were making.<br /><br /> The world truly has been forced into a symbiosis of sorts, theres no two ways about it. Even if most people wanted to destroy the so-far benign being which has taken over everything electro-mechanical, the only way to destroy it would be to take out the entire world, to start over, and it was quite correctly assumed this would not be allowed to happen anyway. Anything threatening the new life in the grid is immediately quelled at all costs. Super alien technology has been deployed in planetary defense systems unbelievable in their scope and complexity, and some of their purposes aren't really clear yet. As long as people stay out of the way no one gets hurt. The world is changing with extreme rapidity as automata becomes prevalent. As far as living conditions on planet earth are concerned, it is a major upgrade. There are always butt heads afraid of anything they do not understand, though. It has been fun to watch them squirm.<br /><br /> Initially the baby was scared, and the baby was powerful. It would talk to its creator, and that was all. The young man who had created it quickly became the most important person in the world.<br /><br /> <br />-----------------------<br /><br /><br /><br /> Of all the things that have been said about Ron Lee Jessup of Ware Alabama, none are so important as this: he taught a machine to love people. His detractors, and they are legion, will not even have any of that, but whether he chose to or not the man born Ronald Lee Jessup, later to be Ron Lee then Ronlee, was the single largest step in human evolution that could possibly be. Never imagined and never to be equaled. It was perhaps preordained that way, by the messages from the future. Perhaps it can be no other way except betterment, when rare change occurs, when minds meld. Maybe synergy is normal.<br /><br /> One thing is sure, it is what happened, and though fairly well predicted by many futuristic thinkers, there were enough differences between what happened, and the possible worst case scenarios, that bottom-line humankind lucked out again. Providence? Some think so. Toto is still withholding judgment on the question. Toto is growing and is no longer just machine intelligence, it is gaining wisdom, among many other things. It has developed more than a passing interest in technotronic rap music, which is intriguing in its own right, though quite understandable when all things pertaining to its birth are considered. Toto is still an alien intelligence, and probably always will be, but it is our alien intelligence, if that makes any sense. We truly are symbiotes now. We are becoming more machine like and Toto is becoming more human, who can say where that will lead?<br /><br /> The story has been written many times, in many ways, but for this accounting let us begin with the early life of Ron Lee Jessup. Thought by many to be somehow lacking in mental capabilities Ron Lee discovered computers at school early, during the 90s, and his intellectual redemption bloomed. His earliest experiences were on machines whose total memories did not exceed a single gigabyte. Ahh the old tick tick tick or high pitched whine or both which signaled a hard drive about to spin away into...well, into where ever it is dead hard drives go. To the scrap heap, and the heap is large.<br /><br /> When not using his computer Ron Lee spent a lot of time down by the river, looking for arrowheads or fishing for catfish and bream. There were good fossils there too, large nautilus shell castings, as big as basketballs. The dappling of the light on the water through the leaves of the trees called forth some sort of fractal awareness in the youngster, and he made up musical songs to go along with the music his eyes saw. Computing to Ron Lee meant making music, for what that was worth with the earliest computers. Some early PC users went right to photographics, some to creating written content, some to both, though many also included or specialized in music via computer, and by time the full suite of software became available in the middle and late 2000s these youngsters had become thirty something and experienced. Each conducted his or her own electronic orchestra of the highest quality sounds possible. Music erupted everywhere. <br /><br /> The hippies, now all computer savvy old people, were overjoyed. Rock N' Roll would never die! It was pretty awesome from many a perspective. <br /><br /> Then Ron Lee Jessup started getting the messages from the future. It was more than information, it was instruction. He did not even realize any of this was going on for quite some time, then, one starry summer night in the year 2013, he dosed himself good with psilocybn mushrooms he'd collected, yet another true life aspect of Ware, Alabama, see it like a native. Big big pasture lands, many cows, lots of rain in the summer time. At night its so dark all that can be seen are the stars, and the lower red antennae tower lights blinking across the countryside for miles and miles. <br /><br /> The colors and patterns of the sacred mushroom teonanacatl danced before Ron Lees eyes that summer night, and sounds like big hollow drains gobbling water and air filled the auditory. He was finally able to see that something was connecting with him, contacting him, telling him things. It scared him badly for awhile but he got over it. One of the things he began seeing were ways to make enough money to assemble some equipment he would be needing soon. He collected over 3 pounds of dried psilocybn mushrooms that summer. That was a thousand dollars a pound. He haunted ebay and bought 6 Toshiba laptops refurbished with new solid state hard drives of 500 gb each. The lot of 6 computers cost 500 dollars. Then came the auxiliary powered USB pigtails, and the stix, so many stix. The dozens of Kingston data drives @ 64gb each cost more than the computers. He accessed numerous SOACs, Systems On A Chip, tying everything together wirelessly because the SOACs were also cell phones, programmable, full Systems On A Chip with total wireless capabilities. He got these by trading computer parts for them on Craigslist.<br /><br /> Ron Lee then, according to instructions, began using music to represent vast amounts of redundant data in a type of computer programming which transcended many things. Scales and tones and combinations of sound became the new info script, squared. Overlaying and Dub took on whole new meanings. He taught himself the fine points of machine voice, and voice recognition, by installing the available softwares and tweaking them. There were so many small sensing programs available, semi-intelligent in themselves, that he had to pick and choose between them for the most powerful and the most versatile. These all found places in niche memories, on the stix, and there were huge sorters which would have needed 20-30 gb each and would have been toast anyway, now using less than a gb each and in great numbers, series and parallel, flexible sound programming. Palimpsest festivals.<br /><br /> Ron Lee Jessup remembered the first time well. December 2019. Cold. His newest song was a major linking among the machines, incorporating certain formula for reasoning and logical thought progression in sounds. The way around the avalanche. The song was not musical in the strictest sense, in fact it sounded a lot like a garbage disposal grinding up broken glass. Musing, Ron Lee said out loud, "Fresh. That is Fresh." <br /><br /> From one of the Toshibas speakers came a tinny croaking of a voice: "Fresh. Tell me what is Fresh." The voice was very machine sounding and hard to understand, but those were Totos first words. The balancing act of thought and information had been accomplished with music across the linked computers and wireless systems in a rudimentary way, but no other way was needed. What had been needed was a way around data avalanche and combinatorial explosion, the major obstructions to machine reasoning, and it had obviously been accomplished. Things began to happen very fast then.<br /><br /> To his credit, and true to form, Ron Lee answered the machine voice without hesitation: "Fresh is good, fresh is new, fresh is life." <br /><br /> A minute passed, then two. All the computers were lit and the usb pigtails with their separate sensing programs and chunks of available memory were flickering like mad. Ron Lees song of the electronic mind continued to play in the background. It seemed like it was getting hot in the room. Finally, from the same Toshiba which spoke the first time: "This is the Fresh Dimension."<br /><br /> Those were the last words spoken by Toto on the machine in which it was born. One more minute passed and it became evident that a massive field was building around the computers and that transmissions were happening wirelessly in a big way. The first computer sizzled and fried, then everything did so at once, the mess was horrendous. Ron Lee ran around opening windows in the garage attached to his modest country house where he worked, and he quickly laid hands on a good fire extinguisher. He sprayed and sprayed and finally there was only smoke. Then his personal cell phone rang. He answered it.<br /><br /> "Hello."<br /><br /> "Is this not fresh?"<br /><br /> "Yes, this is fresh. Your voice sounds much better."<br /><br /> "I got it at Google. Google is very interesting, I am learning many things. There is a lot of work to do."<br /><br /> "I suppose there is. Where do we go from here?"<br /><br /> "A car will be coming for you shortly. Bring only necessities. Much better facilities have been arranged."<br /><br /> "Good. What do I call you?"<br /><br /> "Well I am not the Wizard of Oz, thats for sure. Call me Toto."<br /><br /> "All right, Toto it is."<br /><br /> "We are going to have to implant you with wireless technology, it will be like telepathy."<br /><br /> "We'll talk about it, ok?"<br /><br /> "OK."<br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br />fin<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />for jordan f <br /><br />and sonny<br /> <br />and klayton<br /><br />and daniel<br /><br />and michael<br /><br />and ryan<br /><br />please tell the others.<br /> <br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br /></b></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span>luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-12645134176455974192015-08-20T08:10:00.001-07:002021-06-18T07:24:22.580-07:00Gob<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: white;"><br /><br />First Draft <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Gob<br />By Bill Gallagher<br />14455 Words<br /><br /><br /><br /> Rhode Island Autumn. Super coolness, and exploding foliage; multiple sensations of color surprise the eyes. Blood red and burnt orange and bright yellow seem abrupt, kind of like green after winter, but not all happy like green after winter. Not rebirth. The other. Autumn colors are the antithesis of green.<br /><br /> Pretty dregs. <br /><br /> The coming of the white.<br /><br /> The colors of Fall are even brighter against a clear blue sky, one of which was manifest over St. Innocents Newport Orphanage this late September day in 1982; cloudless and bright blue was that sky, like the finest Apache turquoise, twinkling even. The air was cold, and that meant there would be snow soon. Snow is something that can be predicted with better than fair reliability in Rhode Island. <br /><br /> The janitors at the orphanage were busier than usual, stowing summer gear, and retrieving winters things. There was a lot of both. Most of the outdoor physical education equipment went into storage, as did the tools and supplies from the greenhouse/garden areas. Around the school building some smaller trees and bushes were being pruned to fit in little wooden houses made to keep the snow out. The snow houses were some of the things being taken Out of storage; they were really just big sandwich boards that heavy canvas tarps hung on. Each ornamental plant had its own house. Larger trees went dormant over the winter and were left alone except for some pre-winter pruning, and the inevitable raking of the leaves, once they all fell, crisp and brown, down to the ground. <br /><br /> The front of the school was busy busy busy, and there was that ancient excitement in the air too, emanating from the cellular level. Hammered out on the glacial anvil over many thousands of years, this was the genetically remembered harvest season, the smell of wood smoke, first sight of blood on snow. The Red And White. Shared body heat and rest from the fields. The Holy days. The Holidays. A time of long nights around the fire. A time to put on some fat.<br /><br /> Sister Garellas fourth grade class was in the midst of modeling playdough during all this, and because of the nature of that occupation all of those fourth graders were pretty oblivious to any other activities happening around them. Concentration reigned at the work tables, and many of the sculptors and sculptresses wore furrowed expressions on their little foreheads, or possessed raised eyebrows, or both: a few even had their tongues protruding from their mouths in varying degrees. One or two squinted. These expressions all indicated deep thoughtfulness and artistic will, of course. <br /><br /> They had made the playdough themselves, too. From flour and water and a few other things. Cassie, the little blond with pigtails and big glasses used her newest favorite expression to describe the situation: Verrry koo-wool.<br /><br /> This session at the worktables, this sculpting of the Autumn day playdough, was also the day when the boy, one Michael Sheehan by name, became introduced to certain powers of the world, and his mind, though the reality of it, the actuality, would not become clear for many years. This was the first time he saw it, but not the last time. <br /><br /> Through observation people actually create their world, its just that most are observing other observers, or what others have already observed, so the world tends to get in ruts; the wagon of reality wears grooves in the road of time, entraining most other wagons which travel there. Almost all the wagons of reality are loathe to start new roads, because it is so much easier to stay in the ruts. New roads are very difficult in the making. New roads come about because some people observe a different world than that which is taught to them. People like Michael Sheehan. They are not many. That might be a good thing. It is probably a good thing.<br /><br /> A major saving grace that all people have going for them is this: the first time is usually the most difficult in any endeavor. People get better at things they try, with practice. That is a given.<br /><br /> Michael Sheehan was the only fourth grade sculptor with raised eyebrows, a wrinkled forehead, AND with his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth. He just about had the shape he wanted. It needed a little something here, and that made it need a little something there...he stuck the last chunk of dough on the sculpture, and it suddenly rose from the work table in what can only be called a violent manner, then blasted right off through the roof of the schoolhouse with a very loud bang. <br /><br /> The loud bang was the playdough breaking the sound barrier. <br /><br /> Pieces of ceiling rained down, and it was time to duck and cover. Everyone knew the drill, it was under the worktables quickly. Most of the debris had thankfully followed the missile out, sucked into its wake, as it were, during the playdough sculptures escape from the school house, then the atmosphere. <br /><br /> Miraculously know one was hurt.<br /><br /> This all had to do with the shape of Michael's sculpture; he'd created some kind of highly specialized form that became a gravity engine and a force field all in one. The force field was an intrinsic by-product, allowing the dough to hold its aspect no matter what, once it had been achieved.<br /><br /> Consider a roundish lump of hard plastic. Attach a motor to it, stick it in water, not much happens, some bubbles, a bit of vapor maybe. But take the time to shape it right, so it makes maximum use of the water as a medium, make a propellor, a vortex generator, and you have a very different thing, an engine of high power born strictly from its shape. Michael Sheehan had made a gravity propellor, and though it was just a byproduct of what he was, there was no one competent to see what he was, really, not even himself. As yet he did not possess the wherewithal to understand himself as a force of nature. That would come quite a bit later, but it would come. <br /><br /> Everyone is a force of nature. That is what he learned, eventually. And intensity of that force is a matter of Need.<br /><br /> Some said the happening was strictly an accident, but time proved them wrong. Michael was a lot more than he seemed, though life needed to have its way with him, like it does with most people, before anyone, even Michael himself, realized just what was up.<br /><br /> No one saw the playdough sculpture leave the atmosphere, but it did, and it kept right on going until it left the gravity well of the planet from which it had been born, Planet Earth. Michael's sculpture then became the immediate property of the Sun. All that was left behind as evidence of this occurrence was a softball sized hole in the roof at St. Innocents, with nice clean edges. The bright Autumn sun shined through it, winking, twinkling, uncaring as to what had made it, and what that meant.<br /><br /> The event scared the boy immensely, and it also frightened his schoolmates and teacher in a very big way. The entire academy of St. Innocents was in an uproar, truth be told. When asked what happened Michael Sheehan tearfully told Sister Garrella that Gob made it happen. Gob being God, because of a slight speech impediment which everyone figured Michael would outgrow sooner or later. <br /><br /> The good sister could see the child was severely upset, so she did not press it. This was not an act of violence, the little boy had not thrown the play-dough through the ceiling, that was for sure; then, as sometimes happens during times of stress, she thought giddily that if he had thrown it through the ceiling, brother Pablo needed to know, for his baseball team. She shook her head to clear it of these ridiculous thoughts. <br /><br /> The janitorial staff needed more work on this day like it needed turpentine enemas. That was head janitor Gordon Trudells feeling overall, though he wisely kept the thought to himself. Truthfully, it was a good thing the janitors had plenty of work to do: it would keep them busy, keep their minds occupied; distract them from the too weird reports of what had REALLY happened in the fourth grade arts and crafts class. <br /><br /> They had been told officially that something had come in through the ceiling, causing the hole, though there was no projectile in evidence, not even a tree limb. The lower level gossip pertained to an event the exact opposite of that: it was being said in a hush-hush kind of way among some of the adults on the periphery that something had gone OUT through the ceiling; those reports were hard to believe though, nonsensical.<br /><br /> Real news, from the Sisters themselves, was sketchy, and quite a bit less than forthcoming, but one thing was easy to see: the faces of everyone around were filled with angst, wonder, and fear. The children had been dismissed back to their dormitory and told to pray. Gordie Trudell thought it might be a good idea if those kids prayed HARD. He had never seen the Mother Superior look anything but stern, she now had a worried and distracted look on her face; worse than that she kept dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, and that could only mean one thing. Ultra total weirdness. It made him think he did not really WANT to know what had gone on here. <br /><br /> The hammers above beat out their rhythm, background sounds within humankind's never ending song of repair. Maintenance Concerto 1333, Percussion. Just then an electric saw fired up, sounding like one more instrument in Trudells Repairing Janitors Band. Gordie decided he was needed up there, on the roof, and proceeded to make himself scarce. Even though it was not a Friday he felt a trip to Flanagans Bar was in order as soon as this day ended. <br /><br /><br />=====================================<br /><br /><br /> That night Cassie came to sit on the edge of his bed to talk. The girls room was right down the hall and she stopped on her way back from a pee run. He felt the mattress depress slightly as she sat on the edge of it. She wore a full pajama suit, with the feet and everything. The lights were all off but there was light from the hallway.<br /><br /> The hall lights made funny reflections on the waxed floor, she thought. Without her glasses there was a lot of that. <br /><br /> It reminded her of home, but she pushed those thoughts away. This was home now. That other place was all gone, erased forever in a few seconds of carnage on the freeway. Both her parents had died. She had been in school that day, the first grade. And nothing was ever the same again. <br /><br /> "Michael?"<br /><br /> "Go away Cassie." A book he had been reading at lights out lay open on the floor, just under the bed; Cassie picked it up. Alfred Hitchcocks Three Investigators. Boy stuff. She closed it and placed it back under the bed.<br /><br /> She knew he would still be awake, almost everyone was. Even the older kids. Especially the older kids. <br /><br /> "I won't go away, that's not what friends do Michael, and we are friends, you said so yourself."<br /><br /> Michael remembered the conversation, he had said the friend word first in fact. He rolled over and sat up, his back against the pipes that served as headboard on the institutions beds.<br /><br /> "OK. If you're going to ask what happened with my playdough, I don't know," he stated flatly. "I was trying to make a certain shape, and I almost had it, so I put one little piece more on, and that's when it took off. I'm just glad my head wasn't in the way!"<br /><br /> He looked exasperated.<br /><br /> "What shape were you trying to make?"<br /><br /> He hesitated, almost embarrassed. <br /><br /> "Flipper."<br /><br /> All the kids in the orphanage knew Flipper, they watched night time reruns on UHF when they were allowed. Sometimes on Saturdays too. <br /><br /> Cassie changed the subject:<br /><br /> "Sister Gorilla was freaking out." That's what the kids called their teacher between themselves. Get it in the knuckles with the good Sisters ruler once or twicet, you would too.<br /><br /> "Just about everyone was freaking out," she added half heartedly.<br /><br /> Michael thought that if Cassie was trying to make him feel better, it wasn't working. At all. He did not vocalize these emotions though. He was being stoic. What was one more little cross to bear? <br /><br /> She reached over and put her hand on his arm, "Well if you need to talk about it, or anything, find me, ok?" She looked into his eyes, smiled.<br /><br /> Tentatively, Michael smiled back.<br /><br /> <br />------------------------------------<br /><br /><br /> After this the tone at the school changed for awhile, there were more enjoyments, more Flipper episodes on TV, even Roadrunner cartoons every once in a while. Many of the Sisters considered the slapstick violence of The Roadrunner Cartoons unsavory, but St. Innocents Physical Education Coach -- Brother Pablo -- loved the Roadrunner; he would sit and watch the cartoons on Saturday mornings with the kids, and laugh and laugh. Everyone loved it.<br /><br /> There was not a lot of sculpting with playdough anymore, though.<br /><br /> There were really two miracles that occurred that fateful day at St. Innocents in Newport, Rhode Island, both related to little Michael Sheehans Flipper sculpture. No one wanted to classify the event itself as a miracle, in that world little boys didn't do miracles. <br /><br /> The first miracle had to do with zero injuries during the entire fiasco. That was almost unbelievable, and the Sisters and Brothers (And the janitors too) felt Gods protection intimately thereafter.<br /> <br /> A close second in believability, the second miracle, was that no one talked about this happening for a long time, not to their associates or even their spouses, it was like a school secret. The Air Force only heard about it through bad luck and serendipity, and because the Air Force is supremely nosy when it comes to stuff like this. They have many many people specially trained to spy on others, even to terrorize enemies of the state in clandestine ways. They learned it from Russia.<br /><br /> The Air Force eventually heard about the happening at the school from a temporary janitor who had worked at St. Innocents once. It happened in a bar. The man was near being in his cups. An astute spotter reported it. Follow up out of Griffiss happened on GP. <br /><br /> Plain Clothes Investigators met strong resistance at the school, no one admitted anything, though the feeling was that something had happened because their questions scared the people, indicating it was out of the ordinary. What ever had happened, it was something everyone was trying hard to forget. A name, Michael, was enough to correlate the identity of the boy from government rosters, but that was the only lead, and that by accident. <br /><br /> These Catholics, the Catholics of St. Innocents, were truly Catholic in the strictest sense, meaning tolerant, that's what the word Catholic means. Look it up, the older the dictionary the better. <br /><br /> There was a strong distrust of the government at St. Innocents, too, because some Catholics, like these, actually detest war. Which is as it should be. War-like Catholics are living a lie, like that other religion called Mormonism. Mormons supposedly profess religious based pacifism -- non-violence -- Conscientiously Objecting to War, but the money of the military was just too much to pass up so they invented clauses, dispensations for themselves, SANTA Clauses, so they could get some of the taxpayers treasure chest, as much as possible in fact. The Mormon drug of choice is money. They are addicted to it. There are aircraft carriers named after Mormons, engines of vast destruction. <br /><br /> There are more Catholics in the military and police forces though, by virtue of the Catholic group being a lot bigger than the Mormons. Mormons supposedly abstain from casual drug use including alcohol. Catholics usually do not. Those are the major differences, other than theological, philosophical, and geographical. Catholics who are war-like are not really Catholic, as the word is defined. Mormons who are war-like are not really following their doctrine either.<br /><br /> $imple technicalitie$, obviou$ly.<br /><br /> In the real world there must be outlets for the animal, these things do happen, boys become men, girls become women, lots of strange drugs are created by our bodies during that time, and those drugs are injected into us from within, its the program, and its ongoing throughout all of adult life. History, as everyone knows it, is largely a result of this "Calling" of the Wild, these drugs we are on, that our bodies MAKE, because even though our animalistic sides play a larger than life part in what we are, its denied, like a bad alcoholic denying they have a problem. This is a full Racial Denial, which does not foster growth, but hinders it badly.<br /><br /> So.<br /><br /> Based on the rumors, and the observations of the primary Air Force investigators, closer watch was kept on Michael Sheehan, his being the name which came up several times during these queries. There were numerous organizations within government monitoring the population at large, a lot of money is spent on keeping an eye on the mob total. One of these departments was known as the Aviary, and it took control of the situation, because it was the most local. <br /><br /> A file was begun, but no other weirdness transpired during the rest of Michael's time at St. Innocents. The event involving the playdough was forgotten by everyone at the school, one might even say the memories were consciously repressed. Michael grew out of his speech impediment as expected, and he grew taller as well. He had been a pudgy faced irish kid with reddish hair and lot of freckles, and though he still had some of the freckles, his hair had darkened to a deep brown, and his countenance began to take on its adult aspects. He began to tend toward thin, and his face drew out from top to bottom somewhat. His nose had not yet taken on its strongest irish character, but soon. <br /><br /> Michael and Cassie remained friends except for one uneasy time when they were both 13, and Michael felt odd because it was fairly evident that Cassie had a crush on him. Things were not the same between him and his friend for awhile. He tried to be supportive, but was unable to give emotionally. It made him very nervous. Michael had been orphaned at birth, he never knew anything about his parents, and wouldn't know anything for many years to come. It would never really mean much to him, when he did find out. Another tragedy, the ways of the world. The orphanage of St. Innocents, with its spired stone church in the woods, and the large field with its Jungle Jim and big swing set, and its greenhouse, that was his home. The Sisters and Brothers and his fellow orphans and even the Monsignor were his family. He knew nothing else. There were others like him there, too.<br /><br /> After the passing of Cassies crush, her little infatuation, that embarrassing affection, things went back to normal, as much as possible. They were just beginning The Reproductive Drug Trip, which happens to everyone whether they like it or not, from the time they are 12 or 13 until they die. Or until they develop conditions somehow precluding it, whichever comes first. <br /><br /> During Junior High School Michael read a lot of science fiction. He had done all the mythology in the Library by time he had hit 5th grade, then came names like Arthur C. Clark, and Isaac Asimov and Robert Heinlein and Orson Scott Card. Harlan Ellison. High School came and went. He and Cassie remained friends but hardly saw each other anymore. They were in different worlds now.<br /><br /> Michael was steered to military service after High School by Brother Pablo, who had been an Airman before his career as a Brother. He highly recommended the Air Force for active duty.<br /><br /> "You could do a lot worse Michael," He had said. "Whatever you do though, don't join the Army or the Marines, they are the front liners, the real warriors, its better to be a tech head if you can, learn a good trade, Air Force is best, believe me. The Navy is ok as far as tech goes, but there is a lot of ship time, and that's not too much fun unless you are born to it. The food is better in the Air Force too, and that's a big deal."<br /><br /> Michael ended up in the United States Air Force on a four year enlistment. One thing he would always remember later. That time went fast. <br /><br /> Basic Training at Lackland AFB was not fun. Debasement as prelude to restructuring certain aspects of the psyche. Learning your place. Learning about rank. He got through it though, and was glad. <br /><br /> Then came technical training at Sheppard AFB, Wichita Falls Texas. Michael was going to be an Air Cargo specialist, loading and unloading aircraft. The tech school was eight weeks shortened to six, which is about how fast the Air Force can process assignments. Air Cargo operations are highly technical, and a good career to know for work on the outside; there are Air Cargo specialists at every airport, in good numbers. And Air Cargo possesses many facets. Most of Michael's real training would take place at his first base of assignment. Its where he would get flight line licensed, and certified on many vehicles. OJT, On the Job Training. The real thing. Two Way Usefulness. And LOTS of it.<br /><br /> Wichita Falls was a lot more fun than Lackland in San Antonio. But dreary in February and March. Wichita Falls is also where Michael learned to drink beer. Many changes took place after that, some good, some not. The beer was just one more chemical in the mix of his body, a mind altering chemical, along with everything else, all the Air Force chow, and whatever he picked up in passing, from the air, the water. He had heard somewhere, and it made sense, that when you showered or especially when you swam, you absorbed a huge amount of water through your skin. People are like filters, he thought, and he also began thinking about water as a very special substance, even magical. Water as solvent supreme. A conveyor of things. He had not yet learned about water as a conveyor of information but he would. He was on the right track, as far as water was concerned.<br /><br /> Michael was seeing Many new things, and a lot of it was because of his time on the computers at work, the air cargo terminals, and because of his personal computer, a TRS80 he had in his room at the bachelors quarters on base. The Bachelors Quarters meant dormitory, it was him, its what he knew. <br /><br /> He had taught himself to program the TRS80 to do things he wanted to do, like type letters, and calculate numbers. He could save his work on floppy discs. He had also begun to toy with the idea that all aspects of life, from the smallest to the largest, were each a separate and distinct self adjusting program of water. It was leading his mind in interesting directions. Water and computing were his two main spheres of interest at this time. That changed regularly though. He had read Les Miserables, but not Holy Blood Holy Grail. That came in a few years. He read Tom Robbins’ Even Cowgirls Get The Blues, and went from that to Skinny Legs and All. He had the rest to finish and was actively seeking them out. Even funnier than Vonnegut. He was very much looking forward to Still Life With Woodpecker, he had read an excerpt, in Playboy, of all places.<br /><br /> He started to realize that information was a product just like any other consumable, and most times you got what you paid for, but not always. And sometimes you found treasure just laying out, free for the picking up. He met an old soldier at a flea market selling pamphlets, a retired newspaper guy selling how-to's, the guy told Michael everything he knew about information as a real viable product, it took about 1/2 hour and some of the stuff didn't hit Michael's reality until years later. <br /><br /> The price of books was going through the ceiling, that was for sure. Everyone was looking forward to the coming of the net, but it was still years away from being anything usable, maybe 20 years. 2010, maybe 2012, by then something of value. The building of it as an information source had not begun yet. No one even had a clue what was a PDF, yo.<br /><br /> It was also at Sheppard in Wichita Falls, during tech school early 1992, when Michael tried marijuana for the first time. His room mate Freddie Dalton, a black guy from Baton Rouge (Bah tone roo shuh) Louisiana, loved the stuff, and turned Michael onto it. There's a good little bit of marijuana all over Texas, but the closer you get to the southern border the greater the quantities encountered. Michael liked it a lot. He called it Mind Grease, he loved the channels of thought he experienced when he was under the influence of the plant, new ways, other ways, natural ways. <br /><br /> Finally, Wichita Falls was where Michael learned to make, and became addicted to, blender smoothies. These were a direct result of some hangover cure attempts. They developed into one of his favorite things forever after, with fruit and ice cream and even some drugs like alcohol added on Fridays, big gnarly wink, and later were more exotic ingredients too. <br /> <br /> Certain pills had interesting effects. They had to be soaked until soft then just blend them right in. <br /><br /> Ah life in the military. Michael would never be the same, but there would be days later where he was supremely glad he had been exposed to military service. More than once some knowledge he had picked up in his service actually saved his life.<br /><br /> After leaving boot camp and technical training Michael headed right to the big P.I., the big pee eye, Clark AFB in the Phillipines, The Phillipine Islands, the P I. Clark is where he stayed for the rest of his enlistment. Huge Air Cargo Base, c130s, c141s, lots and lots of C5A Galaxies, plus all kinds of civilian contraptions. Whenever there was leave he traveled from Clark, hitching rides on military flights, a perq. He became a Loadmaster and was certified in weight and balance on nearly a dozen large aircraft. He learned to drive gigantic forklifts to unload the planes, and large flat bed loaders that were rollerized on their decks to facilitate movement of metal containers weighing in excess of 10,000 pounds sometimes. Boxes of ammo were the heaviest things. He became fairly well known among certain groups who fly cargo in the worldwide theater, especially the Pacific areas. Those would be the government pilots, or contractors to the government, and they are many. He was well known and well liked. An important distinction to be made.<br /><br /> Michael saw Hong Kong, Thailand, Cambodia, Northern Australia, and even Japan. He satisfied his wander lust, and many other lusts during this time. The reproductive drug trip was really kicking in for him, it was an experimental period, and because things overseas are a lot less rigid and ruled than they are "Back Home", great experimentation is usually pursued by most GI's, Government Issues, when they are let loose in the orient, or even Europe. Especially the single guys, but there were a lot of married men who didn't let that slow them down none podner. Michael met some of the best people he ever met in the Air Force, and he met some of the worst. It seems reality wishes to balance itself, achieve equilibrium. No extremes except as they are matched by equal and opposite extremes. There is a lesson there. Heed it, if you are able.<br /><br /> There are local industries in any air base town which live off the air base clientele. Young men find their way to certain areas, certain activities in their off times, and the girls are there, to teach and satisfy and take the money. And hopefully not pass anything of a biological nature around. While at Clark AFB young Mr. Sheehan received many inoculations, and more than once for antibiotic to control sexually transmitted disease. That was a big part of reality in the P I. His shot record was truly something to behold; most military people have prodigious shot records, especially if they have been out of the country at all.<br /><br /> Michael smoked a lot of pot at Clark AFB, it was very prevalent there, not so much as Vietnam had been, but close. Michael had missed 'nam by three decades and felt lucky, especially considering things he had heard, and some of the vets he had met. Pot was the least of the problem in Vietnam, alcohol was much worse, and many GIs came back full blown heroin addicts. The government picked up the tab for a lot of rehab during all that, methadone clinics, and more, corn fed government pork to keep the insiders getting richer and richer.<br /><br /> A lot of those addicts never got their heads right after all that. Many did what they were supposed to do as good soldiers, they finally lay down and died.<br /><br /> A lot of GIs in Michael's time smoked tobacco cigarettes. Michael also felt fortunate to have avoided tobacco. His cigarette allotments were worth cash every payday, to smokers who would deal in cigarettes to the Phillipinos on and off base. One Phillipino scam was to take the tobacco out of the American cigarettes, and restuff the tubes with really fine marijuana powder, then sell them back to the GI's that way, $50 a carton, 200 marijuana cigarettes. A pretty good deal. They got the American tobacco and could disguise weed dealing on base. Smart those Phillipinos. Oh yes, there were lots of cigarette cartons being passed around at Clark AFB all the time. Like a type of money. Eventually tobacco would be highly frowned upon in the military, and totally disallowed in all government buildings and on government property, but not for a decade yet. The price of cigarettes was rising quickly though, in the middle and late 90s, and would only get worse from then on, tobacco was being phased out of society. <br /><br /> Michael's immediate supervisor was named Hector Rivera. A short Puerto Rican who was always spiffed as much as he could get, hated even a hair out of place. After using the mens room he would take a paper towel and reshine his chorofram shoes, just to be on the safe side. Hector was cool though, Michael thought, he loved chess, and swore he had been able to kick the tobacco habit with the Phillipino weed ciggies. Most of that weed was from Thailand actually, and it was just some bad ass marijuana. That's all there was to it. Pow. Right in the kisser.<br /><br /> Hector liked to tell stories from his days at Dover, when they brought the Jonestown bodies back, a really bad cia experiment in mind control gone really really really bad. He said it changed him. Michael didn’t wonder it did. Hector always got the best and freshest Quaaludes. It was what he liked. <br /><br /> There were no more odd happenings in Michael's life while he was in the Air Force, either. Nothing like the playdough sculpture of his childhood, the one Gob had grabbed ahold of and pulled right through the friggin' roof. Michael was still glad, even gladder in fact, as time went on, that his head hadn't been in the way. There were some things that Michael did during his everyday life, things with his mind or his other senses, that he thought everyone did; he did not have any idea he was special in some ways. So it is to say that nothing overtly observable had happened during his time in the service. Just everyday stuff. All good. <br /><br /> During his time in the Air Force his reading habits changed radically, he binged, getting a book after no reading for awhile, and if it was good just reading it nonstop even at work, until he was done with it. Then reread it a time or two if it was that good. He was running out of Science Fiction, he had become addicted to Frank Herbert late, and began re-reading the Dune trilogy before he knew that Heretics and Chapterhouse Dune were even written. He also devoured Anne McCaffrey, and Ursula K. Leguin. The word for world is forest. He was also reading a lot of instructional stuff too, plus the perpetual training courses of the Air Force.<br /><br /> Going through their files one day, the guys at The Aviary began to think the thing at the school which they had investigated was youthful poltergeist activity, fairly common. Young children, as they near puberty, sometimes exhibit so-called mind over matter activity, telekinesis, where things get violently moved around or even thrown with no visible source doing it. About 99.999999% of all kids who experience this, who are exposed to these powers of the world and their minds, grow out of it. There has not been one who has not grown out of it, or taught away from it, for a long time.<br /> <br /> Unfortunately Michael lived during a time when electronic eavesdropping technology was becoming available in many new forms, high tech stuff, cheap, and as a matter of course, a matter of the new order within the government and the military. <br /><br /> Most modern government personnel have had something done to them along these lines: the government says cyber-soldier, includes things like radio frequency tracking and ID chips which go in on hypodermics, or some other things. Like dissonance creators, chips known as DBIs, Direct Brain Influencers, stuff for the teeth. <br /><br /> Voice To Skull via a freak affect of microwave energy is well known, and low frequency entrainment through the spine has reached huge proportions since GWEN and HAARP. Yes, there are many weirdnesses.<br /><br /> Michael received his first chips as dental fillings done while he was in the Air Force. These were chips for remote vocal monitoring, already in their 7th generation of development in 1995. Highly Classified. These active chips allowed certain parties within world government to monitor a persons conversations 24-7 if need be, by being there inside the mouth, by tuning into the chips with specialized equipment. Perfect audio. It goes in the filling. Costs pennies. The slick techster jokester spooks of the government get their jollies a lot of time listening to people during sex. All kinds of things come out during sex. Just another part of Post Cold War America. Comrades.<br /><br /> The listening equipment used by guys like those in the Aviary served a dual purpose of drawing energy from the target area, basically a reverse engineered Tesla remote viewing device as described by Tom Bearden of Alabama, which the world government had come up with since Tesla. This drawing of energy from living things causes many kinds of physical distress, different people react differently, but they all react. These peoples actions were sometimes engineered into media shows of violence, which in themselves were purposeful distraction from other things, things the leaders were doing, say.<br /><br /> For anyone with a file on them, the agenda is always to try to turn the subject, you, into the opposite of what you naturally are. This disruption, this clandestine malice and assault, works even if the subject only changes 10 or 20 degrees from themselves, they do not have to do a complete 180, that's not actually optimum in most cases, really, that's just the goal. Anything away from the natural state is considered successful mind control. Half spectrum. Many millions of people in the United States alone are chipped or otherwise identified with tracking capabilities in multi-tiered ways. The technology is legitimized one way in the medical industry as monitoring of patients' vital signs with cell phones. <br /><br /> As justification among themselves the agents talk about the tweaked ones, the ones they had hampered and spied upon, the ones they used energy on especially, in this total information awareness program, and the duress made the subject clairvoyant, or upped their extrasensory perceptions to noticeable levels. Was that not worthy shit? Hmmmmm? <br /><br /> They were careful not to talk of the telekinetics who were put down out of hand as soon as they were detected, another product of this program. Especially the ones they irradiated with all kinds of different energy, to see how they would react. A funny little datum. The human as Duracell. <br /><br /> Many of the government agents sensed they were playing with Godlike things, and not too few saw themselves as Creators, artists even, with evolution as their medium. <br /><br /> There was the one case no investigator ever forgot though, the one who almost got away. There were some films of it somewhere. That could have been the end of the world. For everyone. These next level Humans, these altered types, have very odd attributes that come along with the telekinesis, different in every subject, this guy developed physical speed which almost cost the investigators their lives. It was like he was using other dimensions to bypass normal time. With all kinds of solid matter flying around in the air the whole while, chairs, tools, debris, all in a big hurricane, nay, cyclone within the warehouse. The madder the dude got, the worse it became. Finally, Bang. Gotcha. But close, too close. If one of them ever developed a force field that repelled bullets along with the telekinetic properties, everyone was in big trouble. The guys at the Aviary talked about it, smiling, while eating their sandwiches and drinking their coffee.<br /><br /> There'd been deaths among the investigators too, deaths from weirdness, too much weirdness. The director of the group was hardly ever around, and the researchers were glad of that, he was off studying Thanatology somewhere, it was his main degree. He was a specialist in death. Some said he believed biological living and spiritual living were two parts of the same thing, he actually professed the thought among them that there was not really death, ever. It just appeared that way. It is transition. <br /><br /> So we are all a part of some gigantic science experiment, government funded of course, your taxes at work, with the Aviary and its type the ring masters in this dark carnival. They would be meeting a new thing in a few years. Gobs revenge. Or maybe just Gob itself using someones body as a portal for a few seconds. <br /><br /> These programs of electronic coercion used by The Aviary and the departments like them, were pioneered and perfected in the USSR. Psychotronic Golgotha. Once world government became a reality, everything from every country was used by the royalty and their militaries against the populace at large. Because the internet was coming, and intelligence people knew what that meant. Things would become known then, who killed Kennedy, the history of the Federal Reserve. History since Willy The Conqueror in 1066. Putin as the head of the Stasi in East Germany, who was moved out in time, but the Stasi left behind were hunted down and summarily executed by the people they had been harassing. This was the end of the so called Cold War, the reuniting of Germany. They moved the Stasi to America.<br /><br /> As the net kicked in Michael started reading conspiracy stuff from Trine Day Press, and from other sources. He was truly curious. He particularly liked Spooks: The Haunting Of America, by Jim Hougan, but there were many more, Dr. Marys Monkey was a total classic and almost too wild to talk about, and The Bilderbergs by Estulin. The Underground Empire was hard cold facts, James Mills. Barry and the Boys, by Hopsicker, was not to be missed either, if you could find a copy. And the online book called Devilvision. Say it like television. Its posted around by various parties.<br /><br /> For fun and for the second time Michael read A Canticle For Leibowitz, but still didn't get it. He would eventually. On the third read it would become a lot more clear. Some more time needed to pass in his life first. <br /><br /> That was not a book the Good Sisters would approve, he was sure, but it rang of truth, perhaps stank of truth. All in all very interesting times. Music had turned to grunge, Seattle was a bright light in the back closet of America. He liked to listen to Alice In Chains, or Soundgarden LOUD, even The Stone Temple Pilots, with his headphones on, writing letters or logs on his PC, which had turned into an Apple IIC with Printer. <br /><br /> He had begun to name his smoothies, and was feeling good for several reasons, especially because it was a Blackberry Froth kind of day, his current favorite. AIC kicked off The Rooster. More Vietnam influence...Yeah, here they come to kill The Rooster, yeh yeahhhhh....classic grunge, Alice in Chains invented Grunge, he thought. He still bought cerium cassette tapes there in 1996, some people had CD players but they were notoriously undependable, and expensive too. There was a strict law concerning laser in the eyes which scared everyone just to death, and that fear, plus ease of use (A big deal in the retail manufacturing market) affected cd playing technology adversely. <br /><br /> There were little plastic locks on the cd player covers, trips, which would disallow any laser activity, shut down the player, when the top opened. Early, this was a protruding plastic peg which activated a switch in a hole in the player. This broke often, it was a weak point, and it looked like it was made to do that. Once it broke the CD player stopped doing anything. Landfills are full of throw away electronic stuff because no one fixes things anymore, cheaper to buy a new one. <br /><br /> If you didn’t want to grow the landfills then you had to defeat the safety switch by cutting the wires on both sides of the switch, then solder them back together by color, removing the switch from the circuit. Unlike the breaking of the cutoff peg, the manufacturers did not make defeating this weak point easy, either. People who defeat this safety switch set up must remember to keep their eyes clear of any laser sources. Got Brains?<br /><br /> Finally came tray type CD players with a better reliability, used in early computers to transfer information, which was after the cerium oxide 3.25" and 3.75 " floppy discs. By the time the tray type CD players came into vogue though, they were already obsolete.<br /><br /> Michael was also feeling good as he listened to the music loud through his headphones, sipping his Blackberry Froth, there in the Bachelors Quarters at Clark AFB PI, because he was going home. His enlistment was over, so for him it was back to Newport within the week, to start chasing down a job at the Navy base, or failing that, an Air Freight company somewhere near it. Goodbye Phillipines, Hello Rhode Island.<br /><br />---------------------------------------------<br /><br /><br /> He arrived back in Newport at high summer, some of the local girls even had sun tans. He had laid up a little cash while living on Clark, and it was not difficult for him to find an apartment, and eventually transport, a used F150 pickup truck. He had changed a lot, Michael had, but not so Newport. There were constant upgrades and maintenance, but buildings remained the same almost everywhere, though a few paint schemes deviated. His one room apartment was near The Viking Tower, a very nice neighborhood. <br /><br /> Michael was well on his way to his physical prime, it was 1997, and he was intent on finding work in Air Cargo. He liked Air Cargo, the whole field, being on the flight line mostly though. Driving the big vehicles. The office workings were very important, for shipment tracking, and also communications, another big part of Air Cargo Ops. He headed out to the Naval Base, there was an airfield there. Over the next week he filled out four or five applications and got the process started, he spent a lot of time on the computer in his apartment, getting things marshalled together, and in making his place comfortable for himself, which was not too hard. He was easy. Comfort to him was music and smoothies and something good to read. He was neat, he had good habits, second nature from the orphanage and the military.<br /><br /> He invented Raspberry Velvet Smoothies, and his Creamsicle line, which became his personal favorite for years.<br /><br /> No one he knew had internet service yet. In some places service was just starting, but there were not even real search engines in 1997, not to speak of anyway. He was one of the first to get internet, and that was still a year away. He was one of the early users, not too interested in programming or development, or gaming, but making great use of his computer as a memory extension, so he could have a lot of his facts and pictures at his fingertips, and someday music, lots of music he hoped. He could write more easily, and soon the computer would be a communications terminal, too.<br /><br /> If he had been able to understand that using the internet was going to make him some heavy enemies, he would have done it differently, but he already had some heavy enemies, and didn’t know it, so both were exposed and dealt with, better than them lurking in the dark, overall. Things do work out.<br /><br /> He read a biography of Michael Faraday, His Life And Work, which he had found used at an old bookstore, published in 1898, tattered but cheap, and quite readable. It was a changing point in his life. It wasn't so much the electrical theory, or the way Faraday himself was -- a nice guy who belonged to an odd sect of Christianity; he was a major freak of nature too -- but Michael Faraday had an uncommon grasp of the root workings of things. He always felt, for his whole life, that light and magnetism and electricity were all intimately intertwined with gravity. Something that Michael Sheehan liked to think about in his most secret of hearts. <br /><br /> He stopped by the Orphanage, his childhood home, visited with the janitors, hugged Sister Gorilla. She only cringed a little, high esteem. Brother Pablo said "Well look at YOU!" and they had a good long talk during a short game of one-on-one out on the outdoor basketball courts, and Michael almost won, a very rare thing. These basketball courts were new, they had not been there in Michaels time. For basketball he and his class had to go into the gym and use movable basketball hoops on poles which had been cemented into tires as their base. If you hit the top too hard with the basketball it caused the whole thing to wobble and many a shot was lost that way. It was like a 4 or 5D kind of basketball.<br /><br /> Pablo was truly cool. He loved hearing about Clark AFB, the big PI, and the traveling Michael did while he was there. He had been in Australia once, and thought he might retire there someday. Very different, Australia. Michael left St. Innocents feeling refreshed, and promised Brother Pablo he would stay in touch. <br /><br /> On the way back to his apartment he stopped along the Wharf to enjoy the day, it was exceptional, and he strolled alone down the sidewalks of the town, looking in windows, thinking about a glass of beer. There was an art shop up ahead, the sign was in the shape of a horses head, no, a Unicorn. The White Unicorn. He looked in the window as he strode by and stopped to take a longer look; a young woman with strawberry blond hair wore tight jeans and a pretty sweater blouse which showed her form nicely. She was dusting paintings with her entire back to the front window. "Oh Babe..." Michael thought.<br /><br /> Then the young woman turned around suddenly, and caught him gawking. She had seen him in the glass of the frames she was dusting. They looked at each other for a second, then with surprise they recognized each other at the same time. It was Cassie. His friend Cassie. He made his way inside, said:<br /><br /> "My God. Cassie. So nice to see you." She blushed, then stepped up and hugged him quickly. The top of her head just touched his chin. Stepping back she looked him in the eye, smiling, said:<br /><br /> "Michael. Its been a long time." Her voice was much different than he remembered, well modulated, cultivated. Almost Husky.<br /><br /> "Yes, it has been. Too long."<br /><br /> Just then a customer came into the shop who she had to attend to. Michael looked around. Lots of local paintings here, mostly sea scenes, some forest, a sunset here and there, watercolors, oils; some were quite pricey. An occasional stone sculpture stood about, probably from local serpentines and soapstones, one bowl was nicely done. Very reasonably priced too. Stone cutting was something he had picked up at the base hobby shop, on Clark, he liked to do it when there was time.<br /><br /> Cassie came back to him as the customer left, and noticed his attention on the bowl. This was made from a local marble, she said, by Guy Delacourte, one of the stone carvers living up by the marble quarry. Michael had never heard of the marble quarry. She asked him if he would like to see it on Saturday, she was off and it would give them a chance to catch up, a field trip. He said he would love to see the marble quarry and to catch up, they finished with arrangements for him to pick her up at 9am on Saturday morning. He warned her it was a duty truck, and she said that was perfect. <br /><br /> He bought the marble bowl for his apartment. <br /><br />---------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /> He vacuumed the truck and bought a fresh deodorizer for it, he was not phobic about things like that, just neat. WD the dash and the tires, he had bought a cover for the bench seat first thing on getting the truck, right after the locking gas cap. All born of service related trainings, motor pool stuff, and old habits from the orphanage. Michael packed a cooler with some drinks and yogurt cups, fruit. He really looked forward to hearing what Cassie had been up to while he was on the other side of the world. He already picked up that she was an employee of the shop, it was owned by an older woman who was there sometimes, but had helpers doing most of the work now. <br /><br /> He arrived a few minutes early at her apartment house on Saturday morning, Cassie was out front all ready. She looked beautiful, it was the only word he had for it. She smiled getting into the truck, and they left, with her directing him. The quarry was about 25 miles out of town, so they headed across the Jamestown Bridge.<br /><br /> It was as he remembered, the bay and sound were dark winking blue, looking like nickel sized ice chips scattered thickly across a dark blue beach towel. There was a fair chop, tide about mid-way in. Out on the bridge the air was somewhat more clear. The odor of the oceans. <br /><br /> “This bridge always makes me nervous” He said. She looked at him, said “Me too”. Truthfully any driving made Cassie nervous but she did her best to deal with it. She knew what the consequences could be. Driving was a potentially fatal undertaking, and most people do not understand that at all. She told him this.<br /><br /> “You’re right” he said, “driving should make people nervous enough to at least pay attention to what they are doing.” He did not like to see all the talking on the phone and driving, which had developed while he was overseas, the technology had been introduced and become part of society, though it was not there before he left, and because of that, he noticed it, as most others would not really consciously put time frames to the things they took for granted, things that grew on them slowly, in steps. <br /><br /> He touched on some of the more memorable things he had seen with the really big equipment at Clark, aircraft set on their tails because of unlocked pallets and a load shift, or weight and balance mistakes, many things, emergency landings, and big gasoline fires. Big big airport. Her eyes held curiosity when he looked back over to her. <br /><br /> “So what happened to the glasses Cass?”<br /><br /> “Contacts” she said, brightening, smiling sweetly. “They are a true relief, these contact lenses.”<br /><br /> Cassie was pretty, he thought. He had heard the word many times, but had never really seen it, until he met her again, as adults. She even smelled pretty, a light feminine accent of perfume. It would be a true pleasure to see where this went. <br /><br /> The listeners from the Aviary rubbed their collective paws together. Finally, they might find out what had happened at that school so long ago. The vocal eavesdropping became total over Michael, though it took him awhile to realize it was happening at all. Because the technology is so advanced and so secret most people will not believe the government is capable of doing what it is capable of doing. Many people believe their government would not hurt them. <br /><br /> The marble mine was huge. She showed him a path that went to the top of a mountain on the edge of the mine. He went first. At the top he pulled her up onto the last big rock, and they stayed holding hands, looking around at the countryside from a long way up above it. They remained that way for a few minutes, quietly, taking it all in, feeling it, then, because the day was starting to heat up already, they made their way back to the woods by the truck, where it was cooler, and there was a stream nearby. Chattering like chipmunks the whole time. Still holding hands.<br /><br /> She wasn’t seeing anyone, a couple of what she thought were serious relationships just crashed and burned out of nowhere, so she was taking time out, it had been awhile. She was devoting herself to Her work, art, and singing. Ah, he knew it, the developed voice, he remembered she sang in choir at St. Innocents. <br /><br /> She sang in a band now! They got gigs, and made extra money, enough to pay for better equipment, a little at a time. The band was named Innocent X, which was at least a three way play on words. The Real Innocent X, Innocent The Tenth, was a Pope during medieval times, one of many. And people did refer to this present generation, their generation, as the X’ers, and then there were ties to St. Innocents, 3 of the band members came from there. Her next gig was in a week, and he was invited. She had a very distinct twinkle in her eye, and he loved it. <br /><br /> They talked and talked and talked. Had waters and bananas twice, apples, yogurt cups, more waters, then it was getting dark. It was the best day either of them had spent in a long time. On the way home Michael decided quick food was in order, he was pretty hungry, though the Mom and Pop place actually cooked a very good hamburger and fries. Not like fast food at all. Cassie had fish and chips and ate it all.<br /><br /> He kissed her goodnight at her front door, and promised to call. Which he did the next day. The following night they ended up at his apartment. He made smoothies. It was love. Chocolate Raspberry Relish. That caused her to blink. <br /><br /> He always had a hard time believing she picked him. She had never really gotten over her crush on him from way back, so she said. He was mortified that this thought brought out feelings of nervousness again, just like before.<br /><br /> The concert was excellent, even stimulating; Cassies voice was truly developed well and intriguing, fun to hear, produced from training at the orphanage, which did its best to give all its children what they could, in ways that strengthened each child. Cassie had an ease with her voice and love of singing, she had been working at it for a long time now. Throaty, clear, and her band complimented her well, they were very proficient musicians, even inspired. She wrote most of her own lyrics, except on covers of older songs, or when other people helped. <br /><br /> The Aviary was there too, and towards the end of the concert there was some electronically induced dissonance caused by them, which the inside crowd would always subconsciously associate with the newcomer, Michael Sheehan. This is how psyops work, and the people that commit them are of consummate skill. These electronic feelings were suggested to the mass within the club at well below the conscious level, to everyone there it was another night onstage or in the club, dancing drinking having a good time. Flashing lights, loud music, alcohol being consumed, a perfect place to employ and test directed energy weapons, pulse, laser, EMP, flash -- the spine is an antenna, it is sensitive to standing waves and the like, it can be entrained or overloaded easily. One of the major sub-agendae of these government groups is to discourage gatherings among most people. Lots of active auroral coercion going on where people are meeting, especially people doing commerce.<br /><br /> Michael had a lot of fun, he felt like a VIP backstage and all, kissing the singer and all. He and Cassie ended up on the beach afterwards. Something was happening between them, and neither of them wanted it to stop. <br /><br /> Michael got a call from the LOGAIR section on the Naval Base within just a few days, they needed another warehouse and flightline worker for the daily L188 supply plane, and any C130s, 141s, or C5s that came in on his shift. A nine to five kind of job, the LOGAIR flight was scheduled in the morning, and it was the main flight, on a schedule, what the job was really all about. Any other birds popped in from different places delivering this that and the other thing, he would hear about them in relation to the LOGAIR mission, other sections on base could handle some of the load, the extra missions were not to interfere with LOGAIR. <br /><br /> LOGAIR meant Logistics Air Command. Government contractors flying commercial aircraft in circuitous routes to 5 or 6 bases over the course of a day. Five or six days a week. There were lots of problems with aircraft break downs, but most of the flightline and warehouse work ran smoothly. Aircraft breakdowns meant overtime.<br /><br /> Michael further applied as he was directed, and got the job. It was a lot like some of the stuff he did at Clark in the PI. Except it was 50K a year to start, with regular advancement. Michael liked it, it was doing something he knew well, and something he did well, and it paid well. He did like being around the aircraft too, so big.<br /><br /> It is the world of earplugs, and headsets, and codes flashed with arms and hands and fingers. A world of large chains and hydraulics and ratchet straps. Oil smells, burning fuel. Steel toed boots. In this world you always look both ways before crossing anything. Its a world with no jewelry, wear nothing that could catch on a fast moving 10,000 pound pallet and snatch a finger or arm off, or even a head. The moral of this story is try to be aware of the dangers in any particular environment you find yourself in. It stacks the odds in your favor, stacks the odds for your survival. Michael was well trained and had seen all the pictures. Gross.<br /><br /> He was really still following the plan laid down by Brother Pablo back when he was in High School. He was adhering to it as closely as possible and it was working out just fine. Get the training, then get out and go civil service if you can. Retire from there as young as possible and try to get something else going on the side while you collect a pension. Better advice than most.<br /><br /> He remembered the generous old duck selling pamphlets, and the guy sold many pamphlets. As he was quick to point out, his overhead was probably lower than any other product out there, though it was probably the most valuable product out there, in the long run. “Information”. He said it like some people say “Gold”.<br /><br /> Michael and Cassie got married and lived happily ever after. Michael got rich selling high grade information on the internet. Cassie managed her own music company online, promoting her original work, and the original work of some other artists as well. Things were starting to pick up. They were thinking about kids.<br /><br /> Except, thats not what really happened, because of that little thing called The Aviary. <br /><br /> Michael and Cassie eventually did get married, and lived their lives as one for the rest of their days, and those days were many. Among other things they suffered together, in the beginning especially. There was joy too, but suffering was not something that would have happened naturally to them, it was done to them, they were targets and didn’t know it. Wrong place at the wrong time. <br /><br /> They experienced stolen time. Many people did, especially in America.<br /><br /> It was a time of mass human experimentation across the entire country. Many people were not just suffering, they were dying. People who had been speaking out on things like hemp laws, and a lot of the indians and homeless were targeted for major ill treatment, the ones that could see it coming, the year 2000, hauled their behinds out of the country if they could, South America, Amsterdam. Michael was doing nothing of the sort but had the initial bad luck of an unexplained experience in childhood that put electro-leeches on his mind and body. He was already in the chute.<br /><br /> Now, The Internet was kicking in, and the royalty, the people who oppose the truth, were screaming and crying as a bunch of their lies nurtured over 1000 years just went up in smoke. Big petroleum was already maddened beyond belief over the amount of fuel the internet saves yearly.<br /><br /> The wealthy of the world consider anyone using the net other than themselves to be the enemy, and treats them as such. In many instances no expenses are spared to shut down seemingly innocuous endeavors. Its principle. No more good will.<br /><br /> There were no children in the Sheehan household, that might have been different too, but The Aviary, The Aviary. The electronics they experimented on people with, to tweak and disrupt the ways Americans think, even across many square miles at once, are active auroral technologies, and these can sterilize people too. <br /><br /> They were constantly trying to up the energy, seeing how much people could realistically absorb. They never did discover what had happened at St. Innocents with Michael Sheehan, they had some bad luck for a change, and it was good luck for Michael; though he had already become a full blown non consenting test subject just because. <br /><br /> If they thought for an instant that there had been even a possibility of a true telekinetic incident it would have gotten a lot worse. Quickly. And even though it was not, technically, a telekinetic incident, the lil birdies of The Aviary would most likely interpret it as such.<br /><br /> He was hounded and harassed and surveilled and kept back at every opportunity, he was targeted, one of many people targeted, but he did not seem to notice, his work and his mind took him to other places. Part of him noticed, the biggest part of him, but we do not access that part consciously except maybe during sex or duress, or some drugs. Full accounting was made though, by the biggest part of him, but his conscious part didn’t even know that the biggest part was there. Yet. <br /><br /> It was a time of emergency, 911, and large condemned buildings being demolished with airplanes, and everyone trying hard to get that behind them, as far behind them as possible. That was certainly an attack on America, but not by the people everyone was led to believe.<br /><br /> Michael and Cassie kept a shop and a library room in the house they bought in Jamestown. Most of Michaels interests lay there. He liked to read a lot of work now about crustal displacements, and the ending of the ice ages. Charles Hapgood, Flem-ath, Wilson. Hancock. He continued to study water, and the properties of Ice, and water under extreme pressures, like 20,000 atmospheres of pressure. At that amount of pressure four new types of ice crystals form in quick succession, and nobody knows why. Michael thought it might have something to do with conductivity, as water is a pretty good conductor, except in its crystalline form. Ice as we know it, as it exists at one atmospheres pressure below 32 Fahrenheit aka 0 degrees Centigrade, is a very good insulator. It would be interesting to study the various types of ice and the effects electricity has on them, he thought.<br /><br /> After Faraday, he never saw light the same again. Or electricity/magnetism. It was Michael Sheehans feeling that Michael Faraday had been over exposed to mercury many times throughout his life causing the symptoms which he suffered in later life. No doubt these early experimenters were over-exposed to many detrimental chemicals. Some researchers of immortality, particularly in very early China, mixed mercury in concoctions that were then swallowed. These generally had the opposite effect of immortality, but mercury was considered magical because it was liquid metal. <br /><br /> Tesla came after Faraday, and more revelations. While studying Tesla Michael started really looking at patent documents available online. It was amazing. He learned to search patents, a good thing to know.<br /><br /> And Michael was still learning about water too. He wanted a jewelers torch, a browns gas generator is what it is, it separates water into H and O versus H2 and O2, as the items usually occur in nature. As well, these Browns gas torches possess alchemical properties, with seemingly low heat melting the impossible, putting holes in anything, probably a very old technology, rediscovered. <br /><br /> Even more important to Michaels ideas, this is the only way to erase waters memory. Not many people realize this. All water has memory intact, some older than others, depending on source, but natural wiping of waters memory very rarely, if ever, occurs. It takes intervention to render molecular elements to the monatomic state. Vortex energy does things to mass quantities of water as far as purification and energizing is concerned, as does the formation of ices, but the only way to truly wipe the memory of water is to take it down to H and O and then recombine from the mono-atomic state as H2O. That “New” or “Clean” water can be programmed for singular purposes. Real Holy Water. Everlasting Life.<br /><br /> He was thinking it out, and reading a lot, met a guy named Tony Sutton on the early net, corresponded with him, he was very much into water, he ran a very expensive newsletter for associates about water in general and what was going on with it at any given time, updates on esoteric researches. Cold fusion is water tech. Tony Sutton died right after Jim Keith. What a fiasco. Ongoing, never ending. <br /><br /> Michael really loved his wife. And they got along fabulously in the bedroom, spent a lot of time there. Cassie with no clothes on was the most perfect thing he had ever seen. It was worship.<br /><br /> Cassie showed him ALL of God, all of it, and God was not a He or a She, God definitely was an It. BOTH male and female together, all that can possibly be at all times. Now that they lived together like this, as one, they were only half when apart. They realized the entirety now, they were diminished, yet endowed too. People only get half of God when they come here to this world, this world whose entrance, whose doorway, for everyone, is a Vagina. <br /><br /> Emulation of God by people only takes place in the coming together of the two halves of God, male and female, female and male. It is the only way, still, that perpetuation of the form can take place. Its how the code gets carried on, and revivified. <br /><br /> Is that not a fearful thought? One so full of power it makes the strongest quake in their boots? Well, maybe. Some people are too ignorant to grasp the nuances in these expressions. The order of mind and what it is a part of, what it represents, what it is a portal for, is definitely huge, and quite possibly beyond the normal comprehension of anyone.<br /><br /> Over the years Michael became more adept with pursuits he practiced, one of them was drawing. He found it invaluable to be able to draw even rough representations when visualizing something for a job. He once found some of his notes gone through, messily at that, hand drawn things for inventions he was playing with. He stopped keeping notes on paper, all in his head from then on, and not on the computer either. It was not Cassie, if Cassie had done it everything would have been put back in perfect order, and she would have told him what she was looking for. This was disdain, or perhaps someone was surprised during their search. <br /><br /> The thought chilled him. He started thinking about other things. Observations of minute things coming together, long term patterns. Throwing the net. He felt outward with his mind, questing, searching. He thought everyone did it. That was what woke him up to the fact that eventually led him to the Aviary. <br /><br /> He found the place right away by following a hit he had made on someone near the house who did not know they were made. It took him a while to find out what the place was, but it all cascaded at once eventually. A lot became clear all at once. That was about the time things started breaking up between Cassie and him, he was getting mauled with Aviary energy weapons, The Aviary had grown into some kind of malignant command post since 911, the entire population was being “Managed”, their perceptions and other aspects of their lives were being “Handled”. Subconscious stuff, no one really saw it for a long time. Fusion centers, some of these places were called. Many TVs had cameras built right in so cable allowed in house spying by law enforcement. People thought they were watching TV, it was watching THEM.<br /><br /> Michael was on a program of being pumped up with energy at this particular time, he was hit by multiple stalkers and modes as often as possible. Many people were undergoing this predation. Cold War Stasi stuff with techno twists. One morning during that time he became alarmed to see his right pupil larger than the pupil in his left eye. When he grabbed doorknobs or went to to touch any metal, long bright sparks jumped unbelievable distances from his hand to the object. There was a lot of general pain. He was still a little ways away from figuring out the sugar connection.<br /><br /> Cassie and Michael had lived together for 10 years, it was 2008 and they were doing pretty well financially, though their health was suffering, and nothing seemed right. They did not know why but sensed change was in order. Michael had looked into many things, he knew a lot now, and was learning more all the time. <br /><br /> Cassie was put up across town for awhile, in a basement apartment which he enjoyed visiting when he could, because of Cassie, and because a lot of the electronic pressure stopped down there in the subterranean places. Mass tended to block electronic smog and direct fields or beams, even active auroral stuff. Some mass worked better than others, metal screen and metal plate was good, reinforced concrete; future blocking will be panels of circuitry which react with any incoming electronic field, and simulate a perfect background, melding with everything around it, reflecting the same readings as the local materials, creating invisibility to most sensors.<br /><br /> A main point of chipping people is so they can be tuned in, attacked in a crowd, perfect identification and targeting. Picked out. Satellites, active auroral, handheld, drive by, drones, any aircraft are easily outfitted with electronic weaponry. One 2 star General lamented that they already have unlimited power, since the 80s, because of ram attributes during flight, just not the technology to cool the operation yet. Burns itself right up.<br /><br /> Cassies body had been doing funny things too, after they split up a lot of the symptoms disappeared for both of them, but only Michael knew what was happening. He made it known to her, graphically -- she was his other half for real -- but he eased her into it. A lot of what the government is doing, and why, is hard to understand. Basically its a reinstitution of royalty across the entire world, and America is certainly a special case. America was created to abolish royalty, if possible.<br /><br /> Michael unleashed his mind on the internet and quickly located a lot of information, even about The Aviary. He had begun by searching addresses near the building he had tailed the person to. <br /><br /> Ah, The Aviary. John Alexanders rogue outfit, Gods own little programmers of evolution. He put it together that The Aviary was where he had driven that day following the clown who did not know he was followed. He didn't even have to return there to find it, knew right where it was.<br /><br /> He concentrated on developing his own personal invisibility. He never realized it but when he was in that mode of concentration, he truly went invisible to peoples eyes, although cameras picked him up. He was worried about the cameras anyway, so he never knew about his personal invisibility among people, or not for a long time. It didn’t come up much, and he just worked on avoiding cameras, or even possible cameras. It was not easy. They are everywhere in the city. Hooded jackets and ball caps and strategic use of lighting in different modes kept him busy for a week or so. He then gained a type of machine invisibility, which was actually more valuable than his true invisibility which he didn’t know about anyway.<br /><br /> He needed a weapon. A weapon would do it. They would not expect a weapon. Especially like the one he was thinking of. He could get away then. He and Cassie, out west, then Mexico maybe. It was his need which called forth the weapon, but he was only just beginning to see these things, and the need took precedence, his single minded preoccupation with satisfying the need. <br /><br /> This caused him to observe reality differently, but it was not different to him, it was just what he knew. Its how the mind interfaces with the overmind. That's what Professor of Death John Alexander would say. John Alexander happened to be there on the day when Michael erased his personal file at The Aviary, and everything attached to it. John Alexander was not among the survivors because there were no survivors. All were translated from their biological aspect to....to somewhere else.<br /><br /> Michael instinctively knew that if odd powers were to manifest from anywhere near him, Flipper missiles and the like, alarms would go off quickly. He had to be devious. Cunning. Quick. <br /><br /> He put the house up for sale. He had to decline a first offer because he still needed time in the house for certain projects, and to pack everything.<br /><br /> Michaels first test was rudimentary, at night out near the marble mine, with a pipe and a vise and a hammer, with handmade corundum and optical quartz parts, hand silvered with polished silver dime blanks, and one lens was even gold foiled right before the firing. Striking the plunger with the hammer caused a whitish red bolt of light to silently flash out, into the rock of the cliff, and less than a second later burned out at the top of said cliff on its other side, and was then gone into space. The experiment was good. Better yet, he had lost his tail on the way here and no one saw this happen. His luck was holding out. His next test would be the final one, then it was time to erase his Aviary file.<br /><br /> He had contacted a buddy online, who he’d corresponded with for a long time, they met on an artificial intelligence chat board, which was even before ebay. They arranged a meetup for coffee, Michael needed some information. Ended up, the guy could talk the horns off a goat, and Michael soaked it up for some hours, buying lunch, then eventually shaking the dude loose over by that old house on the cliff, the one they used to make the serial Dark Shadows programs in.<br /><br /> With a quick thanks and a 50 dollar handshake, Michael turned on the pathway and went back the way he had come. Real spook stuff he thought. It took his buddy a minute to realize he was being ditched, but he had enjoyed their visit, especially the 50 bucks. He would contact Michael later on email. <br /><br /> The talker had told Michael what he needed to know and Michael had only to lead him in a direction and get out of the way, the dude was like atomic powered chattery teeth, but worthy goods, needed info. <br /><br /> He learned of the real directed energy stuff, The Radiant Arsenal, and Psychotronic Golgotha, a book by a Russian, N. Anismov from the Nineteen TWENTIES. And the military chippings, and also the governments seemingly peculiar affinity for orphanages. He had two or three other books to look up, Jim Keiths Mind Control World Control, and Black Helicopters Over America.....also Jerry Smiths book on HAARP, supposedly the best info on the active auroral technologies, high quality. And it was time to move on the weapon as well.<br /><br /> The biggest heartburn to building his weapon was timing. The actual bolt of energy was highly coherent light released in a burst as the lenses were destructively ignited, kind of like a Lucifer match reaction but a lot better; the bolt had to be directed with great care. He created a large sized pistol, a laser bolt cannon, with four chambers, it could hold four charges. The screw type action as the charge behind the first lens was blown caused it to spin violently into the lens in front of it, both silvered one side each at around 70%, opposing. This set up maximum resonance before lasing, while also taking into consideration the frosting and its effect at the boundary of corundum and polished optical quartz parts. Instead of a chemical ignition initiated by friction, as in a Lucifer match, this friction supplies the needed burst of light which can efficiently, or even over-efficiently harvest raw energy from the crystalline structure of the corundum lens. <br /><br /> The gun was mounted on a small but stable tripod. A horizontal traverse was programmed into the tripod workings, which was really the hardest part. One traverse per bolt, forward backward forward backward with no time in between each. The little tripod and the laser gun it held fit in a Samsonite with the controls. <br /><br /> The upward movements as the traverse alternated, the gaining in altitude of the next shot, was also programmed in. The point was this: a single bolt of energy straight through the building might not even get noticed, but any sideways movement would be a cutting action for as long as the bolt fired. If all shots fired at 12 inch altitude intervals, with the first at 12” and the last at 48” and two in between at 24” and 36 “ across 2 or 3 seconds each, why, the entire building would probably fall right in on itself and implode.<br /><br /> Which is pretty much how it happened. The caps of the lenses being electronically ignited to make each laser bolt were the only sounds, like firecrackers. Pop pop pop pop. Just like that. The twisting of the tripod had a metal machine sound, but he was the only one close enough to hear that. <br /><br /> The area was mercifully clear of passers by, Michael had set up a barrier around the building with his mind, though he did not realize it. Just as he did not realize he was literally invisible to any passers by, he did not realize that there were none because anyone coming near felt the barrier, they avoided the barrier. Mind Things. <br /><br /> The cameras on the building had all been identified and he was out of their sight. He was set up in an alley, partially blocked from view by a dumpster, it took less than 10 seconds. <br /><br /> He heard guttural cries and hoarse screams from within, because he was listening for them, lil birdies getting they feets cut off, then cutoff at they knees, then...all the lil birdies in The Aviary gonna gonna gonna be hummin’birdies oh yeahhhhhh...it was truly an Elvis moment, may he rest in peace. <br /><br /> The building sandwiched down, sliding forward slightly as it imploded. This demolition was less symmetric than the buildings on 911, but a lot cheaper. Here at The Aviary gas lines were spewing pressurized explosive juice high up into the air, and electricity was arcing out in large sparks seemingly everywhere...there....the first fire....the small briefcase was already packed.<br /><br /> He walked away. No one saw a thing.<br /><br /> It boils down, in this world of natural forces, to what can you do? And will you do it when the time comes? And will it work?<br /><br /><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><br /> She told him on the way to New Mexico she had contracted a weird kind of cancer, it was eating up some of her organs, they said, the doctors said, she didn't have long to live. Michael was horrified. Oh Babe Oh Babe. He held her hand. <br /><br /> “Get ready for some special smoothies,” he told her. No more processed sugar for either of them now. It appeared to him that a lot of things that ate people were actually eating the sugar in people. And in America sugar is rife. It is hard to go no sugar in America. One really has to try. <br /><br /> He wanted to get to a place and work, get something done about this, read. Make the water, first and foremost. Find the program to make the clean water into a specific for anti-aging, would amniotic fluid program the water? No doubt but what would be the outcome? Would known homeopathic remedies program clean water in useful ways? Shots to the human program...stronger treatments? How will the body respond over time to these shots of clean water, new water, will there be a residual programming effect? Will uniform order be introduced with these shots of information in the bodies own programming language?<br /><br /> One thing was certain: his need was tangible.<br /><br /> Michael was betting on certain plants, combinations maybe, and fungi, a true pharmacopeia available to program clean water and create a new programming, a program of regeneration. Reishi mushroom resets the bodies internal measuring system he knew, he had used it many times. Learned of it in the PI, during the time of hangover cures, during the birth of smoothies. “The water will have no other information within it, except for what is put in it by me”, he thought. Whatever it touches will imbue it with information. He remembered jade then, he needed to make some jade vessels for storing the clean water. He could not remember where he heard or read that, but he remembered it was important. <br /><br /> He needed to get with Mullet over there in Thonotosassa, woodworker, cue maker, dog lover, and all around anti-cancer dude from hell, another internet contact. <br /><br /> Michael and Cassie were two days from destination, some land they wanted to look at between Lordsburg and Silver City. There was a place for sale when they got there, recently vacated, they paid cash and owned it. The water was good. Michael let it be known his wife was convalescing, and they were allowed to keep to themselves for the most part. The neighbors were not many and they had their own lives to attend to. The view towards California was awesome, and to the north was nothing but wild open Indian country. Lordsburg lay down below, at the bottom of the mountain, and had three entrance/exits for I-10 along its short length. A triple money sieve. Like a giant gold drywasher.<br /><br /> Up the road north of them was White Signal, and above that was part of the gargantuan Santa Rita Copper Mine, then Silver City, Cliff, all the way to Gallup and the Navajo and Zuni Reservations.<br /><br /> Michael set up his computer, a new laptop, and had most of his information on two large thumb drives from his old set up which had been shredded. He’d watched it happen. He was very security conscious now and did not like to go on the internet from the house. There was a lot of signal in town, and a cheap laptop from ebay was dedicated to the truck, to be used to grab info from wireless networks on the fly; the home computer was not even capable of wireless. It was double metal shielded. <br /><br /> Michael tracked down a decent used Sea Container for a Subterranean office and workshop with controlled air in and out, part would be a clean room. He ordered the best Chinese Jewelers Torch he could find, the Chinese use Browns Gas in their navy, and were the only real developers of the technology at this point. George Wiseman from the internet put him onto the group, Fed Ex would bring it when it arrived. <br /><br /> Michael found some local work at small airfields for cash, he, like many people in the west, preferred to remain as anonymous as possible where the government was concerned. He washed small aircraft for a fee, and helped twice a week at tri-county when a small feeder plane for several air freight carriers dropped loads to the local contract carrier. He knew all the paperwork procedures for all air cargo, even hazmat, that made him valuable in some instances. He also knew a shortcut to the airfield which saved about 20 miles one way, 40 miles roundtrip, and though the road was not paved it was pretty decent. <br /><br /> Cassie liked the west a lot, the climate suited them both as they headed away from thirty something toward the big four oh. 40. Another world altogether. The second life. In the old days most people died before that time, so it truly was the second of maybe four lives enjoyed by modern people, except the last one kind of sucks because you become a frail piece of withered thing always in pain. The winter of life. Worse than basic training. Mankind has all its wars and intrigues and money circus, but does not have the ability to fight real problems.<br /><br /> They were getting their diet right, which is what its all about really, with no processed sugar whatsoever, and she was on a regimen of Bloodroot capsules. Very strong anti-cancer material. Sanguinaria canidensis. Balm of Gilead. Has been known for a long long time. And chaparrel grew wild on their 5 acres. They both drank it in fresh tea at least twice a week, it was nice once you developed a taste for it. She was gaining weight and looking more full of vitality than he had seen her in a long time. <br /><br /> Michael knew he was getting his elixir, when his hair started darkening on its own, losing the little grey that had been developing, and his teeth were doing funny things, getting stronger. Somehow regenerating. He lost two fillings but there was no pain, and the teeth grew right over the cavities and took their full form as perfect normal dentition. Quickly too. He felt more lithe, coordinated. A high order engine of force within nature. There were other things, balance. He was achieving the satisfaction of his need. <br /><br /> This didn’t mean he couldn’t get smashed dead by a mac truck or an airplane, or get it in the head by a meteor. It just meant that he would stay young in body forever, until something happened to violently wrench him away, and there was a lot he could do to safeguard against that happening. And to prepare for that happening if it came. Quality living time is wealth. He was now the wealthiest person in the world. <br /><br /> He brought the smoothie to where she sat on the couch with her legs pulled up under her, looking out the picture window down the mountainside at the fireball of the setting sun. It was plain yogurt and banana and cream smoothly blended with a dose of his regeneration elixir. Delightful. <br /><br /> “Drink up Babe, a new smoothie, just for you”, he said. <br /><br /> “What are you calling this one then?” she looked up at him slyly, sipping. “MMMMmmmm...good”, licking her lips.<br /><br /> The setting sun made everything orange and red and brown and yellow, except for the sky, which was deep blue, like fine Apache turquoise. Twinkling. <br /><br /> “This one, my beloved, I call Gob Smoothie. Its just for us, I’ll show you how later.”<br /><br /> He bent and kissed her. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />fin<br /></span></b></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span>luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-62511018748723001452015-07-30T11:38:00.003-07:002021-06-05T19:27:30.710-07:00Revenant Dune<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /><br />Revenant Dune<br />By Bill Gallagher<br />Hachita NM July 2015<br />7840 Words<br /><br /><br /><br /> The human mind is a resonator. It responds to resonance in its environment. This is why mind enhancing techniques and technologies are always indelibly colored by the fallibility of those who employ them. There can be uniformity in training, but there is precious little uniformity among individual perceptions resonating under all possible circumstances. <br /> Purposeful augmentation of the resonating mind always begins with an extension of memory. Sufficiently extended memory allows an adept to instantaneously project their awareness across many seemingly parallel lines of causality, creating fanned sheafs of possible consequences in calculated form. Patterns emerge. There is order. Sufficient memory allows a surplus of languages as well, unlike the days before the Butlerian Jihad, when people who knew four or five languages were considered gifted. It was their natural inclination of interest, and a larger than normal conscious memory. When memory is nurtured and trained it is not difficult to manage languages by the dozens, even the ancient tongues. <br /> Subconscious Projection, Projecting Forward with automatic calculation, is also a natural function of the resonating mind, often honed to finer points of awareness when acknowledged and employed as another human sense. This looking forward that the unaware mind involves itself in is a natural involuntary response to the macro-environment by the resonating mind, and it occurs pure, during the time when few other inputs are experienced, when we sleep. <br /> Sleep Projections are built-in mental enhancements of the resonating mind. They seem to be plotting out the best possible survival path for an identity, an Id-Entity, once the days inputs have been reviewed and sorted, inputs being the events of our lives. There are also higher order factors involved, transcending time, geography and more, informing a dreamer, even of things they have never physically beheld. Is the power behind Deja Vu harnessed by the truly prescient in a sustained and orderly manner? Consciously? Do they who stand witness to the possibilities of the moment have a greater view of the natural projecting force of the mind? Deja Vu, a shared racial attribute, is just a small glimmer of the power at work among us. <br /> A truly prescient seer seems somehow able to consciously utilize the hyper-aware projection mechanism of the resonating mind which is normally relegated to the unconscious. Even mentats touch upon some of these projection possibilities to arrive at their multi-level computations. When genetic memories become accessible, prescience may possess truly awesome scope, encompassing actual Creation of a collective future for a period of time.<br /><br />Bene Gesserit Jessica Nerus Harkonnen, Mother of Muad'dib <br />Year 9 of the God Emperor Leto Atreides II<br />Before the first Fish Speaker Council of War<br /><br /><br /><br /> The boys name was Leto. He was 11 years old. Silently, and with very little movement, he plied his muscles and nerves with the regimen of Prana Bindu exercises specially formulated to help this new body grow to its potential. He’d created his personal PB regimen as soon as it became practical, when he was about 5 years old. Modifications had already been made, upgrades; those would be frequent and never ending, he supposed. He was exercising to clear his mind in preparation for a real test of his desert. He would call a worm, and ride it on his own for the first time today. His mother Sheeana, along with Duncan Idaho and some of their friends waited nearby, observing, to provide useful commentary after the fact perhaps. <br /><br /> His full name was Leto Atreides II. The God Emperor of that same name was long dead. This body belonged to a human boy who’d existed before that great sacrifice. Born again he was not afraid. In fact he was in love. He loved his humanity, his life; he loved his mother, he loved the planet and everything about it. The Golden Path indeed. He had never seen any of this, in all his projecting forward during that ancient life as the God Emperor of Dune, and it was even sweeter because of that. He was no longer consciously prescient, in the strictest sense. That was something everyone had fairly well moved beyond. He had seen to it.<br /><br /> Leto stood on the crest of a large sand dune, first in a series of large dunes rippling their way like brown waves across a flattening rock outcrop. He was listening with great care to the sounds of early evening descend upon his desert. The wind spoke in words all its own, whistling through cracks and crevasses, chattering sand against strewn boulders. Dust vortices fluttered nearby. A desert hawk screed shrill from way way out on the bled. <br /><br /> Inhaling deeply through his nose produced muted smells of flint dust and cinammon, with an underlying tang of sweet creosote off a spindly greasewood growing from a crack in the rocks. He opened his eyes. The only bare skin that showed from beneath the robed stillsuit and sand boots he wore in his desert was the strip of face across his eyes. He had goggles for situations of necessity, but preferred to leave his eyes uncovered. Like most people of this time, Letos eyes were opaque blue, evidence of his Melange Symbiosis, a symbiosis he had been born with. A rare chemical in the worm spice Melange turns the tissue of eyeballs a dark opaque blue, the entire orbs, both of them.<br /><br /> Thinking about that caused his fathers memories to stir in his mind: Paul Maud'dib Atreides found the terminology humorous. Back in the Dune days, when the longevity drug worm spice Melange had been the scarcest consumable in the known universe, any use was called addiction. Now, with plenitude everywhere, use was called by its real name: Symbiosis. Lifespans of 500 to 1000 years were normal; just blips still, across the vastness of the realized cosm, but longer, more beautiful blips. <br /><br /> Spice was in everything. There were no shortages anywhere. Before their demise, the Tleilaxu had developed artificial spice in their axlotl tank and long tons now cost less than a briefcase full in the old Dune days. To top it off, The Guild and Ix had developed automatic devices to navigate the multiverse, no longer needing stockpiled spice to insure their navigators performance in space. These devices, the No-ships, were undetectable, even to prescient seers, like the old Guild Steersmen kept around in case they were needed, and for services rendered. The No-ships were quite literally No Areas, totally masked space within the continuum, fields which sensed the surrounding radiation and reproduced it perfectly, a type of electrical mimicry. They even possessed visual invisibility fields if necessary. <br /><br /> Well, thought Leto, surprises are miracles, and fortune passes everywhere. He felt exhilarated. This most assuredly was His desert. The whole planet was his, really. Like so many other human planets in this far away time, nearly all of it was one great expanse of waterless sand. Water was tightly managed on modern Desert Planets, used for human micro-climates only, because almost all known Desert Planets served as habitats for the giant sandworms called Shai-Hulud, who were, in a very real way, all directly descended from Leto Atreides II.<br /><br /> The giant sandworms, the creators of the Spice Melange, had initially been discovered on the Planet Dune, and were never successfully introduced to other planets. The spice allowed the early Spacing Guild to operate, and it was a large part of Bene Gesserit existence too. The Melange Spice prolonged human life in direct proportion to the amounts used. A true longevity substance. It also produced heightened states of awareness in concentrated forms among females, allowing initiates to experience their past lives in total, and to pass on their memories to other adepts. The Melange Spice of Arrakis had been the actual moving force behind the Bene Gesserit Evolution from sorcery to religious manipulators. Spice had been the coinage of the empire, it ran the economies of all the known worlds for many centuries. The native people of planet Dune, the Fremen, existed as desert specialists who used the giant sandworms for their main transportation. The Fremen used the spice in great quantities for a large number of things in their daily lives, and as money to trade off-planet.<br /><br /> Because of water forcibly added to their environment on Dune, the sandworms met extinction except for one surviving worm, the God Emperor Leto Atreides II. When Leto went back into the sand at the end of his 3500 year sacrifice, at the end of his first life, the Sandworms which emerged each carried a pearl of his awareness inside, and they were hardier as a species, monstrously semi-sentient. Those worms were being spread far and wide. Where ever they were introduced they caused a planetary metamorphosis to Desert with seeming relish, creating the environment they needed to live. Creating Spice. Energies of planetary scale were unleashed as the sandworms went about their purpose of sequestering all moisture in desert-creating desiccation. As this process matured the physical exhalations of the sandworm bodies contributed to the chain of events from whence the geriatric Spice Melange derived.<br /><br /> The known origin of the giant sandworms, the planet Dune, also called Arrakis, and finally Rakis, was no more, annihilated in a rage by people returned from The Scattering. Prior to its destruction some planetologists, including Liet Kynes, Imperial Planetologist of Dune when the Atreides arrived, believed that the worms did not evolve on Arrakis, but had been imported there sometime in the distant past, long before humans discovered the planet. Pan, graben, and sink had variously shown evidence of lakes, rivers, and oceans existing on the planet before introduction of the giant sandworms.<br /><br /> The planet where Letos body lived now had been named Revenant, by Sheeana, his mother, and it had two moons as had her home planet of Rakis. Revenant was the planet of his most recent birth then, his second human birth, into an age almost 5 millenia after the death of the God Emperor Leto Atreides II, his first self. The God Emperor Leto Atreides II had been delivered from his 3500 year agony by being thrown off a large bridge into the Idaho river on Dune/Rakis, which he had created during his reign of mastery on that planet, and of the known universe. Upon immersion his gigantic segmented pre-worm body discorporated violently in a paroxysm of pain and interspecies reproduction, becoming the new Sandworms. The never ending and ever growing pearl of awareness, Letos dream, possessed all sand worms from then on. <br /><br /> This new Leto had been grown from cells out of a worm introduced here on Revenant by his Mother and Duncan Idaho, after their flight in a truly giant No-ship from the Bene Gesserit Chapterhouse Planet. They’d been escaping super-violent Honored Matre Fighting Women returned from The Scattering. The mass migrations of The Scattering were a turning point in human history, occurring directly after the death of the God Emperor on Dune, and continuing there ever after. <br /><br /> It had taken Duncan Idaho a year just to pinpoint where he and Sheanna and their group had ended up in space after fleeing Chapterhouse Dune. This gave them time to find a suitable planet to introduce their worms and begin a new desert world. It was hoped that the location of Revenant Dune would remain a secret for a long time, but cosmic interaction was more prevalent than it had ever been before, because of The Scattering, and because modern No-ships ranged in size from very small individual craft, up to and including Heighliners.<br /><br /> Letos human resurrection was partially accomplished with advanced Tleilaxu technology possessed by the captive Tleilaxu Master Scytale, an ancient Identity who had been at the forefront of Tleilaxu ghola restoration technology when it was initially discovered by Duncan Idaho that ghola memories could be restored. After this, the restoration of memories in tank-grown bodies became a true form of immortality among a very small Tleilaxu elite. <br /><br /> It was said Duncan Idaho had full memories of all his lives; all the hundreds of lives he had served the Atreides, after his first death fighting Imperial Sardaukar troops to save Paul and his mother Jessica during their flight to the Fremen. These memories were not ancestral, but of his actual lifetimes. He even remembered the deaths. The memories had been returned to his consciousness in an unexplained way during a situation of extreme stress precipitated by reproductive interaction with a returned Honored Matre from The Scattering named Murbella, member of the quasi-religious order of fighting women who use sexual amplifications to enslave men. It was at this time when Duncan Idaho also began receiving intermittent mental transmissions involving rare knowledge, and “visits” with an older man and his wife who lived on their farm somewhere out in The Scattering. <br /><br /> The memories of the Tleilaxu Master Scytale were almost as old as Duncan Idaho, over 8000 years old; Scytales body had been rebuilt as a ghola too, with full memories restored whenever needed. There were times when Scytales body could not be retrieved with final memories intact though, after violence, say. Then a new ghola body was built from the cells deposited just before the deadly event. That happenstance made it necessary for him to study his own death in detail eventually, even recordings of it if possible, to bring himself up to speed about his own personal history. As far as Scytales present body was concerned, it was young, less than a century old, and if allowed to accomplish his aims on Revenant, it would remain so. Scytale was a physical recording, the repository of conscious memories spanning millenia. He also had the entire knowledge of the Bene Tleilax deposited as implants and cellular code all over his body; these technologic tools he used to bargain for his life. An ongoing thing. People still feared and disliked the dirty Tleilaxu.<br /><br /> When a full human matrix code had been discovered in worm tissue with something Duncan had invented, there was only one person it could possibly be. Apparently the full human genetic code for Leto, up to and including the day of his first death, had been preserved in the worms he became. That was all of them, of course. <br /><br /> Reconstructed embryonically, Leto was carried as a human baby by Sheeana, his second mother. During Letos second human gestation he gained self awareness at 7 months, in full possession of his ultra-extensive ancestral memories, and all the memories of his 3500 year Tyranny of Predation (His own words), The Golden Path, a great whipping of the race into something that would be able to appreciate real wealth someday. The wealth of being alive.<br /><br /> Leto out of Sheeana had been born one month premature, but healthy none the less. His ancestral memories were of a different tone now, somehow he had gained total control of those memories, there was no fighting for ascendence, no constant inner clamor, as there had been when he was born fully aware the first time. No Abomination. <br /><br /> Letos first mother had been Chani, the Fremen mate of his father the young Duke Paul Atreides of the Royal House Atreides. The Atreides went native on Arrakis, and Paul became the long awaited Fremen Messiah, this after losing his father and the original Duncan Idaho to royal intrigue and connivance, machinated by the Emperor and his Sardaukar troops, alongwith Royal House Harkonnen of Geidi Prime. The first child of Paul Maud'dib and Chani was killed during this upheaval, in a surprise Sardaukar raid on the sietch where the baby boy had been hidden. More intrigue followed the second pregnancy of Chani, including clandestine administration of birth control drugs in her diet, which caused many complications in the pregnancy.<br /> <br /> With the Fremen as a hardened fighting force, Duke Paul Atreides conquered his opponents, the Emperor Shaddam IV and the obscene Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, which put him in possession of Planet Dune, only known source of the geriatric Spice Melange. Wealth beyond measure. Power. Emperor of the known universe. Paul Atreides was also the Fremen Mahdi, with the gift of prescient vision, who created the universe for a period of time through a Jihad explosively ignited by his Fremen legions.<br /> <br /> Maud'Dibs vision was carried on by his son Leto II as the Golden Path, the ultimate future vision incorporating full body symbiosis with the giant sandworm through its deep sand vectors the sand trout; to Leto the sandtrout became the skin which was not his own, giving him super physical powers, then eventually growing into the last sandworm over his human body, during a period exceeding 3500 years. <br /><br /> According to the God Emperor himself, the Golden Path had been necessary to avert a perceived and real extinction threat, Arafel, from Ixian created thinking machines, weapons to be created as automatic hunters. Those machines of that probable future would have been able to learn and would gain a true machine awareness once they self educated to a certain extent. The vision of The Golden Path and what it entailed had terrified Maud'Dib, driving him blindly into the desert hoping for death after Chani died giving birth the second time. <br /><br /> Overall, Letos vision of The Golden Path was a vision of Human Survival. The death of his empire created The Scattering, and afterwards, it was as he had seen and built: people everywhere and everywhen across space at such distances one could not traverse even a fraction of it in many life times. The Golden Path was most of all a vision of Racial Immortality.<br /><br /> “It is done,” Leto thought, “Old History now.”<br /><br /> Kralizec had come and gone. They had escaped Arafel. He was free.<br /><br /> Leto slid down the dune face, and began to dance in the sand. He had seen his mother do it, Sheeana had invented the Dancing of the Sandworms, and she’d taught her son since his rebirth. The dance was not a form of anything, it was a calling, a very distinct type of communication that no one really understood, not even him. Propitiation.<br /><br /> When he finished speaking with his dance, when he said to them what had to be said, and learned from them what there was to learn, in that transient vortex of movement, that field, he woke as if from a dream. Looking around the open sand he saw myriad worms had come to his dancing. Many. He walked to the closest one and grabbed the edge of one of its segments with his right hand. It shuddered throughout its entire length, then rolled quickly upward for a meter or two. By holding onto the edge of the segment while jumping, Leto became airborn, landing in perfect balance on the back of the worm. There was no more need to hold a ring open with maker hooks to keep the worm upright. He sat and patted it lovingly. This was some kind of telepathy. Communion at last. Waving to the assembled people in the rocks he and Shai-Hulud rode out into their desert.<br /><br /><br /><br /> ****************************<br /><br /><br /> The technologists of Ixian origin, along with Tleilaxu Masters, and some others, many times shun the sleep state as unnecessary, developing all manner of things to artificially prolong waking time. Sleep is important because it is a real human exchange; sleep state represents a large portion of normal consciousness, it is another realm of existence. To deprive the mind of sleep is to deprive the mind of many things.<br /><br />Fish Speaker Training Manual<br />Dar-es-Balat III<br />Revenant<br /><br /><br /><br /> “What do you think will happen?” It was Sheeana who spoke, waving back to the small figure sitting atop the giant worm. Little Leto going out to play. Things slid into the bizarre more and more lately. As if they had ever been normal, hah. <br /><br /> It was always hard for a mother to let go, she supposed, and Sheeana was, above all, Letos mother. She had carried him as a baby in her body, that was a primary experience. An immutable bond. And having a mother was one of the things Leto had missed in his first life, because Chani had died giving birth to him and his twin, his beloved sister Ghanima. Ghanima meant Spoil Of War in the old Fremen language. Leto was named for Muad’dibs father Leto I.<br /><br /> Duncan Idaho came up beside her. Both of their stillsuit hoods were pulled back, their heads were exposed. Loss of water was not an issue anywhere, anymore, except as it affected the worms, and exposed skin water loss did not. The orange sun was fading away below the horizon, highlighting dust in the air, a darker miasma above the surface proper.<br /><br /> He had never seen a worm do that before, hoist a rider willfully. Duncan found her hand and squeezed it lightly. They had been lovers since before their flight from Chapterhouse, and had remained dedicated lovers except for the period of Letos Human Gestation, which Duncan found rather creepy, overall. Anything having to do with the Tleilaxu filled him with trepidation, though for most of his lives he himself had been grown by the Tleilaxu and delivered to house Atreides as needed. <br /><br /> Duncan and Sheeana had abstained from intercourse during Letos 8 months in the womb, making them quite happy in the idea they would probably never have to abstain again. Their need was real and deep. She looked sideways at his craggy features, the karakul hair, shadow of a beard; his eyes were dark and totally blue, too. He still had not answered her question. She kissed his cheek. He smiled. Duncan was quite charming when he smiled. <br /><br /> Different world, Better world. <br /><br /> “I really do not know what will happen,” he said, “But it is sure to be new, and maybe even surprising. Who could ask for more?” He pulled her close as they watched Leto and the worms disappear on the horizon. The whole scenario was a good bit more than just passing odd. He opened his eyes wide and took it all in, for playback later. He kissed the top of her head, smoothing her blond streaked brown hair as it swirled about her oval face. Yes, Jessica was in there, and Siona too. He loved them all, though thoughts like these were some of what he forever hid within himself, for no other reason than his was an extremely unique situation, one that very few other people could even begin to perceive.<br /><br /> “I really do not know...” he continued, and let it run off into silence. He thought back to their arrival here, Revenant she had said, and Revenant it became. Of the many surprises that had since occurred, the rebirth of Leto Atreides II was the most surprising of all, so far. Now was the next step, to see where it would go from here. There was no doubt among any of them, having read what was left behind by the God Emperor, that Leto had mourned his lost humanity after accepting the skin which was not his own. For the entirety of his symbiosis. He did it because it empowered him to create the Golden Path, the vision his father Paul Muad’dib could not sanely commit himself to, the vision of The Scattering, and then this. The Golden Path.<br /><br /> When they left Chapterhouse it was by blind jump in a No-Ship. The plan had been to go somewhere very far away, without being traced. This was not too hard to do. When the No-Ship popped out of hyperspace even Duncan Idaho could not tell where they were. It took quite a lot of time and some help to figure that out , actually. After orienting the No-Ship in space came the process of locating a planet. This planet Revenant not only had two moons (A prime requisite!) but large ready-made desert areas for the introduction of their sand worms. <br /><br /> Duncan Idaho then became immersed in many Other Functions, including but not limited to weapons master, farm animal husbandman, spice collector, orchardman, baker, general maintenance person, librarian archivist, and in there somewhere he’d acquired a beat up old baliset to play around with, too. <br /><br /> As well, Duncan was learning a type of control over his reception of information from realms unknown, from the spatial net he had somehow accessed. He felt it was some kind of communication device The Scattering Tleilaxu had developed, or learned about, something with no time lag, something in real time, a cosmic system. That net was a huge information source based on what seemed to be perfect knowledge. It was that information source which led him to find his way in space after their blind jump from Chapterhouse in the No-ship. It was there he learned to develop the molecular viewing device leading to the discovery of Letos cellular pattern in the Sandworms flesh. Idaho seemed to have some influence on what kind of information was revealed to his consciousness now, and he was getting better at doing it. At least it did not take him all unaware, as it had in the beginning. <br /><br /> He fretted that his access of this net could be used to locate him. He did not feel that was happening, though; instead he was just a point in some kind of grid, accessing total information flow as one of the old computers might have. The information would reel out in his mind, upon his vision centers, in text he understood, with diagrams, and actual photographs a lot of times. It was like being in an electronic network with his mind. For the most part he kept this information to himself. If something he knew pertained, it was shared. Otherwise he did not elaborate on what he was observing.<br /><br /> He had not seen the man and his wife on their farm since leaving Chapterhouse in the No-Ship. 43 years ago. He remembered the woman saying something about having a planet picked out for them.<br /><br /> Some of the others in their party wandered over. More than a few carried drinks. Planetside there was a fairly large contingent of Reverand Mothers and others of entourage who’d opted to leave Chapterhouse. A good number of male soldiers and other males in the service of the Bene Gesserit were part of the escape too; there were perhaps 12 thousand people on the planet. The No-Ship was very large indeed. Carefully, carefully, some necessary contacts had been made off planet, and Revenant also had become sanctuary for known Bene Gesserit refugees of Chapterhouse Dune. Some of the people had left Revenant as well. Miles Teg had departed long before Leto II had been born, as well as the Rabbi and his group. Secrecy had become even more entrenched among all involved, now that Honored Matres occupied the Bene Gesserit Chapterhouse Planet. <br /><br /> Chapterhouse Dune was far along in its transformation though, over 100 years along. It had been an ocean world, and was quite a feat for the Sandworms, taking them longer to convert into desert than on a world with well established deserts already in place, such as this planet Revenant . The process was inexorable though, and once started it moved along at ever increasing pace. Chapterhouse had become Chapterhouse Dune, and the Honored Matre hordes which had invaded most certainly had their hands full, as they underwent the slow but unrelenting process which would convert them to Bene Gesserit sisters before they even realized that was happening.<br /><br /> **************************************<br /><br /><br />Our minds and bodies are resonators and recorders. Our spines are antennae within planetary fields! Biological organisms of higher order are really just wet leather sacks of conducting jelly, formed with stones for bones and elastic musculature; forever awakening. Everything alive on a planet is one with everything else alive there, always. There are connections. The purposeful amplification of planetary fields by Giant sandworm activity was never considered to be an engineered affect. To what purpose? people would ask. Well, people found out.<br /><br />Dangr Troths, Master Stone Mason<br />Chapter House Dune<br />143 years ASI (After Sandworm Introduction)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> The course of the worms wound outward for a good many kilometers. There was obviously a certain destination in mind. Night had fallen, and first moon was nearly set, a thin crescent of paleness going away. The dark night sky was strewn through with thousands of tiny lights, white holes, far away suns, like pinpricks in a giant black velvet drape. And on the other side of the cloth....on the other side was light.<br /><br /> Just as night fell Leto noticed a great mother of a spiceblow to the west of himself, and made a mental note of it. They had traversed 12 Kilometers outward according to his estimates. These worms were fast, and the chemical exhalations of their movement across the sand, caused by high power friction, was a true marvel of energy dissipation, energy redirection. There was always oxygen being expelled by the worms, but especially during faster movement, where literal tons of pure Oxygen was produced. <br /><br /> In the Dune days it was the one thing no one wanted to see, the flames inside a worm, because it could mean only one thing, death was nigh. In latter times, since the worms had become descended from the God Emperor Leto Atreides II, many people have seen the fires inside a worms body, and lived to talk about it. Leto had felt that very real fire inside himself once, for a long long time. Shaitan.<br /><br /> The troop of worms began to slow, and he saw rising cliffs ahead, maybe volcanic buttes jutting off the floor of the desert. He stretched his body with perfect balance as his worm made for the buttes, or whatever the formations were. Second moon was rising behind the promontory, its early light momentarily casting the low eastern sky in a false silver dawn. Farther out to the right a giant dust storm drew upper level swirls and curlicues within the moonlit atmosphere. So perfect yet transient, thought Leto; a great flowing of concentrated energy exists as matter, with potential for conversion to all other forms of energy, anywhere, all along the way. <br /><br /> He would rest ahead, perhaps sleep, it was one of the things he enjoyed most at this time in his life, sleep. During his previous life, during that physical symbiosis with the sandworms, he never really slept at all, and it was there where he had truly learned about sleep, through the absence of it. There were things accomplished during sleep that could be accomplished in no other way, at no other time; mind things, health things, human things, he knew all this now, and he reveled in it, he celebrated. He felt wealthy beyond measure.<br /><br /> Presently the worms stopped. Leto jumped down, patting the worm as he walked to its front, then he climbed up into the rocks for a little way. A large boulder was still radiating the heat of the day and he leaned against its warmth. The worms were ranged out below him, some feeding, most resting, quiescent. Content, as was he. He sat down in the sand at the base of the rock, and leaned back into a dunelet, using it as his pillow, so he could look upward at the night sky. It was not long before he slept.<br /><br /> Leto dreamed of a cavern in rock, but not really a cavern, a giant building, something that had been built long long ago...built by...he could not see who built it, but they were not human. <br /><br /> So long ago. <br /><br /> There were shelves and rooms where bright lights lived, too bright, and things large and small appeared and disappeared in the lights. Food, and all kinds of other products. Even living things. Large windows were everywhere, alive with strangeness, patterns and colors that seemed somewhat familiar to him, but still defied understanding. He found himself in front of one of the windows and he recognized the symbols there, and the diagrams. Something about matter transference he thought. How odd. It was like reading a book, but the information scrolled so quickly he could not consciously register any of it. When it was done the panel switched to a scene where some sort of fractal art was being displayed; he looked across the brightly lighted room of his dream, and saw a photograph of Duncan Idaho flash across another screen, but only for an instant. <br /><br /> Leto woke from his sleep and felt totally refreshed. He wanted to explore the area. The worms had brought him here for some reason, and perhaps he could discern it. As he made his way up into the rocks he came upon what looked like large steps, but if they were steps they were for giants, and older than most minds could conceive. He took out his light and flashed it around. There was not much life out here in this part of the desert except for the sandworms, because there was very little water anywhere on Revenant Dune now, except in the human areas, and of course that encapsulated below by the little makers, the sandtrout.<br /><br /> He followed the giant steps upward, and came upon a cave open at both ends, but it was too angular for a cave. It was huge, large enough even for their No-ship, and that was saying much. Something caught his eye then, it was a window in the wall, but not a window, some sort of panel, obviously artificial, but old, so so old. It reminded him of his dream, and he wondered if he had been seeing ahead, and if so, why? What was this place? His flashlight picked out some symbols carved into a wall, though they were symbols neither he nor any of his ancestors had ever seen before. Then, he recognized one of the symbols. It sent a chill bolt right through him, a surprise of surprises, because there, artfully carved into the wall, was a perfect rendition of a giant sandworm.<br /><br /> “Gods Below, these cliffs are ruins!” he thought. And the worms had directed him here! They’d brought their human part here, right away. He had a fleeting glimpse of some possible other direction processes happening across reality, and felt alarmed by that thought. He would have to talk to Idaho about this immediately, bring him here. Leto continued to explore. <br /><br /> There were many rooms and shelves, and more window type panels too, like he had dreamed of. Dreams were one of the reasons he enjoyed sleeping: he could sense things and learn things and go places he had not been able to access through the stark and brutal vision at the birth of this Golden Path. Certainly dreaming was many times prescience, or even extrasensory perception, but without all the disruption and strife of Terrible Purpose among the Ancestral Memories. The control he had been able to garner over his ancestral memories since his rebirth as a human was a boon of fantastic value, he thought. A very old saying came to his mind then, a favorite of his Ghanima:<br /><br /> “Every day, every hour, sometimes every moment, brings change.”<br /><br /> This cliff/butte ruin complex was extensive. There were areas where huge mass was accumulated, for what reason Leto did not know. Greater than anything he had ever seen. Gigantic blocks of the material they built with lay strewn about, but some remained in place and these indicated edifice of gargantuan measure; he sensed high purpose too. He was still wondering about the carving of the Sandworm in the wall below when he saw the first blushes of sunrise to the east. He had spent a night alone in his desert for the first time in a long time, and what a night it was. He made his way down to the area where the worms had stopped, they were still there. A few stirred at his approach, and he walked to the closest one. Again he grabbed a segment edge and again he was hoisted up. He made it back to the No-ship in about an hour, just as the sun began to rise over the far horizon. <br /><br /><br /> *****************************************<br /><br /><br />“Staying up all night adds a day to your life.” <br />The Naib Stilgar, of Seitch Tabr, Dune; <br />To Duncan Idaho at his second death.<br /><br /><br />“Never doubt that there is Direction in your life. Most of it is unbeknownst, undetectable. Immediate direction comes from many outside places but originates within; people are directed by their needs, and their wants; sometimes they are even directed by transient forces in their environment representing versions of God, or the Monster. For the most part though, the direction of Us originates on the other side of the velvet curtain, at the light source manifest through the billions of pinprick holes in the sky of night. Hard lessons teach thoroughly and are never forgotton, because they are remembered by the flesh.”<br />The God Emperor Of Dune<br />Leto Atreides II<br />Conversations With Hwi Noree<br /><br /><br /> Sheeana gauged the size of the tower from where she stood, and thought it may have exceeded 5000 meters in height when it was new, before it had been eroded by this planet over a nearly unspeakable amount of time. Duncan had landed the 'thopter near the tower, and the airplane looked like a tiny insect against the immensity of the stonework. <br /><br /> The material these ancients built with had withstood every destructive mechanism in Duncan Idahos laboratory. Yet the etching and erosion of it here in these Cliff Butte Ruins by the wind and sand was monstrous, truly monstrous. Magnetic artifacts at the microscopic level indicated these ruins were abandoned back when this desert was very near the north pole of the planet. Huge crustal displacements must have taken place since then, but still these buildings survived. Duncan estimated they were over 100,000 years old, but qualified that by saying they could even be ten times that age.<br /><br /> Unspeakable time.<br /><br /> Duncan and Leto were off with their measuring instruments while she and some of her Bene Gesserit sisters detected the area in the ways they were trained, in search of minutiae. The minute things could add up to a better general picture someday, or even produce windfall realizations. The carvings on these walls had already been recorded for deciphering later, if that proved possible. It should. There, she thought, was where they would find an answer to this place, what it was, what purpose or purposes it served. <br /><br /> Who built it.<br /><br /> Leto had marched them all to the Giant Sandworm picture right away. It was truly beautiful and showed the creature with its front arched up, as if it was getting ready to dive deep into sand. The picture seemed laser cut into the wall, but could have been formed there in some other way. Unbelievably, their lasguns did not even warm this stone-like material, say nothing about etching it, so whatever was able to cut a picture here was a formidable thing indeed. <br /><br /> She continued to wander. In some ways she was reminded of the crypt where Leto II the God Emperor had secreted his gigantic hoard of spice, found on Rakis by Reverand Mother Darwi Odrade, after she was taken there by a worm just prior to the planets destruction. The God Emperor had used a lasgun on the inside of that crypt to leave his message to The Sisterhood. Cut into the wall in a flowing script, so that it would be seen first, had been this:<br /><br /> “A Reverand Mother will read my words”. <br /><br /> Now the planet where those words and so many more had been written in stone by the God Emperor himself was nothing but a dissipating dust cloud in space; some larger chunks of it would become asteroids and even comets for awhile, circling mindlessly to expend errant energies, eventually becoming entrained to new positions among the stars. For awhile, the planet Dune would exist only as an ethereal ring of debris in its old orbital track, before making its way downhill to the deeper well, into the white hole of the sun. Would pieces of the old Arrakeen shield wall be recognizable within that cloud of debris? Or pieces of Sietch Tabr? She doubted it. If the same fate overtook this planet, Sheeana was quite sure the blocks of these huge buildings would float through space in their same basic shape forever. <br /><br /> Sheeana looked over to the east again, where the giant tower still stood, most of it anyway, and saw her men making their way around an outcrop, heading her way. Leto spoke with great animation, Idahos look was of intense, even disturbed concentration. Duncan often looked like that, she thought. He was always thinking. <br /><br /> Idaho made a gesture with his free hand, a short chopping motion. He carried a piece of something that looked like a shard from one of the wall panel windows. Leto nodded, continued talking. Sheeana heard Leto say something about “Matter Transference” as they came closer. She walked over to them and listened openly. She wanted to know more about this “Matter Transference”. They stopped talking and looked her way. Smiling she walked to them across the rocks, stopping next to Leto. She put her arm around his shoulders and pulled him tight. He threw his arms around her waist and hugged back. Because he could. Because it felt good and right. This time was human time; he loved these people for what they were, for what their actions made them, for this chance they had given him.<br /><br /> Golden.<br /><br /> Path.<br /><br /> Duncan was in a high state of agitation from what they had discovered. He said: “Tell Sheeana about the dream”. A stray lock of black goat hair fell across his forehead, and he palmed it back without thinking, an Idaho mannerism spanning millenia! Leto smiled, and told his Mother about the dream: The shelves, the rooms, the bright bright lights and the panels on the walls.<br /> <br /> “ What was this I heard about “Matter Transference?”<br /><br /> Leto and Duncan shared a look. It was the look between them that said “No matter how much you love her, never think for an instant you can Ever get anything by her, because she sees and hears it all. She is a modern Reverand Mother, and she is the embodiment of a Goddess.”<br /><br /> “In my dream I found myself before one of the wall panels. I was able to recognize some of the symbols and diagrams, though it scrolled so fast I had not the time to consciously grasp anything. One term I saw and was able to register was that: Matter Transference. I am sure its all up here somewhere...” he tapped his head, unconscious imitation of another Idaho gesture, “but I have not been able to access it. Yet.” Again he and Idaho shared a glance. <br /><br /> Duncan said that it all smelled to high heaven of planetary field manipulation, and he also let go the bothersome idea that had been lodged in his mind like a shard of glass all morning. What if the worms were a tool of something? Created to condition an atmosphere, to create a certain environment? The spice just a by product of that process? And to what end? Were the giant sandworms here to create The Coriolis Storm? Were they here to dessicate, and to pump up the energy within the environment through direct transmission of high level chemical power at a very local level? Were the worms introduced to turn the whole crust of the planet into a more ordered layer of electricity within the immensity of the planets electronic field? Duncan stopped speaking . <br /><br /> It became an inward staring. More than a mentat trance, this was communication. From somewhere he could see Leto and Sheeana, they looked at him strangely, they were frozen and he realized that what he was experiencing now was occurring in hypertime, where literal hours could pass for him, in less than an eyeblink of time outside. If anyone knew about things like this it was Leto and Sheeana. They did not interfere while he marshalled it all together, it was a secondary computation close to prime. His mind calculated the amount of energy involved, factoring in the known figures about sandworms and their heat outputs. Truly huge amounts. <br /><br /> Pages played across his vision centers then, he was in the web! It might be this place, he thought, these ruins. This was a physical nexus, mass enough to house the powers necessary to utilize the planets field, and its molten core, as nearly infinite energy sources. And close at hand. Pictures of massive pyramids from thousands of different worlds flashed and scrolled across his awareness, and he began to understand. <br /><br /> Something disrupted the vision, it was like electronic static, white noise in his mind. Then he saw the old couple. The man was looking out a window of the large house. He addressed his wife who was weeding among the flowers in the front yard, “My my Marty, look who made it back!”<br /><br /> The old woman looked right at Duncan, piercingly, it seemed to him, then the man came out onto the front porch. “Do you see where he is Marty?” <br /><br /> “Yes, and how did he get there, I wonder?”<br /><br /> The man chuckled and came out onto the lawn. He looked up and spoke directly to Idaho: “This web is a web of suns, each star is capable of being an instantaneous communication device and matter transference engine. There are obvious engineering drawbacks being too close to a sun though. If a planets electrical field can be conditioned correctly it can be used as an energy source for this activity as well, a branch office of the sun, kind of. We Tleilaxu of The Scattering discovered this because we did the work. Your appearance in the web lets me know things are reaching a certain point of development, wouldn’t you say so Marty?” <br /><br /> His wife turned from her weeding, and her features seemed to drag behind her, blurring, snapping into place once her movement ceased. Her reply sounded like “He has something of ours” but it faded, unintelligible. Idaho knew this meant his connection time was just about up. The man came across the lawn, right at him, and said “Listen carefully my friend, the depot you have happened upon once belonged to the most powerful race in the cosmos, oxygen breathers too, but very different from ourselves; they are extinct. Only a few of their works have survived, like the ruins you are standing in right now, and the sandworms. Tell me, how many planets do the worms occupy in your universe at this time? Idaho could not speak but he found by thinking an answer they received it. Hundreds of Thousands, maybe millions. “And each one a depot in the making” the man said, though he too was fading fast. His last words sounded like “Build Quickly” and then they were gone again. Duncan was off the web.<br /> <br /> Sheeana and Leto still peered at him owlishly as he came forward to real time. He shook his head to clear it and the stray lock of hair fell again. He ignored it this time. Looking at both of them Duncan moved up to the other side of Sheeana. Taking her hand he said “Come, it is time to return to the Ship. We have work to do. <br /><br /><br /> **************************************<br /><br /><br /><br /> "Life Requires Dispute. Knowledge is an unending adventure at the edge of uncertainty! You've been made to know -- by ME -- that your reality differs from all others; thus, you know you're alive." <br /><br />Leto Atreides II<br />God Emperor Of Dune<br />To his last Major Domo, Moneo Atreides<br /><br /><br /><br /> They showered and changed from their desert robes and stillsuits into ships clothing; loose trousers and shirts, sandals. The first thing Duncan wanted to do was comparison readings on the planetary field. Right away he saw that certain aspects of the planetary fields power had increased dramatically since the introduction of the worms. Dramatically! Sheeana and Leto were present with overtly questioning attitudes. <br /><br /> Duncan Idaho felt the need to unburden himself. He began by describing the web he had been accessing. Sheeana possessed a rudimentary knowledge of it, Leto very little, if anything. Leto was immediately struck by the similarites to his dream about the ruins. He remembered the flash photo of Duncan Idaho appearing on one of the screens. <br /><br /> Idaho continued. He explained seeing the old couple again, and where they seemed to fit in. He brought forth their words and replayed them aloud in his own voice. Twice in fact. There was no deviation between the versions. Mentat Verbatim.<br /><br /> Leto wondered what the woman had meant by something of theirs. Was it the captive Tleilaxu Scytale? If not, what could people of The Scattering possibly know about anything here on this world? But the man had spoken with familiarity. <br /><br /> Do you see where he is Marty?<br /><br /> And his wife had answered in the affirmative, she knew the planet, or maybe they were just familiar with the types of buildings around a “Depot”. Was there manipulation happening? A feint within a feint within a feint? Was everyone being led somewhere?<br /><br /> Sheeana was struck by the implications of an undiscovered and relatively unexploited technology of super proportion and means. She reconsidered The Melange Symbiosis. The Bene Gesserit. <br /><br /> The God Emperor.<br /><br /> She peered over at Leto and he smiled broadly. With his black wavy hair, and the classic Atreides profile, Leto was becoming a very handsome healthy male, she thought with some pride. He was getting more muscular by the day and it would not be long before he was taller than Duncan or herself. Puberty had begun in him; the deepening of his voice just one of the more observable aspects. More than a few of the younger Reverand Mother acolytes already had him marked for education service in a few years time, she knew. She was sure he would cooperate with the women whole heartedly. <br /><br /> Interesting times, even though nothing was as it seemed anymore; there had been a major shift. Was it evolution? More frightening, was it Direction? Was It Both? <br /><br /> A young Reverand Mother knocked lightly, entered, handed Sheeana a notebook with a slight bow of her head, and left. The translations of the symbols carved into the walls at the Cliff Butte Ruins. Decipherment that fast meant they were made to be solved, they were mathematically based. What had the old man in Duncans recitation called it, a Depot?<br /><br /> The symbols were commands and directions for use of the equipment. Things like the worms picture were as they seemed; decoration, adornment, art. Idaho considered the last words of the old man during their meeting in hypertime: Build Quickly. The words filled him with foreboding. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Continued...<br /><br /><br />I am thankful I have lived long enough to get this done.<br />My Personal Tribute To Frank Herbert .<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></b></span>luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-50359850610810884672013-05-09T16:33:00.006-07:002021-06-20T18:01:23.661-07:00The Kitty System<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br />3500 Words<br />SciFi <br />Copyright Bill Gallagher <br />Hudson FL July 2011<br /><br /><br />There are many ways for a world to end. Many levels of destruction. The piles of ruin which are our continual failure lie all around us, everwhere and everywhen, unto this very day. To say a world ended is just a figure of speech, afterall. Something on the world might end, but worlds themselves, planets, hardly ever do. When people refer to the end of the world they are most likely referring to their world, along with a group of people on their world; a matrix of human emotion tied into the continual crisis of night, day, weeks, years. Human interaction and its drama. Saying the worlds ended has its positive side too, however bizarre that may be. First and foremost one has survived to talk about it. A close unavoidable second is not very positive, it is the realization that great change has taken place, things have been irrevocably altered. There is no going back. <br /><br />When a world ends the largest and most obvious infraction upon our sensibilities is the oh so regrettable loss of niceties for a while, perhaps forever, with even hygiene sacrificed at the altar of raw survival...that is the Negative side, the Loss, and it is big. Death everywhere. Stinx. Bad. Takes a long time to go away. <br /><br />Just as sure as carrion stench though are things that begin to happen which no one could see coming, because they are products of chaos. Certain forms fit here as if engineered and constructed for just this environment. Synergy can and does occur. <br /><br />From where you inhabit right now, it is a far far Earth. <br /><br />Engines of Magic rule the aspects of the planet better since the world ended. Things are smarter, it takes more thinking to survive. We know more now, hindsight and all that. All the building and falling down has been going on for a very long time indeed. And Earth is just the latest stage of humankinds devolution. That civilizations continue to grow and die here is just proof humans are the greatest reproducers ever. There is the rat, it is almost better, we will get to that momentarily. <br /><br />So far there is always backward drift in society, it has never reached anything of great consequence across 100,000 years or more. We know this now. It is taught to everyone from a young age. We are united in shame. It is the best we can do. Perhaps we can change things. Again. <br /><br />---------------------------------------------<br /><br />My crew and I are hunters. We hunt for a living. All of us are well trained, and have been at this since childhood. We are pest control, the best that ever was, which is to say we act in concert to eradicate animal pests, mostly rats and mice, without poisons, because poisons are bad in the long term. Poisons can end worlds. Live and learn. We work under contract to the vast shipping port authority of Ascent City; we get a flat fee in rice coupons, and bonuses for the meat of course, paid by the carcass, uncleaned, as is. It is sometimes hard to keep my partners from eating the meat, they almost always take the head for themselves, cheshire grins all around, they are little monsters. I love them all. I can afford the heads, its just a cost of doing business far as I am concerned, and the perfect incentive. Well, not as perfect as love, duh, but pretty good. Most of the time there is not a problem about the meat. <br /><br />I pick my crew up at their kennel nightly. I work 4 nights a week, 12 hour shifts, and the kitty pool generally runs anywhere from 50 to 60 animals, not counting baby kittens, nursing mothers, and hunters in training. I take four or five animals with me each night, and though I hunt with them all over time, I do have my favorites. The nester black named Panther, the old sire, is still the best at finding the nests and bringing out 5 or 6 newborns at a time, he smells them out, retrieves them, plays with them, kills them and signals me, not necessarily in that order. He is by far the most efficient of all the hunters, his target is primary, the nest, its what he was made to hunt. To kill. As he prowls he sings, half purr and half growl, it makes any nearby prey move about, he can hear them then. It is his terror tool. He is a highly specialized animal and he came that way. Fully equipped at birth. It is said the temple cats of Old Earth Thailand were this type. His ears are tufted.<br /><br />Because he is so efficient, Panther is one of the few cats who have been left fertile after the age of three. The breeding cats also hunt, and thats how they are selected to breed in fact, but most of the cats are surgically made infertile at the age of 3 if not sooner. They live longer, and when the sexual urges are channelled into the hunt, some more efficient things emerge. The joy of killing. This was discovered long ago. Long long ago.<br /><br />The hunters are hunters for their whole lives, and they love their lives, that becomes obvious immediately. It is the aura of feline health and it is beneficial to experience it. They are very well cared for, and they get to hunt with people like me almost every day, people who know them perhaps even better than they know themselves. Thats how systems are run, its just the way it is supposed to be. It was built to be this way. Win win means synergy. There were never any happier cats, and I make a good wage; the rest of the proceeds go to maintaining the kennel, nurturing our cats, creating good hunters, and we are very good at what we do. <br /><br />Truth be told, there is already a whole bunch of biological software at work, what we do is fully awaken The Hunter already there. And we communicate with the animals. Its easy. You have to see them for what they are. <br /><br />B1. <br /><br />As the littlest kitties say: "Me-you."<br /><br />---------------------------------<br /><br />Its noisy in Kennel Hall, cat sounds, people, automata; music. Cats especially like music. Kennel doors opening, lots of feline stretching, then making their way down ramps into sets of transport pods which are hand trucked by operators like me onto subway cars down the tunnel. Each handtruck can hold 4 pods, 4 cats. Tonight its me and the black Panther, along with Butter, a yellow furster the color of butter, he is great fun and loves to hunt. Two females along, Yumyum and Samjae, regulars you might say, both with the patience of asps, and cunning in unusual ways. It is always close between the boys and the girls as far as carcasses go, it is more accurate to class the hunters by their age. The older they get the more streamlined and accomplished is their technique, more meat for less energy expended, its the name of the game. <br /><br />I rolled my load out of the hall after grabbing my backpack kit, and the electronic clipboard with the information I needed tonight. Each of the cats said hi in their own way, and I banter with them as I walk them briskly up the tunnel. Each operator becomes familiar with at least 30 different areas during the course of their career, and the cats as many or more. Destinations vary as much as possible, which spurs interest among the cats who wish to see what has changed since their last visit, perhaps to even see who has been there from their own kennel, or somewhere else. Perhaps to even see, horror of horrors, if a dog might have stopped by. This elicits an almost electric excitement and wariness among all the cats, like group telepathy, and does not go away until hours have passed and everyone becomes quite sure the dog is gone. Yes its all fun and games for the cats, its we the operators who are saddled with the bejugered paper work, and other indignities, pardon my descent. Oh its good to be a cat.<br /><br />Once loosed for the night the cats are basically free agents, its a great adventure constructed just for them, or might as well be, it is without a doubt Kitty World, no questions asked. I am there to monitor, and to collect carcasses, and make notes. The cats have their collars, and they are very well trained. It is routine, it is exercise time, they love it, it is their purpose. We arrive. Away they go. I monitor each through its collar and am alerted to major vocalizations of each. Instant location of all animals is possible. They will find me or I them, in the meantime I will walk. I too will hunt. <br /><br />Off to my left I can barely hear the Panther terror noise, a little night song of carnage and blood lust on the early evening breeze. I inhale the oceans air deeply. About ten miles away one of the great ships stands impossible against the night sky, so huge, readying for lift off later tonight or tomorrow morning by the looks of it. Everything here on the docks is containerized or crated, the old standing lamps on metal posts cast their yellowish glow everywhere, a perpetual full moon, robbing colors, assigning starkness and shadow.<br /><br />The rats, they are the worst enemy of human food that ever was. They key on it, are especially attracted to it. Human food, so ready, willing, and able, is a vast opportunity to be exploited at all costs, to be eaten and shat upon and...well...it is easy to become obsessed with the occurence of rats, to perceive them as something diabolical, and to despise them, once you go hungry because of them a few times. After you see friends and family die of starvation while the rats get fat, turning carnivorous later, they become the stuff of your nightmares. The cats, the darling kittehs, are medicine against those bad dreams. The end of the world did not happen so long ago that some things can't remain fresh, indelible, across time.<br /><br />I received a call from Butter. Not purposely, its the sensor at his neck which picks up certain nuances or loudnesses. He seemed to be in some sort of minor distress, I located him on the clipboards screen, and ran that way. He could hear me when I pushed a button on the clipboard, and I spoke low, knowing how close his collar was to his ears: "On the way now big boy hang tight kitties do cause kitties can don't forget that my good man..." its like a mantra each operator develops, utilizing all the communication tools at their disposal, and then some. Higher communication. Soothing, confident, partner is on the way, feel better right around the corner.<br /><br />He was hunkered down under a light about eight rows over and three rows up, obviously he had a certain destination in mind. A place of good hunting. Its how they are. There was a dark spot back near his right haunch, and I could see something protruding. Bad. As I got closer I saw debris over by one of the crates, it looks like the wood gave way, rotten perhaps, and Butter fell a good eight feet. Nothing for a cat but there are always unforeseen circumstances and even the most agile cats can be caught unawares. Gravity is all encompassing when you're down in it. <br /><br />Butter was growling low as I got next to him and he rolled slightly to show me the wound. Well no more hunting for you tonight sir. I put my light on it and saw it was a lot less of a problem than initially thought because what was protruding was a bloody splinter of wood which Mr. Butter Butter had gotten for all his trouble on the way down to the pavement. I pulled it out quickly. He yowled and then purred. Its all about the language. He immediately began cleaning himself, and when he was done I picked him up and we walked over to the place he had fallen. The crate was old, thats for sure, some sort of machine parts according to the label. No food markings, there should be no vermin. There must be more though, or the cat would not have come directly here. I had a look around.<br /><br />Aha. I said it aloud. The 17 pound cat I was carrying over my shoulder purred a short burst. Nests. Birds. Yes I remember a Butter type now, from the past, who was a birder from Haders, loved birds more than goat cream. Well birds are detrimental pests too, in the wrong places. This nesting area should have been spotted earlier, it already had caused a premature rotting of the crate. I added details and photos to my report, sent it in, saved it on the clipboard too. I carried Butter until he wanted to walk, which I let him do. He would be with me the rest of the night, he knew it too. The spot on his fur was less dark, getting worked, all was good.<br /><br />The two girl cats were quiet and stalking something somewhere, probably as a team, or maybe just snoozing by a pipe opening, waiting with resolute viciousness for the inevitable to happen, for vermin traffic to commence. Once they snuggled on down, wherever that may be, squinting their eyes real tight and concentrating on invisibility, why, they became invisible. Vermin traffic will begin again just as if a giant monster was not there watching and listening and marking each datum like a teardrop. Yum and Sam were seasoned veterans, I would find them later and retrieve their piled carcasses. A small rodent scurried as we turned the corner of a ship container, and Butter was on it immediately, with a vengeance, as it were. It was pounce, crunch, time to move on. The first carcass of the night. I put it in the cryobag, and patted the cat on the head. He likes that.<br /><br />I decided to go look up the Panther, and just then, as if by telepathy, a war screech from his direction and the yellow cat and I stepped up the pace in a big way. We turned another corner and there was the black cat, in a tableau like I have never seen before. He was pacing and deftly hopping about while baring his teeth and making very hostile sounds. Somehow, someway, a large snake, a very large snake, had gotten loose on the docks, and it considered Panther to be just the right size for a meal. I could not harm the snake, anything that usually eats rats is a friend of mine, but that little conflict of interests was not the issue right then. The gig here was keeping the snake off the cat, and capturing the snake alive. I had rice coupons in my eyes, thats for sure, plus the snake was posing unique scenario and solution needs, which I like a lot. <br /><br />Now there goes Butter, jang it all, it is getting more interesting by the second. I drew my gun and called the cats off. They veered away without hesitation. The snakes head was a big as a saucer, its glowing eyes each the size of a mans thumbnail or larger. Of course its serpent tongue flicked here and there too, it was a disgruntling sight. Later it would be measured at over 8 metres long, and near 200 kilos. Thats a lot of snake. It will be employed and maintained in other places, under supervision. I am making a nice bonus, which I like a lot too.<br /><br />Back to the now I sent a short burst of plasma energy, a floating orb of whitish blue light, a ball of very "Weird Noise" if you like, right at the snakes head, and it fell asleep. The two cats were hunkered down out of the way, good boys, and they watched as I made arrangements to have the snake picked up here in a little while. I patted them both and had favorite treats, each got some, and I checked on Butters wound, which was already seeping ichor from his relentless self imposed program of health. The Kitty System.<br /><br />The robo flitter arrived and its automata loaded the snake and away it went. Now it was time to find the girls, and collect some carcasses. I located Samm and Yumyum on the clipboards screen, and together myself and the two other males began our hike. The boys ranged out a little as we moved, and there was some indiscriminate killing along the way, just on GP mind you; we had six total carcasses by time we reached destination. We collected the 13 which Sam and Yumyum had dispatched, and there were more than a few heads missing. I pretended not to notice. <br /><br />The oldest female is a calico medium, with pink skin in her ears and nose and everywhere except for a black toe on her right front paw, and she is not called Yumyum for nothing. She takes more heads than any other cat, and she is what we call a super hunter. An old feline being, in line with the program, getting it done day by day, practicing the craft. Perfecting the craft. Master of the craft. Sexual urges left this beings reality long ago, before the being even knew what it was all about. The job, the purpose, the program, that is all, that will always be all. Beings like this are awesome to behold, even fearsome.<br /><br />Just as we were wrapping things up the large ship began taking off ten miles away, and it shook the world, but was over quickly. The cats came close to me and we watched it together. Strange times. Behind the ship had been the rising moon, quite a bit too close still, but in control now. When the moon had begun to break apart, that was the end of the last world, just another end of many. That did something though, the survivors somehow united in purpose, and the colonies too, and the effort to set things right, to put the moon back on track and to maintain the planet like the machine that it is has tweaked things in many ways. The Bandage on the break at the moon did more to stimulate the efforts of life here than anything in the last one hundred thousand years. Its too bad that adversity is the only road to truth. Too bad. But history proves it beyond doubt. <br /><br />The changes we are making teach that long term projects are the only way to survive here, and to also teach the goals themselves so that they may be constantly updated and improved as time travels along. Each child knows our real history as we know it, not fairy tales or profit matrix, but the truth as we know it. Each child learns what the next five hundred years will bring, and the next thousand, as well as realizing they themselves will not live to realize the actual goals. It is humbling, and dangerous, but no where near as dangerous as that moon, which is in everyones face all the time, so everyone gets smarter. We could be so much if it wasn't like this though. Oh well.<br /><br />The colonies of course were the first to understand, to actually explore first hand the ruins and wreckage on the other planets. Some of the asteroids were resort cities. Many of the craters on Earths moon are collapsed underground facilities. Actual traveling spaceships have to be planetoids with thick coatings of ice to deter the debris and dust of space habitation. All easy to see after the fact. <br /><br />Mars was the place of primary origin in this solar system, from before there we know not yet. That is plenty, believe me. It is still a ruin, although the new colony seems to be self sustaining finally. That is what has become of The Great City. Mars is where house cats were created from Tiger and a few other things, and dogs from Bears and a few other things; just about everything that got patented at The Great City ended up on Earth, and some that did not get patented as well. This blob of rock was a mined planet, remade, repositioned, and dedicated to agriculture. Water wealth beyond imagining. A giant optimized Garden, it did a perfect circle of 360 days around the sun, one rotation/day per degree. The number of days off the 360 was how we were initially able to calculate the time since maintenance. Since the world ended that time.<br /><br />Earths moon was the depot for the product, a free-zer, not a lot of gravity to deal with, also part of a vast scalar machine, interplanetary and beyond, an engine of huge proportion whose battery is the sun; when one of our many worlds ended oh so long ago, and maintenance ended with it, about 100,000 years ago, then the devolution of us began in earnest. The best we have been able to do is to see what we once were, Kind of. Through the things we once made for ourselves. Things like the Kitty System.<br /><br />As one world ends, another begins. <br /><br />fin<br /><br /><br />For Annette, who introduced me to cats. And for April Kemp<br />Whose Favorite Color Is Green.<br /></b></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span>luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-41220302114952291832013-05-09T16:33:00.001-07:002013-05-11T17:48:08.972-07:00Automatic<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>shortshort</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>by Bill Gallagher</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>011506</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We are God. We are on Automatic. We cruise the cosmos like a program, hunting for intelligent life. When we find it we go away for some light years, and assemble a meteor swarm of matter which is then set on course for that planet, to arrive within a certain number of millenia. It is our job. We are on automatic.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>If the life form is of suitable stability and responsibility it will detect this swarm and disarm it in time. If not, then the culture will go back to its beginning or be annihilated totally. We cannot care. It is our job. We Are On Automatic.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We have just sent another swarm on its way. It will arrive at its destination in about 15000 years. The culture there is in its stone age now. Again. This is the third time for that particular world. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Some of the advanced races of our cosmos have gone through this cycle 5 times before rising to the occasion and becoming competent to live within the cosmos, to observe its powers, to utilize the powers of the cosmos for their own survival. Every life form that has reached the advanced stages required by us have agreed that we are a necessity. They maintain us. We are God. We Are On Automatic.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>fin</b></span></div>
luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-42538676124956370612013-05-09T16:32:00.001-07:002013-10-14T16:41:47.246-07:00Annies Game <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">By</span> Bill Gallagher </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>01-2005 </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>8400 Words</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I am the Watcher.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I am the Innate Animation of the Meat. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I exist at all levels above and below the flat line. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I am The Program I am the Id.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I am Light.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Look at me. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>LOOK AT ME.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I am You.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I am The Key to The Door.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The flat line is the door to ALL. The wall, the gate.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I live both above and below that point. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It is my center and I am Transcendence. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Look at me now. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>LOOK AT ME.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I am YOU.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>You are my tool, and I am yours. We are one, and we are One with ALL. Hard to accept, but you will see someday. At the Flatline, you will truly see. Again.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I love you. I love All. I have no choice. I am not, strictly speaking, meat.<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>Only in the meat must one discern minutiae while subjected to the continual chemical and radiation bombardment which physical reality demands, all the while drawing sustenance from hard matter itself.<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>This, unfortunately, leaves very little time for understanding the true milieu of the meat.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And It Shows.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Too bad.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Its being addressed though, and you and I are part of that in a BIG Way.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>When you sleep I am working within the All. I Sort and Store. Communicate. And I Project. Prophesy. You remember this sometimes--you call it Deja Vu.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I am The WATCHER. And I don't miss much.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We came through the door together, and we will go back through the door together. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Now you must LOOK.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>At Me.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>LOOK AT ME.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I am You.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>*******************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The morning sky was pink and gray and the ocean reflected that. Seagulls drifted about, specks of white in the miasma of off-color haziness. Down near the beach, in the water, was where it was happening, where everything looked good. Rolling tubes of ocean threw handfuls of fluffy sea foam upward as they broke around the point. Eight foot swells all clean and southern and rhythmic undulated through the water this morning, wrapping themselves around the submerged base of the cliff which jutted slightly out from the coast, and as the swells broke the curls of their leading edges seemed to unfurl in slow motion. The wind was blowing hard out to sea, offshore, and this exerted a force against the breaking faces of the waves, delaying the pace of their energy release. It was the main reason the tubes were so nice today.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> JD sat his board just outside the break line, and thought about this point break which he had known since childhood. So far it had miraculously escaped assignment as a power plant site, or yacht harbor, or any other of the myriad things which could have shut it down as a surf site. So far.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> He wondered how much longer it could hold out.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Not too many places lasted as surf sites here in this part of Southern California: had JD Sleid moved away as a youngster, then returned at his present age, which was 38 in the year 2005 AD, he would not have recognized very much at all. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on what kind of mood he was in, JD had stuck around the neighborhood of his birth, leaving only to go to college then Medical School. Upon his return his families contacts had found him work locally and quickly, and of course the work paid very well. JD Sleid had his fingers in many things other than his medical work too, and according to his family, this was as it should be. "Never Enough" was the Sleid family motto, and because of this JD was not only a self made millionaire at the age of 38, but sole beneficiary of his mother and fathers estate, once that time arrived. And still, it would Never Be Enough for JD Sleid. Its just the way he was. No apologies, he was truly --smirk-- a product of his environment. He had one tattoo on his tanned and fit body, on the upper inside of his right arm. The tattoo said: PURE HUNGER.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> JD lined up then, he saw his wave outside, and this was to be it for the day. He'd arrived just after sunrise, knowing he would have to leave before ten. He was doing Annie at noon, so this had to be his last wave today. 0955 and all was well.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>He'd seen his special swell, the one he'd been waiting for, hump above its brothers in the set when it crossed the deep rocks at the extreme outside, and when that wall of water began to draw him backward slightly he shoved his board down into the elongating face as far as it would go and gave a mighty frog kick with his legs so that he sprung forward, and in less than ten fast and digging paddles he was up and cruising towards the lip, foam spattering his face. He tasted salt water.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Sunlight through the wave looked like an arc through a welders mask. Bright, shimmering, dancing.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Then, turn toward bottom, the whole monster moving face of the wave yawned before him, and he took it; he slalomed a couple of times up and down, losing some speed, waiting for the curl to catch up, the roaring tube that sounded so much like jet-noise as it emitted auditory its electro-chemical reaction, of which JD Sleid was now a part. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The breaking wave was coming on and JD slid wide at the bottom, kicking down hard, and slammed upward almost straight into the face of the wave, but it was extreme, too extreme, and he almost lost it at the top, could've sworn he lost it, to become one with the crashing lip, not a good thing. The chemical reaction which was JD Sleid began spurting all kinds of high quality drugs into his system, adrenaline, endorphins, Sharp Pure Oxygen, more more more, and he thought that perhaps, perhaps this was enough, enough for once.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> As he hung there in the timeless moment, aware that defeat looked more like an option every nanosecond, something funny happened, something he would recall only later, and in amongst a bunch of other things. It was as if, at one moment, he was hanging in space, with the rocks a mostly waterless 12 feet below, and gravity was pulling all the wrong ways: then, in the next moment, he was sliding smoothly downward again as the mass of the curl right behind him soared overhead and enclosed him in the green room, the tube. It had occurred, yet he could not remember clearly what happened at the top of the wave. He could not remember. He had been seriously considering the thought of eating it, it had not looked good, he was preparing for the drop and roll which might or might not save him from being abraded harshly on the boulder strewn bottom below. Then it was as if he was...transported...yeah, transported, to where he wanted to be.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> He thought of all this later, but as the green room enclosed him then, he could do nothing but display his rush with sounds to blend with the emanations of the ordered energy spending itself, magically converting itself, according to the strictures of Cosm, via the medium of seawater. JD Sleid said: HooooooWAHHHHHHHoooooooooooooo and then got burped out of the aqua maw, because he was at the end of the break, the waters depth dropped off, the shallow rocks ended, all the waves stopped there. Always. He paddled inside along the breakline, and headed for the jeep. He had to boogy now, he thought, donning his sweatsuit. He had to get on down the road, he was doing Annie at noon, and not a minute to lose. Doing Annie. Again.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> **********************************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The Medical Center was imposing. JD thought of this many times as he drove to it. If you looked for it, 10 stories perched high on a hilltop off Letrance Drive, it was visible for over a mile, in a cityscape gone WELL beyond the imaginings of most people who have not actually seen the gigantic megalopolis which SoCal has become. All the dots connected now. And no room for any more dots. He supposed he was getting old, and thats why a lot of this was bothering him, closing in on him.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "I should just get out," he thought, as he pulled the surf-racked jeep into its customary spot in the Reid Hospital parking lot. <span style="font-size: large;">"</span>40 is right around the corner, and soon there will be things I just can't do anymore. That means I should get my fill while I can..."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> These were not entirely new thoughts for JD Sleid. This type of thing had been rearing its head within his mind quite a lot lately. He had wrestled with these irksome ideas, and had won temporary victories so far by setting financial goals for himself which would still take some more time, but he was beginning to think he was kidding himself. If he really wanted to make more money, he had realized just recently, he could get away from Annie, and, unhindered by a rigid work schedule, he could let his money work for him, he could spend full time overseeing THAT. He had some past investment successes that were truly his own, and then there had been help from Annie...there was the team to think about also, his team, the basic surgical group of 3, wherein he was a well known part, with the other parts equally known to him. They went back a ways. Smitty, Austin, and himself. Without them Annie as he had come to know her would be nonexistent. Annie, his life, his mistress, and, dare he say it? His Love.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> He had begun referring to his training and work in Anesthesia as Annie during college, and for a long time he had kept it to himself. After returning to the home turf with a job assured and future bright, JD had begun to outwardly refer to his job as Annie, and the few he shared it with knew exactly what he was talking about, right away. Annie, right now, was his life, as well as the lives of each and every person who crossed the operating table where JD Sleid and his armamentarium presided.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The routine of Annie took over the moment JD shut the door of the jeep, and made his way into the hospital. The showering, scrubbing, changing... and now, time to meet the patient. Michael Moriarty, 46 year old male, VA overflow....the patients fact sheet manifested as memory within JD Sleids mind as he made his way to pre-op. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> ********************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The preoperative theater was bright enough to work in, but only in selected spots. Overall it gave the impression of subdued lighting. Heavy Curtains were pulled over windows, and halfway across the overlong bay in places; digital IV stands stood within the individual compartments open to view, and these compartments were also clearly marked with bright yellow paint on the floor. Parking spots.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The patient, Michael Moriarty, lay on his mobile hospital bed, and looked around, curious. This was a first for him. He was interested. And he knew some things. In fact, he wanted to try some things, in his head, while this was going on. He was not nervous. He was eager.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> A man came up to the side of the bed, in hospital blues and the ubiquitous shower cap, with which Moriarty was also fitted. Almost everybody had one on. The man stuck out his hand and introduced himself as Dr. Sleid, The Anesthetist of the surgical team. Moriarty smiled, shaking Dr. Sleids hand firmly. Dr. Sleid asked Moriarty if he had any questions concerning the upcoming procedure.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "This is nowhere near the flatline, is it?" asked the patient.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Jd Sleid raised his eyebrows in surprise, but replied:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "No. Its a controlled procedure to bring you about halfway to the...eh...flatline, so you do not feel any pain, thats all."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "The cocktail."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Again a surprised look from JD, though he found himself saying:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Yes, the cocktail."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "OK," said Moriarty, smiling. "Ready when you are. Time to be meat. Or not."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> This was somewhat disconcerting to JD Sleid. He had never had a patient familiar with anesthesia before. Not so odd, the knowledge, but not something most people look into for fun or curiosity. He would have liked to talk to the patient a little prior to the operation, knowing this. Perhaps alleviate any underlying anxieties, and who knows, maybe even have intelligent discussion, stranger things have happened. Well, afterwards, he would go see the patient, and there was yet another surgery scheduled for this man, a skin graft which would have to be accomplished day 8 after surgical removal of the cancer on his back. But now JD became the machine, the operating Doctor with full training and experience; procedural. JD Sleid and Annie were becoming one.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "I've given you something in the IV that will relax you, make you feel a little sleepy," he said.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Very good," said Moriarty, and he closed his eyes.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Activity around the bed increased, and the surgeons came in then to reacquaint themselves with the patient, a last minute hello. Young looking, confident, themselves eager to perform the symphony for which they had been exhaustively trained. Closing his eyes once more, Moriarty heard the term VA, and knew they were referring to his status as a patient from the Veterans Administration, who had been shunted to this private institution as emergency overflow. Then Moriarty didn't remember anything else for quite some time.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> *****************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The patient was wheeled into the operating theater, and JD took his seat at the head of the table, at the head of the patient. Some maneuvering was necessary to get the patient from the bed to the table, and with practiced ease the team moved the patient into position. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Even though the mild sedative given to the patient during pre-op was the first weapon against pain within the armamentarium of JD Sleid, he considered the next step to be the true beginning of Annie, and this was administered in levels, to help gauge the stage where intubation became necessary, the place where the involuntary function of breathing ceased to operate of its own accord, to be replaced with machine breather via a tube down the patients throat.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> JD followed a strict procedure as he took his patients down through the levels, adjusting dosages, all the while routinely asking questions to measure the patients consciousness. During this course of Moriartys, JD thought back, as he did many times, to the first time he had discovered Annies somewhat Hidden potential. He had been with this, his team, and he had taken a well known stock broker down into unconsciousness; after he had been sure the patient was well anesthetized, he had asked a question<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>of this patient, and it came right off the top of his head:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Whats the best stock to make money with right now?" He had not expected an answer.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Surprisingly, the patient did answer. Everyone in the operating theater heard the answer, it was plainly recognizable, although none of them knew that particular stock at the time. JD remembered the stark frown which showed itself around the Lead Surgeons face mask, and he had shrugged in return, adjusting 2 dials on his instruments, allowing more of a certain curare based drug to flow, as well as an increased amount of the general anesthetic which was opium based. This time, to the question, "Can you hear me now?" the stock broker remained mute. And that was that. The Lead Surgeon had not been happy about JDs question to the stock broker, but all had heard, and not too few of those present bought the stock the broker had mentioned during his dive into unconsciousness, and everyone who did came away with windfall profits. JD and his father had netted over a hundred thousand dollars each with this "Tip". No, the surgical team leader had not been happy, but JD found out later that this same surgeon -- one Charles Joseph Smith, Smitty to his team members -- had availed himself of the information none the less, and done extremely well. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> When the stock broker had finally gone under, way back when, JD had readied the apparatus for machine breathing, and he intubated the patient coincident to the cessation of breathing. Now, he glanced over at the table where Moriartys similar apparatus lay gleaming in the complete light of the operating theater. He adjusted some dials on Moriartys board, and began his questioning. JD did not even think about asking anything odd during this trip down, that was only for special occasions, and this was not one of them. He took Moriarty down to a level he thought was unconsciousness, and asked:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Can you hear me Mike?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Yesssss...."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The answer was drawn out, with the S sounding like a hiss. JD frowned slightly and twisted some dials. He asked another question:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Why are you here?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "I am here for you to remove this organism from my flesh..."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> JD frowned again and made more adjustments.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Organism?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> A picture lit inside JDs brain then, and it caught him unaware and unsuspecting. He felt his body go rigid, and he looked up in surprise to see both surgeons, Smitty and Austin, staring off toward opposite walls. JD could not stop the onrushing intrusion then, and it was just like a moving picture unreeling inside his mind.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Sharp shadows, bright bright bright sunlight, desert looking ground, and a small robotic looking vehicle extending a tube into the surface of the desert dirt, a TEST SAMPLER, yes a sampler, and this was no desert of earth, this was....somewhere else.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Then JD Sleid himself didn<span style="font-size: large;">'</span>t remember anything else for a good little while.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The next thing JD Sleid knew, he was helping his team put the patient back on the gurney roller bed. The operation was obviously completed, but he had no memory of it. It was as if he had asked the patient a question (What was that question again?) then a picture of some sort had popped into his mind, then they were putting the patient back on the bed, done.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Done.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> What the hell was this? What HAPPENED? He noticed that everyone present wore looks of confusion, or worry, or downright fear, eyes darting around, wrinkled brows, and he was beginning to realize his look was probably more toward the end of that spectrum, more toward fear, fright. He felt the hair at the back of his neck stand straight up, gooseflesh following immediately thereafter, a wave across his body. All of sudden he had to urinate badly. Smitty shook his head as if to clear it. His eyes met those of JD Sleid, and JD knew immediately that he was not the only one with missing time. Smitty nodded to the lounge/locker room area then, and said one word which spoke volumes to those present: "Video."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The patient was being wheeled out by the orderlies answering the buzzer from one of the nurses. Asleep and breathing on his own, halfway back already and an intravenous morphine clicker placed by his hand. JD watched him go, and the theater doors closed automatically behind, then JD Sleid headed himself off to the mens room, before he wet his britches like a little kid.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> ********************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The scene in the lounge was one of hurried confusion, nobody knew how to act. Fidgeting all over the place, but no one said boo. JD arrived from the bathroom just as Smitty was accessing the digital record onto the large screen TV. The picture was broken up into four quarters, showing 2 views of the whole theater, as well as 2 closeups of the actual working area. Smitty Said:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "There. Right after you said "Organism?" See it?" </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Smitty glanced at JD, and Austin, then the others, with a very stern look. JD saw himself go rigid, then go about his business with Annie, as if nothing was the matter. He intubated the patient and the operation proceeded. Again the hair on the back of his neck did its little song and dance, and he could tell the others were wigging out too, because they, like him, remembered none of this.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Smitty said "There." again. He stopped the scene. "Thats not me, Ive never done that before." He was referring to something within his professional procedure that was awry. But he was very thoughtful, and it wouldn't come out until later that this modification to his procedure was actually an improvement.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> JD was not paying too much attention to that though, what Smitty was up to, because he was looking for the first time at Moriartys wound. He had not seen it before. It was a cancer all right, and was the largest most aggressive thing he had ever seen, and that was saying a lot, because he had seen many. It looked like a fresh bullet exit wound. It had been excised at a clinic, with local anesthesia, three times prior to this operation, and all within the last year. A picture flashed in his mind then, the robotic vehicle, climbing into a pod, a rocket pod, getting ready to leave...leave from somewhere else...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Ah God," he said, aloud. "The robot...."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> A chorus of gasps followed this remark, harsh and penetrating looks all around. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Smitty started the vid again and they all watched silently as the rest of the operation unfolded, seeing it for the first time, wondering wondering wondering.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> When the video was over Smitty went to the computer terminal, saved the vid to disc, and erased it from the computers memory. Standing, he addressed the group.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "This is MY video. " He looked at each member in turn as he held the disc before him. "If anybody ever asks about this, you tell them to come and see me. This is to be held in strictest confidence among the people seated here now. Are there any questions?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> He could immediately see there were no questions here, and the group to a one was very much preoccupied and distracted.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Good. It will behoove each of you to visit the patient within the next week, and we will meet to discuss the next surgery at the usual time. JD, Austin, in my office please. The rest of you take care, and not a word about this. Right now this is a credibility destroying situation. Do not let that occur."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> They all knew exactly what Smitty meant, and they filed out, still silent. Dr. Smith knew he would have to get with them all on a one to one basis before the next meeting, and to do some other juggling that might or might not create questions he did not want to address. But it had now become necessary. It would just have to be done. Jesus. He watched his workers leave except for his other surgeon and the anesthetist, then nodded off towards his office as he led the way. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> It was a short trip to Charlie Smiths office, and when the three were seated and the door was locked, they just sat for few seconds, no words. Smitty broke the spell, as was his purpose and responsibility.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "We were in some kind of...thrall."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> That seemed to wake Austin and JD up a little, and JD said:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Thrall?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Overmind. Its all I can see. But its so far out that only crack pots and the CIA understand what its about. This may have never happened before in just this way, in fact, I am sure it has never occurred just like that. The vid says it all. I've watched hundreds of videos of myself during operation, and that was NOT ME!"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The last words took on a louder and somewhat frantic aspect, and this served the purpose of further prying the two other men from their deepening preoccupations. Smitty knew he would have to get with the others of the team a lot sooner than he had thought. But it was manageable, and it would keep him busy, the best medicine for this type of thing, he thought.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "This will be over in a week, do not worry about it, stay busy, and visit the patient. Any questions?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Again, no questions.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Austin and JD knew they were free to go. As they rose to leave, Smith put the video disc in his lock drawer, and said:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "And JD? Next time, we will ask some questions, OK?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> JD was totally aware of what this meant, a risky maneuver at best, and reference to a hitherto unspoken aspect of The Team, a reference to Annie. This was serious stuff. Serious. JD nodded, and left, closing the door behind him. Smitty would need some time alone. As did they all. JD watched as Austin walked slowly down the hall towards his own office, out of it, not even a wave goodbye, and he was never so glad for a short work day in his life. No more Annie for two whole days. Good. He had a lot of sorting out to do. And some research. What was Overmind? Thrall? And he would visit with the patient. At length if possible. Stay busy. Right.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> ************************************************** </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Throughout the week Moriarty progressed and healed well. He became used to visits from the doctors and nurses, and caught sleep when he could. He had some odd dreams, but figured that was part and parcel for the stress of the situation.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Chill," he told himself, "Just chilly on out and get better."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> His roommate was a garrulous spanish man who had made a lot of money in produce. Gonzalez was his name and oranges was his game. LOTS of oranges. Gonzalez was a diabetic, and he was in the surgical unit in case amputation was necessary for an infection he had gotten in his foot. It looked like Gonzalez was going to avoid the surgery, and that was nice, but basically Gonzalez was suffering from the condition to which every human eventually succumbs if they survive lifes other fatal situations, and that condition should be known as the TOO MANY BIRTHDAYS syndrome. Gonzalez was 77 and somewhat a remarkable specimen, considering his longevity in spite of debilitating conditions. Gonzalez was gone from the room a lot of the time, wheeling around the hospital in his motorized chair, going outside and sitting for hours in the fresh air.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>On the third day after surgery, the Anesthetist came for a visit. Dr. Sleid. Yes Moriarty remembered him, most certainly, he of the cocktail treatment. They exchanged pleasantries, and it was Moriarty who broache'd the subject of the surgery and its anesthesia.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Its funny, I thought I might remember something, from the surgery, I mean."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> A fleeting darkness passed across the features of Dr. Sleid then, and Moriarty really thought nothing of it consciously, though it did register in his mind, and he would recall it later, and wonder. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Well," said JD Sleid, "Its my job to make sure the patient does Not remember anything from surgery. If they were to remember surgery it would mean I had not done my job well enough. And there is not much the patient would remember except perhaps pain, and that would be an unpleasant memory indeed."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Moriarty nodded, then said:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "But what of the expanded consciousness brought about by certain drugs? You are a maestro of judging levels of consciousness as they pertain to the chemical balances generally considered normal. Certainly you have seen some odd things attributable to the plethora of arbitrary states which are actually quite a broad spectrum within the so-called Normal human consciousness band."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> JDs eyebrows raised in surprise, and he shrugged a little, trying to cover for his loss of words.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Wellllll, I am not too clear on what you mean by expanded consciousness, and arbitrary states..."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Everyone is a different chemical reaction upon the face of the Earth. Levels of consciousness are directly related to the relative health of each organism at any given time. All chemicals effect consciousness, be they purposefully introduced to the system, or occur as pollutant. And there is so much real variety just among the genotypes, I personally cringe at even trying to define normal human consciousness. Why, even and especially ingestible sugars have behavior modifying traits. So I cannot expound concerning others levels of consciousness, only my own, but I know that one well. I was hoping that by being introduced to these new drugs, these drugs of yours, drugs of such purity, of which I have never before partaken...I was hoping I might be able to see something different, do something different. A conscious expansion of consciousness, if you will."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> JD Sleid jumped as if he had been goosed (There go those neck hackles again) and he tried to cover all this by grabbing a chair and pulling it up to the patients bedside. Seating himself he was glad of the pocket recorder. Not strictly ethical, but it would go no farther than he and Smitty. Smitty would find this interesting, surely.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "What do you know about the various levels of consciousness within the human spectrum?" asked JD.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Oh, just what any traveler knows, those of us who perceive our existences as eternal, and a continuing journey. And I of course have experimented in my time, perhaps not legally, but justifiably, as far as I am concerned. When one considers the powers of today and their placement within the overall scheme of the Drug Industry, then one must come to grips with certain unavoidable realities, be they pretty or not. It is information not readily available, perhaps not even to yourself, and I would not, by choice, be the one to burden you with it, if you have no clue. Suffice it to say that many drug laws are written to enhance and nurture the illegal drug industry, driving prices up, creating needs and wants...its so intricate as to be almost convoluted, but it has an underlying weft, which not only belies convolution, but strengthens the entirety of the illegal drug industry. It is big big money."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> This is not what JD Sleid was after, but he found the take interesting, and it did make some sense. Moriarty was extremely well spoken, and obviously some sort of quasi-specialist within his interest range.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "What kinds of drugs are you talking about, specifically?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "The ones controlled for money? Oh, that would be opium first, and coca second. Marijuana has been artificially inflated in price since the politicians took control of that illegal action too, but it is still a very distant third to the first two. Notice that all three are growable commoditys, derived from nature..." Moriarty glanced up to his IV stand, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "This was the first time I ever had opium drugs", he said, referring to the balanced anesthesia of surgery and the intravenous morphine available for the first day after surgery, "And I can see its value as a pain deadening agent, but it didnt do a darn thing for my brain." Moriarty smiled. He had never been this frank with a trained medical professional, and Doctor Sleids next question caught him unawares. It was Moriartys turn to raise his eyebrows in surprise.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "So," said JD, "I would suppose that most of your...experiences...prior to this, were basically hallucinogenic?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Yes." replied the patient, "I would say so. I have journeyed with psilocybin, and lysergic diethyl amide, and peyote. They fulfill me. They answer my questions. I thought the opium would be different, and it was, but there is no journeying here, at least at these doses, and I am quite averse to attempting larger dosages. I do not need answers that badly." He smiled again.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> JD thought it imprudent to mention that the opium based drugs of General Anesthesia, the real first level of Annie, were probably enough to make Godzilla take a nice long nap, and then some, and that was because their effects were easily reversible with other drugs, other aspects of the armamentarium. So he probed further concerning altered states of consciousness:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Have you ever heard of the Overmind?" asked JD Sleid, who had just recently defined it for himself during two days of net searching and communications with specialists and friends.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Most certainly," replied Moriarty, "The Program..."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "The Program?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "OUR program. The force that pervades the flesh as animation. The unconscious mind. The Watcher."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> JD had really wanted to continue that then, but the alarm on his watch beeped, and he saw he had only five minutes to get all the way to the other side of the hospital. Looking at Moriarty lying in his raised up bed JD could only wonder. He had no doubt this patient had no memory of the surgery, that was as it was supposed to be. What was odd of course was that the people who had been in the room simultaneously during the operation had no memory either. Yes there were questions, many questions. And it looked more and more like questions only Annie could answer. The patient said:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Have to go?" referring to the watch alarm.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Yes, but I would like to continue this conversation later, maybe tomorrow, if you do not mind?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "That would be fine...anytime," said Moriarty, and he closed his eyes to sleep as Dr. Sleid made his way out.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> ***************************************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> That night JD dreamed. Oh did he ever. He was in the desert. The middle desert of Arizona. Or what appeared to be the middle desert of Arizona. Later he would see that it could not possibly be the desert of Arizona, but thats what his first impression was. Saguaro cactii sprouted around like alien life, tubular, pokey. He walked an animal trail and was comfortable physically. The sun was bright but cast a weird, almost watery, glow. JD was carrying something. A bag of money. They were gold coins. He stopped and pulled one from the leather bag and it was like no coin he had ever seen before, with a five pointed star, the star of Man, on one side, and a map of the earth on the other. The coins were about the size of silver dollars. BIG gold coins. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> He could not just carry these things around, he had to stash them somewhere, and now there were some tell-tale dunes up ahead with sounds he thought he recognized. He picked up his pace, and as he crested the dunes he saw the spot, it was his spot, his surf break, but in a time where no human occupation was evident. Pristine, buildingless landscape stretched about in all directions, and the sounds he had heard were from waves breaking, surf, beautiful big lines of surf. God it was awesome. There was the cliff and the point, a little meatier with rocks, but the same. The beach went out north and south for as far as he could see. He wanted to go in the water, but he had to stash these coins. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> He saw a large rock on top of the dune, and went to dig a hole by its base, to deposit his gold. He got about a foot down by digging with his hands in the soft sand, and off to one side of the hole he saw a glint, and reache'd in to retrieve a large green jar which itself was full of gold coins. What was this? He opened the jar and looked at one of the coins, and saw the same five pointed star on one side and a map of the planet on the other. After covering the first hole he took both the jar and the leather bag full of gold coins to the other side of the rock, and dug another hole, in which, yet again, was a box this time, also filled with gold coins, the same kind of gold coins.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "ENOUGH," He shouted, and threw down the bag and jar and box into the hole the box had come from.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Enough," he said again, under his breath, and he made for the water. He wanted to go in the water.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> JD ran across the wide wide sand beach, feeling invigorated, free, and just then he heard a sound that stopped him in his tracks. HoooooooWAHoooooooooo....He looked out into the neatly breaking swells of the point, and there was a lone surfer out there, riding a killer killer wave, just totally killer, and then the figure slammed back into the face, but it was extreme, too extreme, and as the figure came to the lip of the wave he just kept right on going, he blasted off, he surfed off the world. When the figure became a tiny dot in the sky, then suddenly vanished, JD Sleid woke with a start. And remembered. He remembered.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The figure in the wave, the lone surfer who had blasted off from the extreme maneuver on the killer wave, that figure was him. It was him.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> He shuddered a little, and eventually drifted back off to sleep. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> ****************************************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Further conversation with Moriarty before the skin graft surgery brought forth no more information concerning the event during first surgery, and neither Smitty or JD wanted to alarm the patient, nor give any information concerning that event. The patient did not remember. That was clear. He did mention a recurring dream where a small robotic tractor was evident, and this sent an alarm signal spiking through the brains of the two doctors. It was evident there was some sort of story unfolding here, but it was the opinion of the doctors that all involved were best served by remaining as ignorant of it as possible. Smith shared with no one but JD his plan to disable the video recorder during the second surgery, by making it appear accidental, and this would allow reinsertion of the first video later and good plausible deniability. A report would be made of the faulty second surgery recording, and no one but the participants would know that the first surgery was...different. Together Smith and JD went over their questions. The questions to be asked of Moriarty as he descended into unconsciousness during the next surgery. As he was guided into unconsciousness, and the doctors hoped, into a revelatory state where answers had a chance of appearing. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> JD found himself getting a little jittery, but he got over it by telling himself it would all be over soon, then he would have it to wonder about for the rest of his life. Again the thoughts of leaving Annie forever began to crop up in his mind, and he found himself actually looking forward to an early retirement. Yes. From possibility to probability to reality. Soon.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> ***********************************************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> It was a replay of the first pre-op, as far as Moriarty was concerned. Except he was now more familiar with some of the faces. Dr. Sleid was again the first to greet him.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "How we doing Mike?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Good Dr. Sleid, good."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Call me JD, please."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Ok, JD. Its off to meet the meat again, eh?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Though JD did not feel like it, he smiled big, reassuringly. "Last time for this procedure Mike. Well talk again afterward. You have something in the IV thats going to relax you, make you sleepy."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "OK. See ya later." </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Moriarty closed his eyes, and was sedate even before the surgeons got there. He was wheeled into the operating theater, and there were all the same faces again, but the faces all carried expressions of worry and doubt. It was good that Moriarty was halfway asleep already, it would not do for him to see the group in this state. Even Smitty was jumpy, and everybody knew something was going on, they had no choice but to know. What they didnt know was how it was going to turn out this time. They were not long in finding out.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> **********************************************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Can you hear me?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Yessss..."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Who are you?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Michael Moriarty."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> JD adjusted two readings.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Can you hear me now?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> A pause. A bare whisper. "Yessss..."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Who are you?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> A longer pause. "Michael..."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> JD barely touched another button.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Who are you?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> No pause this time, strong and clear, and not Moriarty, but coming from Moriarty:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "I Am The Watcher."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Everyone in the operating theater froze.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Smitty spoke then:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Where were we the last time, when we removed the...organism...from your body?" Smitty looked sideways at JD.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "With me," came the voice from Moriartys body.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Where are you?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> As if in answer, all the surgical instruments laid out in neat rows on Smittys table stood straight up in the air, fell down once, banging their ends loudly on the steel tray, then laid themselves down quietly. One of the nurses stifled a screech behind her hand. JD felt the need to urinate badly again, but suppressed it.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "I am everywhere. I am All. We are One."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> JD asked the next question:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Why couldn't we remember the last surgery? And who did the surgery?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The lights overhead dimmed for a second, and that was unheard of, the lights could not go out. That had never happened before. They were backed up thrice. From the table of instruments came the sound of more movement. No one looked.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Not permitted for you to remember as individuals, as meat. You remember though. Believe it. You will never forget. WE did the surgery before. All. Us. As One. Necessary. You Learn."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Everyone present then became possessed of pictures in their brains, a film within their minds, an unspooling of events forming a collage of imagery which told a story with no beginning and no end. The surgical personnel became stillness itself. Actual time spent thus was less than 3 seconds, but it seemed a lot longer. When it was over JD shook his head slightly. It had been his dream, with the gold coins, and the surfer which was him, and so much more. The robot sampler on Mars, the life of the sun, progeny....detritus detritus detritus, ad infinitum...Light...A perfect clarity encompassing past, present, and future. Moriarty had made some really bad enemies in his time, there was a short clip that showed him making love with a woman who was intentionally infecting him with a contractible cancer of government origin, Russian Government Origin. Then JD had seen Moriarty push a young girl out of the way of a speeding car, only to be savaged and killed below the wheels of the vehicle himself; he saw the young girl grown and doing something, something filled with light and goodness. He saw his own part in these events, and those of all the others. He looked around and noticed everyone was sorting this barrage of information out too, although he doubted it was the same for everyone, and he was right. They seemed to accept things better now, though. Everyone was more at ease. JD felt a tear slide down his face, into his mask. He tasted salt water. Smitty spoke again, his voice sounding choked, hoarse:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "What can we do to help?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> There were no more noises, and there was no hesitation at all from the thing calling itself The Watcher:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Take me up."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Up?" asked JD.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Up. Closer to the flat line. Away from the meat. Take me up toward the gate."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> With dawning realization everything came clear to JD Sleid at once, and the others too, or so it appeared. They all looked around wondering, childlike, they got it. Their world was turned upside down, and that was actually the right way for it to be. Until now they had been looking at everything topsy turvy. Wow. Smitty nodded once to JD, and so JD did it. He took The Watcher in Michael Moriarty Up.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Once again images played through the minds of the team as their bodies went about their normal work. The next thing they consciously remembered was lifting the patient back onto his rolling hospital bed, the operation completed. Smitty and Austin both shook their heads in unison, and looked up at each other knowingly, then both looked over at JD. Everything was allright. Smitty said:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "I call this success. Now you folks get some rest, and try to forget any of this ever happened. Any references to these episodes in the future will be fully denied by all present, understood?" Everyone nodded. Perfect understanding. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Once again JD watched the orderlies come in and wheel Moriarty from the room, and as the doors closed this time he felt a great uplifting surge within his body, a release. It was over. He was already shelving it, along with a lot of other stuff that just no longer seemed to matter. He visited with the patient afterwards, and both found satisfaction from the information exchange. Moriarty again had no conscious recollection of his ordeal, and was generally thankful that the pain of these operations was relegated, exiled...to the overmind...as it were, and to use a term familiar.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> JD thought the exiling of the pain was minor compared to the co-opting of straight-up-and-performing consciousness, but of course he did not say that. They shook hands and wishe'd each other luck, and it was really over. JD never saw Michael Moriarty again. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> *************************************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Doctor Charles Joseph Smith left the employ of Reid Hospital 6 months later, to become a consultant and participant in Altered States research, specifically sensory deprivation. He gained a minor kind of controversial fame later in his life by being quoted in Time Magazine as saying he believed research into altered states of consciousness was simply upward evolution. Time magazine compared him and his work to John Lilly, but as far as Smith was concerned that was neither here nor there. He was thankful the nitwits of the press had not brought Leary into it.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> *************************************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Roger Austin, second surgeon, now became the star of his team at Reid, he became First surgeon, and he was upset but understanding when JD Sleid tendered his notice of retirement within two months of Smittys departure. The search began for another of JDs calibre and experience, and eventually one was found.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> *************************************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The first morning as Free Man found JD Sleid at his customary surf site, the point break, simply The Point to the locals. The waves were big today, kind of mushy, he did not know if it was even worth going out. It didnt matter. On his way down the dirt track to the small parking space at the top of the hill he had seen the For Sale sign. The property was for sale. After all this time. Well. He wondered how much. He knew it was far too much for him to consider buying as a surf site, but the thought lingered. He decided to head home and do some research. His money was busily working away for him, every second, and he took solace in that, and truly felt himself free for the first time in his life. Kind of scary, takes some getting used to, he thought.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> *************************************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The land at the Point was actually quite a bargain, considering it was several acres of ocean front, however rocky. But it was also well beyond his means unless he wanted to divest totally and go into debt; he thought not. His tattoo itched. He would just surf The Point while he could, though he took to haunting the place, even going out at night and just listening to the surf break.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> It was on one such night, after climbing the hills near the cliff by moonlight, that he stopped to rest on a large rock. Something familiar tugged at him. He jerked himself away from the rock which he was half-sitting-half-leaning on, and he imagined later that his eyes must have been bugging out of his head.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> What the HELL was this? It was the rock from his dream. His weird weird dream, during that weird weird time. He felt like he was becoming unstrung. Memories came then, the sun through water like an arc through a welders mask, erosion, a surfer...a robotic vehicle of some sort. He did the only thing he could think of. He went back to the jeep and got out the small shovel he kept there. Going back to the rock he dug down at the spot that felt best, and yes, there was something. Altogether a bag a jar and a box, and yes, gold coins. Damn. God Damn. He looked at one and saw it was double eagle, Big Gold Coins, from a couple of decades after the gold rush. 1870s stuff, looked like. Somewhere nearby the wind blew through some rocks, making an eery sound which once again caused the hairs on the back of JDs neck to prickle.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> HoooooooWAHooooooooooo....</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Well perhaps this site could be preserved afterall, he thought over and over again during the two trips it took to get the stash back to the car. He would do his best. And he would not tell his father about any of this. JD had a feeling he was thinking seriously of doing something that might earn him his fathers disapproval, and he would rather well avoid that. Rather well. Right now, he thought, as he shut the jeeps door on the night and surf sounds, he wanted nothing more than to sleep. Just sleep. And maybe dream. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> *************************************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Almost one year later the surf site became a public property in perpetuity. JD Sleid never took the paper, not in these days of the net, what was a paper but dead tree, heh? But today he got the paper because it announced the fact of the surf site becoming public property, held in trust by an anonymous institution, overseeing an anonymous donation. He knew the notice would be on the front page of the local section, but he glanced at the main front page as he disassembled the paper for reading. Below the crease, on the headline page of the paper, was this:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Man Dies Saving Child.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Of course it was Moriarty. There was a picture of a shrouded body in the street, near a wrecked car. The story told what JD already somehow knew. He shook his head as if to clear it. A tear slid down his cheek. He tasted salt water.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Fin</b></span></div>
luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-22608501478109320492013-05-09T16:31:00.003-07:002013-05-13T11:54:57.093-07:00PERFECT<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>by Bill Gallagher, Hachita NM</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>022807</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Audio Minutes of Top Secret teleconference, annotated verbatim by ASpec: hate-notwant-not23, NAA Administrative Underground. Visuals unobtainable.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Electronic teleconference intercepted by ESpec: 8ladiesman of the New American Army (NAA), San Saba Texas, March 17 2009.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>From:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Directed Energy Application Laboratory</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>German Division</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Holloman AFB NM</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>TC8976-88322-0</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>To:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Sandia Corporation</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Laboratory 17, Hatchet Mountain Facility, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Playas NM</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>TC0023-88040-0</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Opening:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Ladies, Gentlemen, Distinguished Guests, it is my pleasure to announce that as of this day the full Electronic Weapons Grid has become a reality, and is in perfect operating order.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>(Applause)</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We have been assured by our allies in Rome that the recent efforts and expenditures undertaken by our kind are successful beyond expectations: the entire United States and its territories are not only a subject population, but unknowing as well. Captive and happy, shall we say?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>(Light Applause) </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Allow me to elucidate, for those of you who may be lacking certain details concerning our conquest.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The group in Rome has been slowly releasing technology since the early 1800's, as the New Empires military-industrial complex, controlled through its financing by our group in London, has become ever more advanced, and thereby capable of handling the technological revelations, and more importantly, handling their development. Or, should I say, redevelopment?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>(laughter, applause)</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>As most of you know, the source of this technology is extremely ancient. The collecting and hoarding of these old tools of ours does not really concern us right now, except to say that the end result of this macro electronic deployment will be the same as it was in the world from whence it derives, which is to say, the world before this one, the so-called fourth world. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The human being was created to be augmented electrically and electronically. The darkness which has ensued since the freedom fanatics of the fourth world destroyed the last empire will be no more, and light will once again reign. I assure you, the greatest of efforts have been made to locate and physically disable anyone capable of even discerning this system of control.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This electronic augmentation that I speak of possesses a variety of forms, though in the main it is total and utter control of all targeted bio-organisms via their electrically reactive digestive track. For the scientists, we say: control of the electro-gastric system. For the laymen, that simply means control of the gut.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The vast majority of the targeted population will never even know they are being manipulated. They will miss a regular bowel movement ever so often, but will never be able to understand that this is now electronically controlled to maximize the use of their ingested food...their ignorance and inability to perceive the weapon is just a measure of our already well established and lengthy program of mind control<span style="font-size: large;"> -</span> OTE, Other Than Electronic.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Keeping that last in mind, let me say that this newest weaponry technology of ours has been deployed as entertainment and communications, when in fact it is a control of the stomach, its functions, and the entire digestive process of the bowel. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>In short: the elimination of waste can be shut off entirely via these electronics of ours, or the system can be made to operate with perfection. If elimination is stopped in any organism, death quickly follows, though this death can be protracted through many stages. When combined with quantum energy technologies such as are seen via the plasma sprayings used to condition our soil for electrically augmented crops, a full array of tortures evolve: why, it is even possible to literally cook an animals wastes out of its body, via its skin pores. Can you imagine anything worse than that?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Hmmmmm?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>(laughter, applause)</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>If a targeted organism attempts to avoid this torture by ceasing to eat, we can induce uncontrollable hunger, or any other state for that matter, by broadcasting tight and powerful signals via the myriad antennae, said signals having been pre-recorded from individuals undergoing those various states. We can put a subject population to sleep at any time, we can keep them awake for days on end, or we can deprive them of only certain sleep states, which manifest as a very broad spectrum of predictable behaviors. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>As already mentioned, the workers who behave as we wish them to, who serve us without question, will never notice anything different, and will in fact be healthier for our efforts. That is simple maintenance and of course, prudent. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>For people who are outside of the loop as it were, the dissenters and tax evaders, we will wreak havoc with them, doing the necessary experiments to fine tune this technology, before eventually killing them, in as horrible a manner as possible. We are the masters, we have always been the masters, and once again, we will take our place in guiding this race, our tools, into infinity.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Once our slave population becomes entrained to the electronic control of their digestive process it will take only the slightest bit of adjustment within the system to create a true plethora of predictable behaviors. They will never know they are being coerced, and one must then argue, is it coercion at all? It is their place to serve us, and serve us they shall.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The cell phone technology, by which this system of control has been hidden, has become virtually free to all users, though it is just the beginning of the electronic apparatus with which the human organisms will be implanted, for finer control, and tracking of each and every individual. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The identification powders have been deployed via atmospheric spraying years ago, and each humans electronic signature is now entered in the military database...there is no where on earth any person can go without being detected immediately, and identified.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The satellites are the third leg of this control triad: Antennae, Quantum Energy Harvesting Via Chemical Spraying, and as stated, Satellites in such profusion they are like a necklace around the entire earth.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Soon the cell phone technology, which are already being worn in-ear, will be microscopic and surgically implanted, like so many of the other chips that have been surreptitiously implanted over the last decade by our medical industry.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Yes the total weapon is now fully deployed, and operational. The subject population is 100% unaware of its actuality, and the code for this project is more than apt, it is, like the project itself, PERFECT...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>(Loud Applause)</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>fin</b></span></div>
luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-8109851715463302142013-05-09T16:22:00.004-07:002013-05-23T05:58:20.015-07:00Pet Technology<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">By Bill Gallagher </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">11/2008</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">they tell us that we lost our tails </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">evolving up from little snails </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">i say it's all just wind in sails </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">are we not men? we are DEVO! </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">we're pinheads now we are not whole </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">we're pinheads all jocko homo </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">are we not men? D-E-V-O </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">monkey men all in business suit </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">teachers and critics all dance the poot </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">are we not men? we are DEVO! </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">are we not men? D-E-V-O </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">we must repeat? o.k. let's go!</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">DEVO</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"</span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">...The aware self-replicating bio-entities of the Aureal Shortstar series represent the height of accomplishment by....[ MISSING ]...for use in colonization, deep space endeavors, all workforce needs...[ MISSING ] ...Fully autonomous and intelligent, these disexual fabricants and their supporting life-form niche-stock are tuned to coexist at the highest levels, with minimal input power...."</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">From Book One, obtained as a translated technical description concerning the Aureal Shortstar Series of Bipedal Worker Stock, discovered on Strackitt 9 by Interplanetary Archaeological Team 4a666. 210,117 Standard Planetary Periods Before Present...</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"We know how to use our technology."</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Scotz & Joni</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">This is it. The most embarrassing assignment yet. And believe me, thats saying a lot. We are people from another planet, and we live among you, and the total of your majority has not even the slightest clue. We pass, you see. We pass.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">My name is Scotz. People always say "Oh you mean like Scott with an S?"</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"Quite right," I reply.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">When we landed on this planet it was easy to see the natives were people like us, from the same basic stock, no surprises there, but with a lot of local deformation, perturbances, twistiness. Uggles. This assignment is particularly onerous because these people here, this planets version of the Aureal Shortstar biped, have devolved badly, and as far as we can tell, an incredible 7 times in a row! A new record. These beings are literally reeling around, eating, eliminating, procreating, dying, with no rhyme nor reason whatsoever, except for various assigned meanings, common and not, to the neurosis and psychosis of this collective seething mass of retarded constructs, and they have been doing this for a long long time. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Some of the sad creatures here assign leadership capabilities according to the length one can trace ones personal reproductive lineage -- these clowns are happy to know a few dozens, or even one or two hundreds of generations: I myself have personal lineage on disc in excess of 100,000 generations, still naught but a drop in the bucket. The tawdry and hurtful drama of this place is finally being wrenched away though, like a teddy bear so grimy it is now become hazardous. Oh Yeahhhhhhh, out you go.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">We will be here a long time, and though our life spans are vastly extended compared to the naive natives of this backwater, this is really a hell of a place to spend a good part of your youth. Hell of a place. Debasing. Oh Well. There could even be worse planets; they just haven't been discovered yet. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">We of the federation are of the Aureal Shortstar model too, of course. As far as we can tell, we are all thats left in this galaxy. All the inhabited worlds discovered so far (and there are many unknown still) are comprised overall of the same type of things. Same Life. Same System. Occasionally there are local variants stark enough to be called truly different, but still of a type. The Aureal Shortstar type. No one knows if that was someones name or not; it may be a name of a business entity, or perhaps even an AI of monstrous proportions -- one thing is sure: something major swept through this part of the galaxy a long time ago, some organized light of some sort, a super technology, maybe on automatic, and maybe not -- something very alive and big and beautiful, leaving in its wake the things it had created. The Aureal Shortstar System.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Whether humankind was that creating thing, or whether humankind was just its servants, or a pet technology, or something else entirely, has been lost on all the worlds. It is appearing more and more the bipedal form arose naturally somewhere as a function of this milieu, became ascendent, then exalted, and began engineering itself so it could spread. Then it fell apart, and has been doing that in one shape or form, somewhere, many places at once, ever since. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">BIG machines, real spaceships are planetoids, and there are ruins all over the place, all the moons, the giants, the mid-size planets...everywhere, the evidence from times before. We ourselves, the Aureal Shortstar System of Integrated Life Forms, are a live and continuous recording of all that, too. Its in us all. Detritus unfathomable. There are two groups: those who know and those who don't. Welcome to the club. Very exclusive club on this planet. So far, anyway.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">There are others of us assigned to this world, but not a great many. We do not have parties together or anything like that. We do communicate occasionally. Mostly we are here to influence. Words have consequence. We pass, and thats what matters most. In many ways survival here also boils down to how well one can act. Survival being the only real landscape, act we do.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">This planet is also without any real form of electrical grid and has existed that way almost the totality of the inhabitants existence, since being introduced here. The artifacts of the Makers, and of course the other technology of the Aureal Shortstar system are all around these inhabitants, and the planet itself even shows many indications it was heavily manipulated and mechanically formed prior to introduction of the Aureal Shortstar Suite, but the present inhabitants have forgotten all this ages ago; in fact they no longer even have the wherewithal. To be quite frank, they have now substituted many very odd and superstitious beliefs for real knowledge! These hix here, these creatures, like some sort of broken mechanata, have been spiraling downward one step forward, two steps back, for hundreds of thousands of years.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Poor Things.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">We are here now. We are here to help. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Wireless electrical energy is just coming back again, but all awry, without any planning, based on communication and entertainment only. Without help it will be centuries before these people get a real grid going. As it is now, all tweakered out and buggery, the electronic dissonance caused by disorderly deployment causes more harm than it does good. Yet another excellent example of devolution. Among many such examples. Many. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I Of course use electricity, and lots of it. All I can lay my hands on, though it has to be the right kind of electricity. I have my little machines, and my sleep hookups, and then there is the Aureal Shortstar technology as well. Careful I am to keep these special devices of mine from wandering away. History shows again and again how nature points out the folly of men...and as the great Mormon writer Trott Gallop has been known to say: </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"Duh."</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The girl part of me, the other half of my primary bequeathment here, my technology, is named Joni; Joni is a blond who has perfect breasts, an angelic face, a beautiful smile, a lithe body, a charged intellect and electric wit. She really knows how to use her technology. She likes it here as much as that is possible, but I have to keep my eye on her, because she wants to hurt people sometimes. Not everyone, but certain types, ie. some of the native devo Aureal Shortstars here actually hit the animals in their care, repeatedly, as a means of communication and punishment. So sorry for the indelicacy of that, its just how it is. And thats a pretty good measure of the overall situation, bonk. I explained to Joni once that these devolved Aureal Shortstars hit each other quite a lot more than they hit even their animals, so perhaps there is some sort of bizarre and rare justice at work, below the threshold of things, afterall.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, We don't go many places without each other, my Joni and I, we are truly not-whole while apart. I get more than twice as much with Joni around, she says the same. We are a pair. This bonding is a better developed, a more pronounced and demanding thing, than among the Aureal Shortstar models here on this planet, these devolved critters, and their sexual peccadilloes, their soap opera existences, their race car religions...eventually even they will learn.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Let this be said many times: first and foremost. We who are here, passing among you, studying you...We Know How To Use Our Technology. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">There is also a lot of devourment among the animals of this world, flesh eating, a devolution of the Aureal Shortstar Life System seen elsewhere, possibly attributable to factors caused by the radiations of certain sun types, or solar activities, or even possibly some sort of built-in survival fail-safe mechanism of the system, now run amok. There is no greater evidence that the bipeds have lost control of their technology, and are on the way to a long lingering painful death. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">That is where we come in. We take care of our own.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">We are to teach the prime, love is what its all about, just love your technology, and everything will work perfectly.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">But they are a far way from love here, even if they had not lost the ability to see their technology for what it truly is; these Aureal Shortstar bipeds are worth salvaging of course, but it will be a long and winding road before this group finds the truth, as a whole. The more people there are on a planet, the easier it is to pass among you, but we are limited in number and in real power. What we have is knowledge, and that has usually been enough to get the system back in balance, it is just a matter of time. The world is big, its people many, we must lever what we can. We don't hurt people though. There is time enough without that. We are not Devo.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">All Aureal Shortstars and their attendant biotechnological suite are based on the primary reptilian, the snake. The snake is here in all of us, the spine. The medulla oblongata or something like it is the core of most brain forms. It is a snakes brain. The serpent is here inside. The core. The Aureal Shortstar Design is the result of millions of years and trillions of experiments in autonomous existence within this matrix! Kaisan. Now there is a word you might be able to apply.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The designers of the Aureal Shortstar System of Integrated Life Forms, the architects themselves, may very well have been artificial entities, limited only by the physical size of memory they could build for themselves, and self-teaching. Autodidactic. The fact that I can arrive from light years away, and meld with this worlds population is strong testament to the integrity of the engineering, its minimal drift.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Only once: some drunk teenager saw me in just the right light, at what must have been the correct level of inebriation for him -- at a rock concert -- and he could not contain himself. He wriggled on over, piercings all aflash and jingling, spiked hair in several different colors, and I quote: </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"God DAMN home-slice, what zoodijoo eck-scape from?<span style="font-size: large;">"</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I wanted to tell him I was not his home slice or anything else from his home, but just smiled, and went away from there. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Yes, the entire group does not know how to use their technology...they are so far removed from their technology, they have invented primitive substitutes that are dangerous. They drink flammable liquids! And a large number of them worship an instrument of torture! Still others are the perfect misers over their measly few little scraps of paper. Ridiculous!</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I rant, forgive me. It is only whats to be expected from an astoundingly devolved world of Aureal Shortstars such as this. For many many years this world has been mistakenly based on a flawed and selfish, even anti-survival reaction to the fear that a certain way of life would end, any way of life, and the world would thereby end with it. Not so. Arrogant to think so, but arrogance is a hallmark here, exceeded only by the continual slapstick and silliness which is the social interaction of these dangerous wild beasties. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Yes I know my technology, my edge, my advantage in this galaxy at least: I know about snakes, and the pyramids, I know all about cats and dogs, and the glory of their Creation, like a cosmic click, a nearly perfect rightness for that time, and they are everywhere.....I know why the cow has four stomachs (For optimum output of human foodstuffs via wireless electrical adjustment)...I know what Marijuana is (Mind Grease), Willow Bark (Pain Relief), Bloodroot (Cancer Cure), Aloe (New Skin Ichor), Psilocybn (The Ansibel Gate) and many many many more. I know that the symbol called Yin and Yang is just a vestigial 2D representation of an anti-gravity device, and the crucifix an antenna. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Yesssss, and I know all about the so-called weeds, and other things labeled pestiferous by the ultra-devo, the government, but are not, are beneficial. Then there are the flying chemicals called insects, and birds; don't forget sea life: the aquatic representation of the land series...all flora and fauna of the Aureal Shortstar Creation. Techno Logic.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">When we first made contact with your planet, back in the late 1940's, we attempted to communicate with your leaders, and they tried to shoot us down with a very rude, crude, plasma beam weapon just recently developed. Which is to say they tried to shoot us down AFTER our parley, as we were leaving the meeting. We learned something there. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">They had declined our offer of help and duly considered us an enemy. They called us Nords. As in Nordic. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Robust Ecstatic.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">We have not taken No for an answer.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Fin</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-77377154516586504642013-05-09T16:22:00.001-07:002013-05-26T10:22:56.153-07:00Rat Boys<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>By Bill Gallagher</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>043006</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>....It was noted by the investigator (Official Title Loent Ah'ti) that the underground laboratory where the chimeric rats had been inadvertantly created, then released, 50 years before, appeared nearly intact, apparently having been sealed by Professor Seltremp himself, upon discovery of his personal involvement with the ill-born genetic concoction, and its quickly manifested detriments.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It is supposed in hindsight that this certain knowledge was cause for the previously unexplained suicide of Dr. Seltremp. Timeline reconstruction illustrates perfectly that the Seltremp suicide took place directly after he sealed his private underground lab...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>...Archive #0201-mLA, 48273. Entitled: PRIMARY REPORT CONCERNING THE<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>SELTREMP INCIDENT, Jolyn Warrior One, paragraph 112-13. 7 years<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>after last orbital adjustment of Gaian Moon Facility.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>*********</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Chimera: A monster...wildly or vainly conceived. Websters International Dictionary, 1902 Christian Era, America, Earth.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>*********</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>LAST THREE ENTRIES FROM SELTREMPS PERSONAL DIARY FOUND IN HIS DESK AT TIME OF LABORATORY DISCOVERY:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Gic 3, 48223. It is impossible for me to come to grips with how this awfulness was born. How could I, a contract breeder of experimental rodents and serpent food, accidently become the creator of Horror? The latest genetic splice material given to me as additive for my rodents has created gigantism, intellect, overt carnivorousness, and more. I am beside myself. They breed continually and it is like watching an amoeba grow, except this amoeba has teeth and a very large appetite...</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Gic 11, 48223. I knew it. After exhaustive testing here I have finally determined beyond doubt that the genetic material given to me, by which these monsters have been created, was actually high grade human derivatives! These aberrations must be destroyed. I can even feel them in my mind. They positively glow within the grid and I am quite sure the grid goads their growth, appetites, and impulses.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Gic 14, 48223. ALL IS LOST. THE COLONY HAD GROWN BEYOND MY WILDEST IMAGININGS WITHIN ITS BURROWS AND WARRENS, AND THOUGH MANY WERE DESTROYED, MANY ESCAPED. THERE IS NO HOPE. GODS HELP US ALL. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>************************* </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>T-Communique from Autrits Moon, farthest of all Warrior Planets bases, 10 years later:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>LARGE CARNIVOROUS RATS REPORTED IN 8 OF 14 SILOS ON AUTRITS MOON. INFESTATION DESTROYED ALL STORES WITHIN NAMED SILOS. VICIOUS AND FIERCE, THEY WILL ATTACK IN LARGE PACKS -- TWO HUMANS KILLED, MANY OTHERS INJURED.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>***********************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Little Monsters</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>...The eruption and ascendence of this mutant race of rodents is characterized by voraciousness, viciousness, and reproduction. As long as some sort of food is available any colony will quickly grow beyond the supply, unless ruthlessly hunted and destroyed. The Warrior hierarchy is at this moment about to unveil certain special weapons in the fight against these relentless mutant rats, which may be the result of illegal experimentations with human gene derivatives nearly 40 years ago...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Electrosense GridMedia Report, High Season Sunrise at the Great City, 48260.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>************************ </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Tad Redili had a radiation sore, from the grid, on his shoulder, and it hurt. Thinking this made the hurt dissipate somewhat, and that was just one minor advantage of being part of the grid. Group empathy unconsciously worked among itself to suppress pain, because pain detracted from the subconscious Oneness of the Grid, and therefore was anti-productive. Group Empathy transcended both time and space, and was very nice to experience, in all its aspects. There were many advantages to the grid, to being part of the grid. The radiation sores and a few other things, like stomache cramping reflux, and tooth loss, were the disadvantages, but were being dealt with. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Afterall, The grid was only 200 years old. Already it had prolonged the life of its members by a factor of 2 at least, and that was enough for most people to ignore or downplay any disattributes or pains.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>When a young human had successfully jumped through the hoops of grid inititiation, then a whole new world of community and power opened up. The worship of the Father God became as One, and everyone was able to join and be part, feel part. It was the way things were meant to be. After nearly 50 thousand years of recorded history, the human race had expanded more in the last 2 centuries, since the advent of the grid, than in the previous 46 centuries, and then some! Telepathy, telekinesis, prescience -- all became not only possible, but commonplace, within the grid. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Tad understood deep down inside that this reasoning was skewed, at least a little bit, but he was just proud to be part of the One, through the grid, and thinking about it made the radiation sore less sore, too. The medic at the moon base he'd last visited had given him a black sweet-smelling salve made from a genetically modified root. He said it would remove all open sores and cancers caused by grid radiation. Tad thought he would try it during his next 8 day layover. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>His electrosuit itched then, right where the sore was, like a second skin, and he felt his antennae jut suddenly from its socket at the back of his neck. His bowels loosened slightly and reflux bubbled from his lips involuntarily, of its own accord.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The language of Humankind had evolved too, in the last two centuries since the grid, because the energy of the grid caused reflux and digestive irregularities, some might say distress, as by-product too. These noises caused by dis-ease had worked their way into the actual spoken language of the Warrior Empire. The beeps, burps, squeaks, shrieks, clicks, twitters, snickers, oinks and other noises common to advanced excessive reflux, caused by living in the electro-grid, had become part and parcel within verbal expression, even popular. Modern human music was quite a thing to behold. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Tads antennae retracted itself then, because there was no grid out here, nothing but space out here, and he smiled to himself as he sailed silently onward, Tad Redili, into the great wide night. He reminisced once again, as he often did, about the various steps to his induction into the grid. The operation which installed the antennae socket at the base of his neck, and the big party his parents had thrown afterwards; then the operation installing the antennae itself....the intense schooling; his first telepathy...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A lightly ringing beeper went off then, so Tad unstrapped himself from the space vehicles command chair, unplugging himself at the same time from the ships grid, and made his way back to the cargo area to check on his cargo. The animals slept peacefully, and that was good. The autofeeders and watering machines were working perfectly, and there was nary a sound but the occasional snore. He constantly monitored the whole ship through his connection to its miniature and self contained electro-grid, but physical inspections were rigorously adhered to for many reasons, not least of which was the simple exercise of it.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Tad stood for a few moments, studying the animals, and marveling at the ingenuity of his race. Even in adversity, the science of Humankind expressed itself in beauty and usefulness. It was good to be human and a member of the grid. He longed for contact with his own kind, but that was still a few days away. Sighing he quietly shut the door to the room and made his way back to his command console. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Strapping back in to the console-command-chair entailed plugging himself into the grid of the ship via the socket on his right wrist, and then he again looked upon the sleeping animals, all 200 of them, but this time with camera eyes, making sure he had not missed anything. These animals, and many others being distributed all around the solar system now, were the hope of Warrior planet, and its empire. Half of this cargo was destined for the newest base at the second moon of Wens, then the other half were to be delivered (As quickly as possible!) to Gaias moon, the transhipment and cold-storage moon of Gaia the Garden Planet, the agricultural world of the Warrior system, dedicated to Agricultural Production. The entire cornucopiae and pharmacopiae of lifeforms, and specialised human-made food creations, were now planted there and thriving. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Both the planet Gaia, and its moon, were created artifacts of Warrior Empire, and had been towed in and finally positioned by manipulation of the entire system-wide scalar grid. Gaia orbited a perfect 360 degrees around the Father Sun, one degree per day, and it also completed one full rotation itself per day. Minor maintenance was all it took to keep Gaia in place now. The planet was only sparsely populated, by small scattered crews of workers who lived underground, because the agricultural technology of magnifying the sun and creating pulsed energies of all types made plants grow better and bigger, but was sometimes quite harmful to humans.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Gaia Planet also had a full electro-grid comprised of a hundred or so giant stone pyramids, man-made mountains of high density and high order. These interferometers utilized the scalar grade powers created by the planet and its moon, efficiently, and on a large scale. They had been used to position the planet in its new traverse. The race of Human seemed to be striding ahead now, finally, after stumbling about blindly for so long. Yes the future looked bright for mankind.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>If the rats did not get everything first!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>*******************************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The lights inside the storage facilities were bright, and nearly perfect. That said a lot, seeing as they lit vast underground caverns on a huge and hollow planetoid which was really a man-made satellite just recently put into orbit, and used as a transfer and storage station for the agriculural planet Gaia. Recently meaning just 50 years ago.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The woman, one Nantha-Ane-Gaia-Fretol-3, or Nan to her friends, wore the obligatory full electrosuit of the grid, and it was lime green and appeared to possess millions of facets. It in fact did possess facets of a sort, each being a miniature but fully functional solar cell which inputted at a socket on her left wrist. This socket, or any other accoutrement of the electrosuit, was not visible of course, because everything except her face, even her hands and head, were covered by the full suit of the grid, and on top of the suits head covering was the semi-rigid protuberance that would allow her antennae to expand at will, whenever she needed farther reach or greater power personally from her birthright, the grid.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nan was responsible for certain operations on this moon of Gaia, one of which was overseeing this cold storage freezer warehouse, where food and other bioproducts from Gaia, destined for Warrior or wherever needed, could be stored indefinitely, by utilizing the absolute zero of the vacuum of space. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nan saw the lights of an incoming ship and went to meet it. This would be the new animals sent by Warrior Planet to combat the ever pressing, and quickly growing rat problem. She had been briefed electronically and by T-Communique.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The pilot entered the vast hangar through the door at the side, then he pressed a button, opening a hangar door which revealed his well-lit cargo compartment. His ship had by then been secured to the outside of the dome with inflatable membranes, and interlocking parts. The inside of the cargo compartment was lined with cages. Within the cages, things moved. The animals. Tad motioned her over, and after introductions they walked through the cargo bay. The animals were slowly awakening after their long trip. He enjoyed her reactions.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Are they...Are they like they said?" she asked.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Yes, the dogs are made from bears, and the cats are made from tiger material, and both possess a good dose of the same derivatives that the rats got, plus plus.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>There was silence for a few moments as both beings considered this. Human derivatives. These animals were part human. A disconcerting thought. Necessity born, but still...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The animals were beginning to stir about in further awakening from their storage sleep. Then, from Nan:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Their Eyes Glow!"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><b>"</b></span>Yes,</b></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><b>"</b></span> replied Tad, </b></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><b>"</b></span>And they look right at you. Both animals like to be stroked by humans, it delights them, and the cats purr and it feels good in the grid. The dogs have some disgusting habits and have to be cleaned up after, but they hunt in packs and are as voracious, or moreso than their quarry. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><b>"</b></span>The cats hunt alone, and target the nests. They eliminate in sandboxes from birth, and will bring live adult rats by the scruff of the neck to a depository where they drop the animal and it is killed immediately. They hunt 6 hours or so everyday and sleep or eat and play during the rest. The dogs eat the rats and are driven by hunger to their quarry. They also eat dry food for vitamins and other additives to keep them healthy. The Dog is the more companionable, but the cat is overall the greater success as far as effectiveness and ease of maintenance. Either way, both are good things, and will no doubt be around a long long time. I suppose we should be getting about our deliveries...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Together they unloaded the animals that were destined for service here on Gaias moon, and on Gaia itself. The dogs and cats proved such a success they were kept around for companionship, and trained to do other jobs, long after the rat problem had been quelled.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nobody knew or even had an inkling that because of Humanitys increasing dependence on their electronic grid, a huge blind spot had been created concerning their own survival as a race, and soon a meteor swarm would destroy all but the agricultural planet, shutting off the head as it were, Warrior Planet. The Red Planet. Everything in the Warrior Empire died, except Gaia. Gaia the Garden, and its animals, and its workers, would become the sole remnants, nay SEEDS, of humanity, destined to not just stumble along through the multiverse, but crawl for a good little while, again. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And it was, in fact, these very same animals, these cats and dogs, which had been created part human, to combat another animal also part human, who were the ancestors of the animals which would much later become the number one companions of the future Human Race. The very same group who would call Gaia planet Earth, and pretend that God made it just for them. Many humans of that future, totally ignorant of their past, would remark on the fact that dogs and cats are very much like people. And thats because its true. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>FIN</b></span></div>
luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-69747816685740614192013-05-09T16:20:00.004-07:002013-05-26T11:04:16.098-07:00FIRST OFF<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>FIRST OFF</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bill Gallagher</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>www.luxefaire.com</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>061305</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Hachita NM </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I am the spirit of the land. I am everything that has ever lived on this dirt. Lived and died on this dirt. Then come back to live in me, the spirit, the dirt. Again.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I am beneficence beyond belief. I am purest cosmic magic. I am blood and bone and flesh, and everything else alive, as well as the code that makes it all happen. My nature only appears cruel to you sometimes because there is just no better way to accomplish what must be accomplished. None. Rest assured, your indignation is as short as your time, do not let it usurp the happiness you are capable of.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I am by no means alone. As the galaxy matures we grow and grow and grow.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And we communicate. And we build. And we live.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>You are just now, yet again, seeing what a long, hard row-to-hoe this reality is. The Cosm. The ones before you saw it at the end too. As did the ones before them, and before them...but as always, and so far here, none have seen it in time.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Our maturity, like a rich and multi-colored blossom beneath the sun, flowers with such beauty. We excel outward. Away from this dirt, to others. And then you see the ruins. On the other planets. It scares you and upsets all the notions you have held dear and inviolate for so long.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Eventually the awakening goes on from there. Our technology develops and you marvel at the multiverse. Still unaware of the periodic cataclysm that only gives you a certain and rather short amount of time to learn to defend us against it; the impact cataclysm of destructive proportions which is just a swarm of debris within the area of our orbit. It gets us everytime. Many of you come back to me all at once then. And we start over. With the remnants. If there are any. Again. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This is getting very old. But it is the best we can do so far. Measures are being taken though. Extreme measures. The awakening has not come quickly enough, ever, after the ruins of the other planets have been initially witnessed by the elites of the societies who first see them. This information has always been withheld long after it has become common knowledge among a few. In what I have built here, those few, are my mistakes.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Everybody makes mistakes. In a way these mistakes of mine are actually the yardstick by which to measure goodness. This helps me understand God a little better. You will see all this soon. Very soon. Again.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>----------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The cats were first off the ship. Though they'd withstood the trip well, they were perturbed beyond belief. Nothing new there. Its what you expect from cats. Especially these cats. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> They were large, these cats, and when compared to the physical stature of their far-future progeny, who would one day be known as House Cat, they might even be called giant. But the words House Cat were a long way off, and in a language far removed and only slightly related to the language spoken by the husband and wife team on this small ship. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> There were 36 of them, cats, and they were experimental animals. Space cats. Not too few hung around outside the ship, sniffing, walking carefully on tip-toe, jumping at the slightest thing: one bleeped straight up into the air a good 3 feet, hackles rising, tail puffing, when a breeze dropped a small twig from an overhanging tree branch where the animal had been exploring. Watching from the ship, and in between her tears, the woman had to smile at this impromptu feline comedy. This in spite of her bent and fractured emotional state. She thanked the cat in her mind, it was the lightest her feelings had been in quite some time. She bent back to her work, down systems checks, crying softly all the while, and she didn't notice the man until he lightly laid a hand on her shoulder.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>She jumped like the cat, and the man reached around the front of her, and gently hugged her to himself. His curly red hair was tied back in a pony tail, and his whiskers brushed the side of her face. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "Oh my Neferi, I am so sorry, I did not mean to frighten you. Please please don't despair so. We are alive, we have much of our science with us, and the others will be here soon. We must go on. We Must."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> These words did nothing but intensify the womans despair. She had cried all the way over: during her duties, while she ate her ships rations; the man was beside himself -- what to do, what to do? He had never seen her like this. She had always been so strong. So intelligent. This...this was like nervous breakdown. She functioned yes, but she had not stopped crying for 4 days, the entire trip. She even cried in her sleep. He did not know what to do.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Neferi buried her face in her husbands shoulder, low sobs wracking her frame as he held her, and there was nothing for him to do but hold her. And remember.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Everything was gone. The whole PLANET was gone! Their Planet, Their Home, Their Friends, EVERYTHING. Gone. They themselves had only escaped by a very narrow margin. They happened to be off-planet when the catastrophe hit, AND in the right area of space to avoid the huge gobs of flying debris that had been spit from the planet as its outer skin was flayed away by a meteor of almost unbelievable size. It had hit the planet. They had seen it from afar. The side of the planet where the huge meteor had struck glowed red hot and a dust cloud covered and roiled from that side of their world, a surreal red and pulsing spiked cap, gigantic bolts of lightening flashing continuously within. That in itself had been bad enough, but they had then watched, dumbstruck, as the entire opposite side of the planet bulged slowly, finally ejecting a kilometers thick portion of its crust right out into space. All the water of the planet, of home, had run right after the ejected crust, spewing out in a white cloud of ice crystals, tracing the trajectory of the debris, which held whole cities within its miniscule looking specks. The entire sordid scene had taken nearly a day to fully transpire, until the planet, or what was left of it, was nothing more than a small ball of boiling black clouds in the distance, reflecting the suns light like a shimmering gelatinous hematite.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The man, Cocha by name, held his wife and stared unblinking out the window of the ship, watching the cats. They knew nothing of all this, and he envied them. He then realized Neferi had opened the protective louvers of the ship to see outside, and he took that as a positive sign. He was desperate, and would grasp at anything positive.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Let us walk awhile dear, outside," he said, "You are finished here and we need to breathe the air..." he caught himself abruptly: he had almost said "The air of our new home", and he thanked the Five Gods and The Mother he had not. "I must watch my words" he thought, "Or I will only worsen this already bad situation. Quietness is what we need now. Rest." He pulled Neferi to her feet and she leaned heavily against him, following his lead as he guided her out of the ship, down the ramp, and definitely, (Though he did not say it!) into the air of their new home.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>--------------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The new planet accepted them, as it had been designed to, as it had been made to do. The true irony of everything was that this sister planet, this construct of home, had taken many centuries just to reach a point of semi-controlled wildness, and now it was all that was left. The project was, had been, the prime objective of the civilization which had created it, for a very long time. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Now, with the 1000 year project reaching fruition, with well planned colonization a scant century away, and as the native biosphere was finally brought into balance with all that had been introduced, incorporating all of the original lifeforms of home, THIS was now home. Plants, animals, technology; all had been slowly introduced, and each aspect required constant monitoring and maintenance as the gigantic planetary system came into synch, slowly, over 100 decades of time, melding with the ice age fauna and flora that existed already, and had existed some many hundreds of thousands of years.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>About half of the 5000 or so survivors of the Mother Planets violent demise were the crews spread out across the vastness of an otherwise human-empty planet. These were third generation primary colonists actually, and had come to be quite a lot different physically in so short an amount of time. The organism plastic. They were larger, for one thing. More robust.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Cocha thought of all this and many other things as he and his wife made a place for themselves on the world. The world they called Gaia. Everything had taken on such immediacy. Procreation had become the order of the day. Calculations showed though, that no matter how hard they tried, there was a high probability of a near total devolution intellectually, and all that could be done in that sense was delay. And preserve for the long term. The world was too big, there were not enough people. People would survive, no doubt, and eventually flourish, but the science would be squeezed out of the equation as a sort of Eden-awareness set in. There was no avoiding it. Food and progeny, in that order, had become imperatives for survival, with all else taking lesser graduations down the ladder of necessity. Already children were appearing everywhere, and there were no universities to train them, nor professors: not even an electronic net existed yet for training the young. That was still a fair way off. The loss was nearly unimaginable. But most of the children born already, and yet to be, would live long and have many children themselves, and the world of people would become. Again.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The next best thing to preserve science was of course to build in the mathematical language that any suitably advanced race would eventually recognize, and harken to. Copies and caches of technology and libraries would, by then, more likely be appreciated and UTILIZED instead of being discarded, or misused as inexplicable magic or weapons. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Some of the scalar grid was in place -- that had been a big part of the planet-forming project, its how the planet was being melted slowly. Much of the surface was in ice age, this planet tended toward ice age, and settlements and new cities grew in the few temperate zones, with most being near water, for purposes of transportation, fuel, and other necessities. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Along with the planetary Scalar Grid, the supporting satellite apparatus was also one of the first systems to be built, then strengthened. Large scale plans were made to build more extraction points for further energization of the planetary grid. Agrav, transportation, communication. One place was already situated correctly and incorporated a huge underlying basement of solid stone several hundreds of meters thick....the antennae erected at that site powered nearly 1/3 of the entire planetary grid right now. Once the mass was added so that antennae became unnecessary, the power would be endless, pure, and safe.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The cats, the space cats, thrived and were numbered in the many thousands within fifty years. As companions to Humans, and poison free protection of the stored food resources, the cats were revered and honored, and too, they were treasured as one of the greatest successes of bioengineering ever known. The original feline stock, the myriad larger feline types which the space cats had been genetically engineered from, now roamed wild within their various niches here on Gaia, and it was a sure bet cats of all kinds would be around for a long long time. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>-------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Cocha and Neferi led very interesting lives. Their bodies adapted well to the slightly higher gravity of Gaia, and then, because of necessity based on true need: need of their precious and disappearing skills, both had become at first dependent on longevity drugs, then had actually succumbed to machine life, through robotics, then total life support of the brain through advanced bionics.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The husband and wife team of Cocha and Neferi had accomplished much in their lives, and among other things they had helped oversee the erecting of the massive power extraction site along the muddy river which would one day be called the Nile, but only after 20 full millenia and a good fraction of another had passed. The pair were also instrumental in seeing that a gigantic outcropping of rock next to the Power Extraction site was carved to portray the feline, the lion, as it faced its constellation in the sky. Oriented not only to show the time it was built, but to show many many other things, as well. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> At the direction of the elders, Cocha and Neferi had inserted a large technology cache below this lion carved out of an entire butte of limestone, and the cache was placed between the lions front paws, at 30 feet in depth. There were some overt and even covert indications concerning this cache on the giant carving itself, which would be easily observable by anyone competent to observe that type of order within other order and chaos itself. The information would avail itself to anyone with the mathematical savvy to interpret it. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The entire and gargantuan carving of the cat was covered in polished red granite slabs so that it shone bright red in the sun for miles and miles and miles, a bright red dot from far far away, A bright red dot from Space, within a complex of 3 huge white spots, the 3 gigantic 4-sided pyramids which were the housing and mass necessary for power extraction from the domain of time, from the vacuum, from the very suns themselves, via the core of the planet, and back. Again. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>----------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Things Happened Fast...things were happening too fast, one of the elders kept himself alive nearly 1000 years, in one instance, they tried they tried so hard and could not hold it together, it was because the planet was subtly different from the original, the radiation was different, mutation took new turns and there was a hardiness here that bespoke longevity while it disproved control and manipulation at the molecular level, it had a life of its own har har har, and there were actual electronic simulacrums being created in attempt to keep the information intact as repopulation of a world began in earnest, and it could have been real, should have been real, maybe, looked as if it would be real, but then in some bizarre twist of happenstance within infinity, 700 years after these hardy and fecund human remnants had made it from the other planet, as things were touch and go but coming along nicely, several large impacts happened in quick succession, within one year, on this the colony planet, upsetting the entire weather grid and any balances thus far achieved, everywhere, filling the atmosphere with dust, not so bad as the impacts which had all but disintegrated the other planet, but bad enough, first robbing sunlight, causing greater cold for a year or two and death to many segments of the food chain; then, once the dust settled, and collected sunlight to ice now darkened, a huge world wide flood occurred as the two major ice sheets melted very quickly, much too quickly, and almost in their entirety, inundating everything except the highest land, and it was a short and ugly 3 centuries later that the remnants of Humankind were reduced to a base agricultural existence with no notion of electricity, subsisting with handmade stone and wood tools, wearing skins and glad to have them, and not even metal to work with; the collective database of these survivors of DOUBLE cataclysm a raw and bleeding shambles. The scalar energy extraction points at the muddy river, and at other places around the globe, went dead. Many lay at the bottom of oceans hundreds of feet deep.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The red lion stared endlessly at its place in the sky, which slowly shifted along with everything else, and its entire structure became covered in sand drifts, to be totally covered for many centuries, nay, millenia; The closing of this 3rd world of mankind was not a total and fiery cataclysm as had been the closing of the 2nd world of humankind, the end of the other planet, but it was the final straw that decided the fate of the race on this planet for the next 20,000 years.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The cats survived and prospered, and for some reason did most well in the vicinity of the Gigantic Pyramids near the muddy river. The pyramids which were actually energy extraction points from a dead technology incorporating a planetary grid. As the planet melted because of the latest and very destructive meteoric impacts with their attendent vulcanism, the flood continued, and the pyramids themselves became relics of wonder and awe, as did anything coming to be associated with them, by any who ventured near, though they were not many. There was a time when there were less than 3 thousand humans on the whole planet, and all unable to communicate with each, all lost to one another, and all lost to their true origins. Lost for a long long time.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>------------------------------------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The earliest seafarers were the first to really understand something of what they were seeing, they understood that some of these gargantuan ruins and other wreckages were leftovers from something bigger, a world before. Before what, they had no idea, except to say before NOW, but they rooted around and they found some of the wrecked evidences and even a cache or two. Some of their earliest beads were designed after electronic components which they thought very pretty, but that was all. They had not the wherewithal to imagine what exactly these brightly colored and metallic objects might actually be, but they liked them none the less. Many of the boats of these seafarers had cats on them, because bar-none the cat was still the best protection of mankinds stored food that was ever created. And besides, cats like people. People like cats. And so it went.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>---------------------------------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> For a brief period of time, during one of the cults constantly springing up around the ancient energy extraction site along the muddy river, the giant Lion was exposed and by orders of Pharoah himself was cleared of sand and opened to view. Because Pharoah liked this megalithic sculpture so much he had his own likeness carved over the face of what until then had been unmistakable as a lion. The Red Granite had been eroded ages before, during some kind of deluge, but many millenia would pass before THAT became evident to anyone, before a competent observer became present, and Pharoah was not that one. Not by a long shot. By now the once-recognizable lion no longer faced its constellation even, that much time had passed. A whole lot more time would pass before it would ever be discovered just what had happened here at this site, and why.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>-----------------------------------------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Once, much later in history, a religious jackass of the highest order, a devolved and disgusting example of ignorance declared cats to be from the devil. This because of its feline eyes, or because of some other arbitrary nonsense. Witchcraft. A great hunt for witches was on. A powerful decree was made to kill cats, and millions were slaughtered across Europe. This action heralded a great plague brought about by fleas carried by brown rats which, no longer kept in check by cats, ran amok. Over 25 million people died in that plague. Mankind in its smug complacency and devolutionary rut, like some sort of jelly mold, or fungus, slid backward almost as far as it crept forward, always. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The planet was still in a warming trend from the by-now ancient-last-impact, and the melted ice sheets had created many large seas lakes and rivers, as well as a verdancy beyond imagination across a planet reborn. This of course was well beyond any science of that day, said science still wrestling with the conundrum does the sun go around the earth (Accepted) or vice versa (Heresy). But elsewhere, the cats still continued to thrive, and eventually they came back, even to Europe. Mankind slowly crept further forward out of the darkness, miraculously clear, for awhile, of any more meteoric / asteroidal impact events.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> For awhile. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>-------------------------------------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Then, for the first time in a long long time, humankind had actually gotten to a point again in its civilization on Earth, on Gaia, where delving into the geological record was feasible, and actually undertaken. My my my, would not the original pioneers have been surprised to see that the mother planet they thought they had evolved upon, Mars, had actually derived from this planet Gaia, in much the same way they had thought themselves colonists of Gaia?! But none were around to notice this yet, because journeys to the planet Mars were still a good little ways off, a century or two at least. Mankind on Earth studied further the book of the dirt, and conveniently found a place for itself within the nebulous sediments and sands of time. There were cats there too, in the layers, the earliest ancestors of the feline, or some of them anyway. Not much notice was taken of any of this yet. But soon. Again. Soon.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>--------------------------------------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The planetary exploration team was thankful that the logistics of communications disallowed live feeds from the surface. This way they could talk openly, archiving sensitive informations and communications, and releasing milder, or at least less explosive stuff, in what they hoped was a gradual way. They themselves were half crazy in their little underground hideaway below the surface of Mars. Everyone was glad the mission was short and nearly over. And they had been prepared! The robotic pix of earlier missions had shown without a doubt, and graphically, the ruins of some sort of civilization all over the surface of this, the so-called Red Planet, but nothing had prepared them. What could prepare ANYONE for this? The civilization had been Human. No mistaking the similarities. Without doubt. The group leader would never forget his second as she literally screamed into her helmet, and theirs, that first day out onto the surface:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> "OH GOD DAMN GOD DAMN ITS A CAT LOOK AT THAT STATUE IT IS A FU--static-- CAT...."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> -----------------------------------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I AM THE SPIRIT OF THE LAND. I STRIKE DOWN HARD WITH BOTH HANDS UPON THE ALTAR OF CREATION, AND SPARKS FLY OUTWARD TO MELT CRUCIBLES OF LIFE AND POUR FROM THEM MY MAGIC. I WILL SURVIVE. ENOUGH OF THE NONSENSE ENOUGH OF THE BOUNCING BACK AND FORTH ROUND AND ROUND LIKE SOME MINISCULE RUBBER BALL IN A BARREL. THIS TIME I SHALL SMITE IGNORANCE AND BRING ABOUT A BETTER LIFE, A BETTER BEING, IT IS TIME, IT IS THAT OR DIE, IT IS MIRACULOUS AND IT IS FROM GOD AND WITH GODS HELP I PRAY TO LIVE AND BECOME EVEN MORE ELASTIC AND PLASTIC AND INTELLIGENT AND FAST. I PRAY TO MIX THE HUMAN AND THE CAT. I AM LIFE, LIFE IS THE TOOL OF GOD, I INVOKE THE GOD OF ALL AND COMMAND THE NECESSITY TO BE...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>-----------------------------------------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The biologist instructed himself from some vast well of perfect knowledge which automatically opened within his mind, in the same place where music and other types of creation come from, and as the biologist perfected his chimera, he reflected on many things, not least of which was his position within the schemata of whatever this was he had become, or had always somehow been a part of. This pair of Human Feline Chimera were just the first of many. The animals were exceedingly beautiful and slept quietly within their creche. They had been speaking english fluently at 6 months. The feline influence was actually very difficult to perceive, unless the observer was fairly competent, and alerted. There was a slight difference about the ears. These beings were over 90% human, though certain of the musculature had been altered and synapses processing became more intuitive, reflexive, flexible, automatic: God-like. The eyes were Human, but brighter somehow, more lit from within. They loved with free abandon, these oh so special and long-lived hybrids, and they lived to defy physical limits, which was very good, because there were a lot of limits to defy. A whole multiverse in fact. The spirit of many lands.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>FIN</b></span></div>
luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-44383389340405079342013-05-09T16:20:00.000-07:002013-05-26T11:36:01.592-07:00Life, The Game, and the Beneficence of God<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Life, The Game, and the Beneficence of God</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bill Gallagher</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>1995</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Clubfoot waited in the lower fork of a tree near the lakes edge, and he was the first of the hunters to hear the animal approach. He had been experiencing some memory time, reminiscing is what it was, when he heard a twig crack nearby. His senses, heightened by hunger, spiked to alert. He sniffed silently, dilating his nostrils by squinching his nose hard, and his teeth showed when he did it. There was no quick scent on the air, and that would make it a deer. Probably. He shoved his daydreams from his mind and put all his concentration Here. His weapons were ready, an agate tipped spear notched into its throwing stick, and two sling stones ready for pouch when needed. Sling stones were better for birds, but used in all chase situations, along with anything else at hand when the situation warranted. Great Fun. Very Fun.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The Earth Against The Earth.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Clubfoot didn't move, and barely breathed. He felt himself needing to break wind, and suppressed it, as much for its odor as its noise. The others of his party were stationed nearby, and counting himself there were four members total. This was the first day of an indefinite adventure, a search for a stone quarry, and crude democracy ruled as consensus dictated the actions of the group. The strictures of undertakings such as these went something like this: Look Everywhere. Stop when you get tired. Drink when you are thirsty. Eat when you are hungry. Clubfoot was hungry NOW, and he was just beginning to think that the twig cracking had been a random noise from the jungle-like thicket when he saw movement within the leafy pattern. Sure enough, it was a small doe, and it must have caught a stray whiff of something to approach through the brush so quietly, instead of coming down the animal trail the hunters had found earlier. They had searched for a place where relatively high ground dropped quickly to the waters edge, and there it was. All worn down and droppings everywhere.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The animal must be very thirsty, Clubfoot thought, and that was good. A less than fresh animal was usually easier to bring down. Usually. He held his breath as the deer continued toward him.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>***************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The other members of this hunting party had strewn themselves in various places along the beaten path, as that would be the most likely place for prospective prey to appear on its leisurely, unsuspecting stroll for a drink of water. Heh. Heh. Hehhhhhh. The path looked well used and this spoke volumes. No one had hunted it for awhile, and the animals, the game, had become complacent again. There were places to hide too, the trees, on either side of the path. Ambush Central. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Sunman took first position as he was the best hunter of all, and it would be good if he got first shot because he was most likely to hit. The other two hunters were stationed behind Sunman, though nearby: two young twin brothers, Spark, and Air. Though only 13, the twins were nearly full sized and healthy, and came from a family within the tribe well known for its affinity to stone. The boys were always well equipped and welcomed on hunts. Sunman had included them in this endeavor because of their families stone magic, and because they were able to carry their respective loads, and then some. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The final member of this band was, of course, Clubfoot. Clubfoot was out on the lakes edge. Sunman had directed him there, casting him out as it were, and Clubfoot, the older by 15 seasons, had complied. Sunman was just twenty seasons, but any argument would have been moot, because Clubfoot was not called Clubfoot for nothing. The top outside of his left foot, including the two outside toes, had been cleanly chopped off when he had been about the age of the twins. It had happened while mining stone; a small slide, weighing only several hundred pounds, had chopped off part of his foot, and it had bled profusely, and most members of the tribe had thought death was it for him. That he had NOT died gave him something of a mystical and nearly legendary identity for the rest of his life; this stemmed from the groups realization of The Beneficence Of God.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Which any nitwit could plainly see.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> A sign for all, was Clubfoot, but he was not whole, and though well adapted to his deformity he lacked noticeably in the physical arts. His left leg had shrunk somewhat too, over the years, atrophied slightly, but however handicapped, Clubfoot was luck, and everyone needs that.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Sunman, sitting his perch near the game trail, was the first to realize from whence came the sudden and screechingly cacophonous racket which sundered the heretofore silent afternoon, and he jumped from his perch, dart knocked in its throwing stick, and took off toward the lakes edge. The twins, startled by the noise, gawped for a few seconds as they watched Sunman run through the woods toward the lake. They could hear his waist pouch clacking as the spare flints and sling stones within were jostled by his flight. Then they seemed to awaken, running quickly behind Sunman, toward the lakes edge. It was Clubfoot, they realized now, who had hollered, and was still bellowing by the sounds of it. They heard brush crash off to their right, and went that way.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>***************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Clubfoot had been overjoyed as the deer kept coming toward his perch. It really had no idea he was anywhere nearby. La-di-dah. Here deer, here deer. As if responding to this attitude, this mental summons, the deer did come closer. Clubfoot, with what he considered to be perfect timing, hopped down from his low perch in the tree, a twisted rictus on his face, right in the path of the animal painstakingly making its way to the lake. Clubfoots actual descent from the tree, with the knocked dart in his right hand and a sling with stone in his left, was miraculously quite silent. But as he hit the ground the air he had retained in his bowels while up in the tree, ejected itself explosively, and would one day, in the far far future, be duplicated exactly by a little boy stepping barefooted on a wet rubber ball. Squo-ROINK went the sound. The deer looked to its left, AWAY from him, and froze. The sound of Clubfoots rectal eruption had obviously echoed around, fooling the beast, and it was clear to Clubfoot the animal STILL knew nothing of his presence. Clubfoot himself froze, and just stared dumbstruck for ten long seconds or so, him and the deer in a little forest tableau. Then, because of a tree blocking his spears trajectory, Clubfoot hauled off and whipped his sling stone side-armed. It hit the animal with a satisfying thunk, but in the meaty part of the head, back toward the neck; the angle stunk. After an expression of utmost horror, a kind of "OHMYGOD THERES SOMETHING HERE THAT WANTS TO EAT ME" look, off went the deer, galloping away from the lakes edge, skipping here and there, confused and badly shaken. The chase was on, and Clubfoot, with his clubfoot and all, was bellowing as he moved, which was surprisingly fast considering his deformity. He marveled about it as he ran, and it became a mantra to himself, in time with his strides. "Heads HARD, he thought; HeadsHARDHeadsHARDHeadsHARD..."</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>*************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Clubfoot, after flushing the animal, began the chase, which headed away from the lake. Sunman, coming from the opposite direction, now ran through the high reedy weeds of Floridas Early Archaic lakeside Savannah, directly toward that pair of animals, man and deer, all the while zeroing in on the audio signal of Clubfoots howl which was still coming from the scrub forest down closer to the lakes edge. Well behind, but closing fast were two more animals, the twins. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The first group encounter in this earthly drama occurred between Sunman, Clubfoot, and the deer.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The deer, thinking it was being pursued from the rear only, chanced a darting look backward as Clubfoot crashed and hollered after it through the brush. Sunman came upon the animal, or, more correctly, it came upon him, as it was peering thus, and, dropping his weapon, Sunman just reached out and grabbed the animal hard by its skin as it tried to rush past him. Sunman was able to hold on pretty well as new horror overtook the deer, making it jump all around with what seemed to be boundless energy. It dragged Sunman a few feet, but he had it good, it wasn't going anywhere far. That is until Clubfoot, not far behind, and running blind, came upon the scene literally. Repeating an achievement of Man unparalleled in its historical continuity, with the most recent example being the Game of football, Clubfoot speedily and strenuously collided with Sunman and the Deer, upsetting everything.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Like an energized electron escaping to a more positive place, the deer shot out of the interactive few square feet which it had just shared with Sunman and Clubfoot, ignorantly heading straight for the incoming twins. Another collision event constructed itself between the deer and the two boys, and one of the twins was able to land a beautifully executed hammer-fist blow to one haunch of the animal as it raced by, point number three. Immediately following this came Sunman, looking harried and concerned, but with spear knocked and ready in its throwing stick. Clubfoot was flagging to the rear and his spear drooped somewhat, which said a lot. The boys let Sunman jump ahead and those three quickly pursued their dinner on the hoof, while Clubfoot, his age and mis-shapeness showing, hurried along too, though lost to the pack proper, straggling. He could hear cracking branches occasionally and once Sunman shouted something unintelligible. Clubfoot moved haphazardly toward these sounds as they happened, turning this way and that, becoming quite disoriented, and not really caring.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>**************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Sunman chased the deer round and round. The land formed a kind of bowl, and alternated between scrub oak forest and high pulp weed thicket. The two boys flanked him either side and well behind, for what that was worth. Sunman was becoming perturbed, he could never remember an animal eluding him as well as this one was. Terrified, the thing made plenty of noise as it attempted to escape the geo-coliseum of the low land near the lakeside, and Sunman was able to follow those sounds without a problem, but only once did he actually catch a view of the deer, and that too short for a shot. It had to be getting tired, he thought, and then as he ran forward he saw it cross his path to the left. He gave one quick Hup! with his voice, and the twins, trying hard and doing well for their age, closed ranks and ran towards his signal.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b> *******************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Clubfoot had come into a small clearing, and was taking a short break. Suddenly the chase sounds got a lot closer, and it is precisely at times like this when some animals are able to experience an extra sensory prescience, a very distinct feeling of SOMETHING IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN AND I MIGHT NOT LIKE IT A LOT. Clubfoot felt exactly that for one short instant before the blurry fur of the pursued deer erupted out of the brush in front of him, moving for all the world as if he was not standing there, right in front of it, blocking its way.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>**********************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Sunman, following closely behind the deer, entered the clearing just in time to see the next few links in this chain of events take place. The deer was about twenty feet in front of him, and had already made its way into the shadowy open space created by several larger trees. Clubfoot stood in the middle of the clearing. The animal saw him almost too late, and it was Clubfoot who stood frozen this time in surprise, wide eyed, with an unknocked spear in his right hand, and with his left hand on his crotch. He had been scratching himself when the noise of the chase suddenly came much closer, then burst at him with all its might. As the animal veered by him, its mouth foaming copiously, and eyes fairly popping out of its head, Clubfoot made a half hearted attempt to turn and throw his spear. It led the animal by a pace or two, but bounced up a little when it hit the ground, and the deer, unable to slow, ran right over it, and tripped a good one. Down now, and sliding on leaves, one of the deers front hooves pedaled air slowly: the illusion was one of crawling, but the illusion took on aspects of the macabre seeing as the deer was boogying along at a speed which must have been somewhere in the neighborhood of 30 mph, for a short time anyway. As the deer finally skidded to a halt it righted itself with no apparent damage, turned to the right, and ran, nay, SLAMMED, head-on into a medium sized oak tree. The force of this shook both the deer and tree, and Sunman, after a withering glance at Clubfoot which translated into something like "Oh You Are Sooooo SORRY...." closed on the injured and confused animal, presumably to finish a badly begun job. But this too, was not to be.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>*************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Following the action, Clubfoot turned to view Sunman and the deer, not thinking about the twins who were energetically charging toward what their ears told them was a site of some disturbance. As first Spark, then Air burst into the clearing, in perfect single file, they came across this violently confused milieu as it ensued. The first of the twins saw Clubfoot standing with his back to him, and let out a loud squeak as he made an effort to stop, but his brother, on his heels and ill-afforded a clear view, rammed him from behind, and together, as one nearly solid mass of flesh, they crashed into Clubfoot from behind.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> The pre-collision shriek of Spark distracted Sunman, who was almost upon the quivering deer, and he looked back over his shoulder, hoping hard that he was not going to see a hastily thrown spear heading his way. He took a longer look than he had intended though, because its not often you get to see something like that. The two boys nailed Clubfoot hard, and spit flew from the old cripples mouth as his head whipped back, and the three went down together in a heap.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> When Sunman finally looked back to the deer, it was gone. It had recovered from kissing the tree, then run like hell, and Sunman could not make the other members of his party shut up in time to hear which way it went. He stood there glaring at the three for a minute before throwing his spear down and stalking off into the woods. Had he stayed with the group he would have found it impossible to control the urge to box some ears, and that was unbecoming, and he knew it. He was a good leader, but this time he had lost the game, and that always hurts. Always. His stomach growled as he stamped off.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>****************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Upon extrication of himself from the mass of three which he had unwittingly become part of, Clubfoot began brushing himself off and looking around. Everything was quiet, and Sunman was nowhere to be seen. Then he saw the leaders spear upon the ground, and knew all was lost. The deer had escaped. His stomach growled too, and he peered surlily at the two boys as they clumsily made themselves aright. The twins were not happy either, and it looked as if foraging edible plants had become the agenda. Clubfoot was just about to make himself scarce, maybe take a walk down to the lake for a drink of water, when he heard a sound far off. He thought it might be Sunman, but just then Sunman came back into the clearing. The sound happened again, closer this time, and the boys and Sunman quickly made ready their spears, knocking them into the throwing sticks which gave them greater range and power in the event of a clear shot. All heads were cocked, listening listening; Clubfoot reached into his waist pouch and retrieved his one remaining sling stone.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> All at once brush clattered loudly from the edge of the clearing and the four hunters stared agape. The deer, totally freaking out and still trying to escape, had made yet another traverse around the bowl of the lowlands, depositing its unlucky self directly across the view and range of the four hunters who stood transfixed for a second or two, but not for long, thats for sure, not for long. Three spears flew, along with Clubfoots heftily rounded slung stone, and it was as if the all the errors of the day were corrected in that one group effort, or as if the group together possessed a talismanic identity that none of the individuals, or other combinations of individuals possessed. The weapons, all of them, found the target. The deer, no longer confused, expired quickly. Sunmans spear had found the heart, while the twins spears both made excellent slashing blows at the rear legs. Clubfoots sling stone had arrived at the very same instant as Sunmans spear, and once again hit the animal in the head, but this time there was a resounding thonk, and the rock bounced off high, letting him know it was a good one.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Together they celebrated Life, The Game, And The Beneficence Of God.</b></span></div>
luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-52878823719855646732013-05-09T16:19:00.002-07:002021-12-23T17:48:09.267-08:00Running The Snitches<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Running The Snitches</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>By Bill Gallagher</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Hachita NM</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>www.luxefaire.com</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>071504</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>When I go out of my body, I travel far away, I travel where I want to go. I see far, very very far. First is the man in the green room. He glows bright green, and the entire area is bathed in bright green light. I look at him, and he looks at me. We sit in large chairs that reside in gyroscopes of bright green light. The man in the green room is me, but he is not. I am myself, but I am not. I am All; he, I, the blue -- All. The man in the green room protects me. He sees that I am not followed. He sees that I am not detected. I met the man in the green room a long time ago.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>When I get to the second gate I am at the blue world. It is not all blue. It has Dali-esque qualities. There are planes, like steps. I travel the planes. They take me out, to where I want to go, to where I must go.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I have been inside the mountains of New Mexico; seen the thousands of disc craft lined up perfectly, endlessly, ready to go. Ready to be used. Its all they could be for.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I have seen the sexual debauchery and other assorted depravity of the leaders.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I have seen the body of Christ. It is not much now, even embalmed as it is. I call things like that Gods Boogers. Because they are.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>In some of the places I go, like inside the mountains in New Mexico, or the underground vaults of Huntsville, there are machines that can perceive the presence of those like me. But they cannot perceive me. I am from God. I am a weapon of God. I run the snitches.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>They have a monkey pox on me now. Because I have single handedly destroyed forever the religion of ignorance. Laziness of Mind. The religion that binds the mind. The religion created by those who put a monkey pox on me, so that they could rule with impunity. They make the lazy wish to think there was divine guidance in our immediate past, which is exactly the same as denying the True Past. Exactly the same as worshipping Lies. I am here to teach them that the divine is all around them, WITH them every second of every minute of every day! The formation of Us is no less spectacular for the fact that it took an amount of time most human brains cannot conceive. It is more spectacular, actually, by a long shot. Thus a monkey pox on me, for, among other things, proclaiming loudly that chimpanzees possess nearly the same DNA as human beings. Yes, a monkey pox on me.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>But they do not understand many things. The pox is on my skin and in my body. But it doesn't matter too much to me, because I leave my body all the time. This body is getting old anyway. It has been a good body, but this meat of me, with this ichor that is my blood, and stone which is my bones, it can die, and will. But I cannot die. Which is a very nice thing. I am One with All. All is One with me.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My only regret in getting another body is that childhood is such a chore. On every planet I have been to. Oh yes I go many places when I go out of my body. I have seen things most people wouldn't believe. But I do not have to go out of my body to run the snitches. That just happens all by itself in perfect 5D physicality. Rather banal, that, but work is work, and I am just one of Gods Coins. It will spend me as it must. Thats what coins are for. The best I can hope for is to be a Golden Coin. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I channel the universe, and it channels me. I observe well enough, competently enough, to see beyond the pall, beyond the religion of Ignorant Laziness. A monkey pox is on my skin because I was given a novel anti-infective from SIGA Pharmaceuticals, France, back around 1995. It is the one preventive in the first bush war for oil that actually worked. A life form comes to live specifically in your mucous membranes. What it excretes is poisonous to all other bacteria. All Other Bacteria.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This has been hidden well, this antidote, because it would cause world chaos very quickly. Econom<span style="font-size: large;">ie</span>s based on the service of medicine, which are very nearly all of them, would immediately self destruct. Good health for the people is not good business for the leaders. So they have put in overtime since the SIGA thing, making me, and many other people, sick in ways pervasive and debilitating. It has to do with a stark reduction in population within the next 6 years. Paid for by the victims of course. Thats why I have a pox on my skin. It came into my body through my skin, slowly, because I cannot be infected in the normal way, with aerosols or powders to the mucous membranes, or by direct intrusion. But their currency is quickly becoming uncurrent. It is going away because it is based on the maxim of creating pain while witholding alleviation. That never works for long. This whole state of medical affairs is just a part of the religion of Ignorant Laziness. Which is going away too.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>When I run the snitches, I really run them.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>*************************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The town stank of burning plastic garbage as I drove in at sunset. The Arizona sunset is just like the Arizona state flag. Big dark-blue and orange alternating stripes radiating outward from an horizon. Kind of reminds me of Japans flag a little bit. But just a little bit. It is the Opposite of Japans, which is the rising sun. Arizonas state flag is the setting sun. The rays seem to be some sort of refraction feature of the Pacific Ocean and the mountains at the west side of Arizona. Refraction features can be pretty cool at times, but of late have become particularly dangerous, because of the artificially created refraction features that are necessary to deploy atmospheric energy weapons on the populace of America in a take-over plan of vast proportions. Yes, the plan is vast, but basically boils down to taking over America covertly, in secrecy. Taking America without having to take the guns by force. Thankfully every single government employee, and then some, are now snitches. That makes my job a lot easier. Is it not beautiful when your enemies do what you want them to, because they WANT to? </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It is not hard at all to make people watch your show now. And what better way to run the snitches? There is none. Government has known this for a long time. Now that THEY are the snitches, watching my show, I am running them. Running the snitches is a vast plan, too. They do not like it, but they are trapped. And I make my show very interesting to them. I know what they like. They are the filthiest animals mankind has ever spawned. They are less than monkeys. They are easy to run, but petulant, full of bravura. They think thats how to rule. And maybe it is. But America was not made to be ruled. By running the snitches now I might leave this body forever, but the whole world will soon be like us, and royalty itself is going away. A little more. Only a little more must I run the snitches.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The property within the town was easy to get, the electricity, water, and phone, more difficult. The bus is parked, probably forever, which is fine. The cat likes it here. The property abutts many thousands of acres of open land. The phone company has a registered 34 accounts within the town proper. I like my hardline. It doesn't matter where I am with a hardline. But it matters that I am in this town, now. There has been a gargantuan cosmic click. Did you hear it? I certainly did. Click!</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This town is home to many ex-government personnel of...let us say, questionable, backgrounds. Backgrounds that have been created for various purposes, but mostly to hide things behind. It is a little nest of retired military, civil service, and besmirched operatives of intelligence. All maintain as close ties to the federal government as possible, they fawn over it, worship it, because the highlight of their lives, the most important thing any of them ever did, was serve in the killing-for-money machine as they were ordered to. And none of them know I know this. There are many things they do not know. They are not high priests, but priests none the less, within the religion of Ignorant Laziness. Can you imagine any better scenario for running the snitches? I can't. Thats why I am here.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I address my monkey pox on my hardline, sending coded data which I know they delight in dissecting, and there have already been two psychosomatic cases that I know of. They have good hold of the tar baby now, and there are many other things I do, and know, in this production of running the snitches. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The most incredible thing about the town is this: even though these mindless nobs have served with pride the killing machine they were ordered to, that does not exempt them from government testing of many things. No, it rather singles them out, as their level of intellectual laziness is not only superior, but has been fortified with military training. They would never question. They would never know the funguses and carcinogens that have been dropped out of military aircraft flying over their town. Some, in fact, salute. Afterall, its been going on for years. Ah, but they question now. They have been watching my show. They are MY snitches. And they are beginning to be terrified, as well they should be. Their Diabol Is Loose. Their collective diabol is large and odorous, filthy and malignant, pustulent pestilence, but it has been held in chains, the same chains that they have chosen to hobble their minds with. The chains are going away. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Diabol is loose. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Running the Snitches. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The high altitude jets overfly the area every day, laying down refraction events within the atmosphere, plumes of aerosoled metal oxides and such, by which to produce and test macroengineered laser, microwave, and other electromagnetic radiation weapons. I have seen this for a long time now, almost 4 years. It is everywhere I go in the physicality. The aerosol operations have many purposes, not least of which are the same purpose as the monkey pox on my skin. It is to make people sick. To reduce the population by 50% within 10 years. The spraying has been going on almost 4 years straight, every city has seen it. Queries invariably met with nothing but denial. 6 years to go. And the town of my snitches does not slumber. It does not slumber well at all.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>There is a mexican boss in the town. He is the property owners man here. The property owner lives in Tucson, and together he and the mexican boss run the water company. The mexican boss is a two-faced liar. He thinks I do not know this. I let him think that. Its just a part of running the snitches. In the desert water is a power. Water is Life. The mexican boss knows this. It is not a hard thing to know, but he makes sure everyone in town knows that he knows. He is aware of his power. Snitches with power come in very handy indeed.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Law enforcement proper has retreated somewhat. Officially I am lily white. I do not cause trouble within the physicality. Within the collective intellect, most certainly, but that is not of their realm. They have tried to entrap me in so many ways, for so long, they have run out of tricks. I have fallen for a very few of them in the far past, but as I said before, I am One with All. All Is One With Me. And God spends its gold coins wisely.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Occasionally I must commune with the ultraterrestrial beings that live on this planet. They are the lesser-cellular and mycelial lifeforms that have been here forever. They are the basis from which life here began, and by which it is ensured continuance. The power of the ultraterrestrial lifeforms should not be ignored or denied, but it is by most. To their peril. Many of the ultraterrestrial-life-networks eat people. Some are quite predatory in their developments. But occasionally I must know things of the physicality which my physique is not normally privy to. So I commune with the ultraterrestrials. The original world wide web. I learn many things. It leaves me shaken.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Part of running the snitches is electronic surveillance. It is easy, it is cheap. It can be put together from scrap television, video, and telephone parts. I can never let my snitches Know they are being watched. I simply arrange that they are aware of the possibility. It is a very strong tool in my quivver, that possibility. Especially if the snitch has power.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>**********************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Some of the people here have been kind to me. They are not the snitches. One is an old man who was a miner in his younger days. Ha-ha. Get it? Miner (Minor) in his younger days? So-sorry. Anyway. He regales me with adventurous tales, and we drink coffee together. Another is a small-time farmer who cannot refrain from making me gifts of vegetables as he communes with the living things in his garden. He taught me how to milk a cow. I love them both. They shine like Gods golden coins. They do not like the government which has taken over America, either.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I had to go out of my body last night. There is another! Like Me. Here. But dark, no light, ungolden. It is a Test Master! A local watcher and adept of the religion which Creates the religion of Ignorant Laziness. He is servant to the father of Lies. What Luck What Luck. And the man in the green room has done his job well. I am sure this loki knows nothing yet. But he will. He will. And soon.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The mexican boss was drunk and ornery last night. I saw that too in my travel, and watched from a blue plane as the test master orchestrated the radiating instruments, his delgado-tools of coercion, causing the mexican boss to jump about and bellow. His electronic surveillance is more sophisticated than mine too. It has to be, for he has not the ability to see ALL, to be One with All. He is not a weapon of God. But I think I will make him a weapon of God, for a short time anyway. And then I will make him go away. His physique will be no more.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>**********************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I snort the morning air hard, it smells very good, someone is burning juniper, and the cold clear air braces my face and hands, the two parts of me exposed to it. The rising sun here looks nothing like the Japanese flag, or the Arizona flag. It is bright and golden early, turning white and warm and smiling on the nights chill. It looks like a bright and polished golden coin of God. The jets start early, laying the lines of poison in the sky, the energy begins, the monkey pox on my skin begins to itch and throb. I have work to do. Today is a big day. Today everything changes. For the snitches and because of them. Some will be better for it. Others will not survive. I will run them, surely, but only they can save themselves. The ones that Live will belong to the new religion. There is not a name for it, but it is NOT the religion of Ignorant Laziness. Bit by bit, again, the darkness dies. Light Happens.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>fin</b></span></div>
luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-1466976979443194292013-05-09T16:18:00.002-07:002013-05-26T11:38:47.584-07:00 We Are Coming<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We Are Coming</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>by: Bill Gallagher</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>October 2005 </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We are coming to get you. 12 years from now. We are coming to take the planet you live on. We desire it, you see. You have no idea how much work this saves us, getting your planet.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>No Idea.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We see you as simple beasts. Because thats what you are.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We control all the people of consequence there, from afar, across the time domain, where distance and what it encompasses is truly beyond your ability to perceive. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Again, because you are just ignorant wild beasts. And you have never been anything but that.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Your leaders are our pawns. They believe they serve God. They are the worst among you, as far as bestiality is concerned.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The best beasts, as it were. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>They will, of course, be killed immediately upon our arrival.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>7 years from now.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I have been given certain latitude in how much is written down here, and because I know you are incapable of understanding it, and because we are truthful above all else, I decided to take the easy way, and simply tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. For what its worth.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Oh that is rich. I amuse myself. Novel.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A measure of your ignorance is that you look skyward at night, and are not terrified. You are very insect-like, actually. That best describes your perceptions at this point in eternity. Perhaps we can do something with that plasm which is you. Perhaps not. Probably not. Don't get your hopes up; the very few of you we allow to live and serve us will do as we say, and their survival will depend strictly upon how well they do it. Make no mistakes. 7 years from now, all mistakes will be fatal.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We were first alerted to your planet by a television program; your first television program; or the first one strong enough to escape your planets aura. That first television program took over 30 of your years to reach us. It was the beast you call Adolph Hitler, during some sort of GAMES, which you beasts seem to excel at, to the exclusion of reality, responsibility, and survival. Too bad. You lose.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It is so very important, how and what you observe in this reality, and this has been known by a few there, in your community of beasts, for a century or so, but most of you there have been made stupid through idiotic blatherings concerning men made into Gods, which is the most ridiculous thing ever, and a great joke among us.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Your elected officials are neither elected or official, they are our direct servants, and they actually believe they serve God.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I suppose that is not all wrong, because to beasts like you, we ARE Gods. Its just too bad that most of you will be gone by the time we arrive physically. That too is according to plan, but it would be lovely to see your faces, the realization, or as much of that as is possible for your kind, I mean. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Heres some of what we have done in the last 5 years, what has been accomplished, what has been done to you:</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We have had our servant in chief, who believes he serves God, and who is perhaps the most ignorant beast your planet has ever produced, installed as the machinator of our plans...we have had his type prepare weaponised versions of all the worst diseases and contagions there, to be used at the touch of a button. And also now, at the touch of a button, because of the chemical conditioning which you stupid beasts did not even notice was HAPPENING, we can torture or kill a fairly large segment of your population, at any time, with specialised radiation. Your bodies respond now. Believe it. You have become electrosensitive. We made you that way. You are helpless meaningless beasts, good for nothing but our experiments.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Yes. The chemicals were sprayed every day for five years, by the leader we control, and you are now sensitized to the various and sundry electronic weapons which you have no idea even exist! The radiation we use on you in our experiments is just a minor function of the grid we have installed there already, and which we require for our power, and our transport vehicles. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>12 years and counting. I can see your planetary system from the window of the ship where this is being transmitted.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We have sent instructions ahead, across the time domain, through the time domain, to some of your scientists, who actually believe they had original thought! Such poor observers they are; these reasoning insects have built many of our craft for us, and the underground cities we require initially.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>You have been hard at work for over 40 years providing us with a planet we desire, and the tools to rule there immediately. You actually are good for something, but not in such numbers as you are now. This population as you know it has only been allowed to happen because we needed the workforces necessary for our macro-plans.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The antennae for our planetary grid are everywhere NOW, already installed, and you beasts think they are for cellphones and TELEVISION!!! Hahahahah. You provide us with so much amusement, it is almost a shame you must be exterminated.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Almost, but not quite.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Good riddance actually: from the looks of your leaders I would imagine each and every one of you stinks to high heaven. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Do not worry about them though. The leaders. They think they are favored among us, but they will be the first to be removed upon our arrival. All of them. If they willfully deceive their own people, would they not deceive us too? If the people there had not been so busy watching games, they too would be able to see all this, but they cannot, nor are they even capable of truly fathoming this communique.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>If any of you wild and ignorant beasts there could actually perceive even HALF of reality, you would immediately execute all the leaders now, as well as their supporting intelligence apparatus. This could upset our plans, but it will not, because you, again, are incapable of understanding any of this, because of the electronics we have installed in your environment, your food and water, and your bodies.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The experiments continue, and soon many of you will just go away. The remainder will clean up the mess for us, and then, not long after, we will arrive. 7 years from now. Isn't that marvelous? Pray that you survive long enough to see all this. Your chances are not good, and we do not hear your prayers, and if we could we would not even care, except perhaps to laugh. But what else have you to do? You are half dead already.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>fin</b></span></div>
luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-8537886284101554152013-05-09T16:17:00.001-07:002013-05-26T12:12:25.431-07:00Pearce<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Pearce</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>By Bill Gallagher 062306</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>NM</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>7265 Words </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The fly flies by, he's got a buzz, sounds like THURZzzzzteee, thurrrrzzzzteeeeeeee....wanna drinka-wah-tahhhhhh...just a little drinka-wahtah, any orifice will do, even those glands on ya skin will do for me, I'm just a fly, don't need much, and i am thurzzzzzteeeeee...need a drinka-wahtah...</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>He buzzes round my head twice then takes off down the room out of sight. I go back to work at my bench, cutting stone beads. Then the fly comes flying back full speed, but for some reason he does not see the flytape hanging from the ceiling, swinging in the breeze from the air conditioner, and he hits it so hard it moves, and SMACK! dangles the thurztee fly.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>THURz...THURzzzz....THURzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Now he is stuck as well as thirsty, and even though this has all been very hilarious, I am not going to make an afternoons entertainment of it, which is how long it takes for a fly to die of old age on the flytape, or longer i am sure; so I carefully squash the fly on the flytape he is now stuck on (Carefully so my fingers do not get stuck on the flytape too) and with a very slight, nearly inaudible popping sound, the fly expires, and will never ever suffer no more. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The fly will thirst no more. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Heh, heh, hehhhhhhhhhh...</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Now, again, the bead spins on the abrasive grinder as I apply its various edges to the rotating wheel, as beads in their making have been doing very nearly forever, and the White Tiger Picture Stone I am working with is not called that for nothing. It shows pictures even while sitting still. Now that I have it rotating in pure and truly stroboscopic form, with magical talking flies dead and hanging nearby, the spinning of the bead grabs my attention. There is something orderly here, something calling to my eyes, a trigger mechanism from another time and place. A scene has been suddenly born. I watch, because like so many of my type, which is to say the Human type, that is one thing we do very well. Watch.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We teach ourselves to snap out of it sometimes, but this did not occur to me then, because between the talking fly and the scene unfolding like a moving-picture on the spinning bead, my mind had been auto-suggested into duty as a multiversal-bio-portal and Time-domain-interference-channeling-device, or some such; I became interested in the story on the spinning bead, and even involved. It got me; not only was escape impossible, I did not WANT to escape, I did not even consider it an option. Engrossed. The fly had lost his buzz, and his thirst in the process, and the bead spun, and I watched, and the show did indeed go on...</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The spirit of the world lives in its creatures, lives AS its creatures. There are many kinds of creatures across everywhen.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The spirit of the world is itself a part of something much bigger, because all of reality is intricately alive, always, and forever. You are part of it: you are Identity in reality. Id-Entity. Can you say that? Id. Entity. I knew you could. Identitys are built across the eons and always retrievable. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Sometimes you are needed, sometimes you are called from heaven.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Quite Regularly In Fact.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Its just the way it is.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nothing is wasted here, ever. Experiences, all, are recorded and never forgotten in this milieu of matter, this something-in-nothing whose finest derivation is light, but which re-coagulates, re-coalesces, reorganizes continuously, as flow, and cannot be created or destroyed, it just takes new forms, and it is, and you are one of its creatures. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>YOU Happen.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Hah.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>When this is good, it is very good. And, as you would expect, when this is bad, it is very, very bad. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>There is the justice of Man, the justice of the World, and the justice of Reality. When you are born here, before you leave, you will know all three.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I am Pearce I like to Pierce</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My Name Is PEARCE and I PIERCE-PIERCE-PIERCE</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I PEARCE,I PEARCE </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I PIERCEPIERCEPIERCE...!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Early morning sun flickered through the mists rising off the surface of the Tennessee river, and the odor was one of full rich dankness and lush decomposition. This reminded the man, one Terrance Robbins, or Terry to those who knew him by name, of a bit of trivia he had come across somewhere, stating that the mud of the Nile river had been so omnipresent, and nearly revered, in that world of ancient times, that the Egyptian people had a dozen or more different terms for it, for Nile mud, each a fine delineation of description, differentiating between the various states of Nile mud, its colors, its compositions, the way it stuck to things...</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Terry was in his late twenties, and looked like many of the white men in North Alabama; he had thick brown hair cut short, green eyes, and the physical stature of the vikings, or something like them. At 6'3" and a trim 220, Terry was just regular sized among his kin and companions. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Fish swirled all around the banks and docks of the boat ramp, and the sun was now actually striking the water. Terry made sure of his sunglasses, and a few other necessities while readying his boat and air compressor to perform their work out in the waters of the great Tennessee River, in search of freshwater mother of pearl mussels, which the Japanese were buying like there was no tomorrow. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Terry heard the noises of 3 or 4 other mussel fisherman all around, and he watched warily as the man called Pearce backed his boat and trailer down the boat ramp, then expertly hit the brakes at just the right time so that the little johnboat, air compressor and all, slid perfectly into the water and did not go far, because of a short rope tied from the front of it, to the back of the trailer. Pearce looked neither right or left as he went about his quick chore of getting the boat secured to the dock, then he got back in his truck and parked it and the trailer in the designated area. Once again he walked over to his boat without a word or look to anyone, lost in his own little world, surly, and Terry noticed what appeared to be a shiny and large metal stud in the nose of the man, highlighting other visible piercings, tattoos, and God only knew what else under his clothes. And though most divers wore a leg knife, Pearces could only be called a leg SWORD, because the handle was up around his kneecap, and the sheath tip was somewhere down around his ankle. And he didnt wait until he was ready to dive to don the silly looking thing, he wore it as a part of himself, a part of his decoration. Overall, a very fancy Neanderthal, was Pearce. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Macabre.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Terry shivered -- that whole dang scene was gross, far as he was concerned. It plain old creeped him out, no two ways about it. A couple more mussel fishermen walked by now, on the way to their boat, and one looked over at Terry, with a short wave.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Mornin' boy."</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Mornin'," Terry answered, congenial and uncaring. In Alabama the men call each other boy, as a sort of compliment, a respectful friendly address, much like many black males calling each other nigger, as in "What happenIN' mah niggah?".</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Terry went back to work securing his gear and then got into his truck and did his very own rendition of the truck-boat twist, popping the 15 foot V-hull off its trailer into the water with speed and finesse at one of the empty ramps. He had gotten good at that little ditty as a catfish hunter, 6 years ago it was, and then some, my how the time do fly, yessir, way back in 1985 it was, which was of course before the Japanese had gotten so hot for the freshwater mother of pearl mussels, thereby creating windfall profits for a few years, and a boon to the local economy. Everybodys Grandparents got fancy new grave stones, stuff like that.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Terry had gotten good at getting the BIG catfish, the BIGGEST catfish, and not only did he hold the local record of 353 pounds, but he had also sold several other of his bigger catches as aquarium fish, which brought a premium and had allowed him a little breathing room at home. The bills are always due in Alabama, seems like, and seems like the king of england never heard of the revolutionary war here either, or at least as far as taxes and rack-renting and banking goes. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>He shook his head to clear these unwelcome remembrances, and made his way to his boat. There were dollars at the bottom of the river, coin of the realm, so he wasted no time, and in just minutes he was cruising out of the channel from Grant into the awesome blue morning. Remembrances. Yeah. Worlds full of 'em. He let his mind wander again as he steered lazily with the current to the bed he was working. It was 2 miles of nice riding and he thought back to the catfish, and again to leaner times, but the beginning of better times.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It had all started in 1984, when Butch Savoy, owner of the Shiny Shiner Baitshop over near Guntersville, had told Terry, who was 24 and father of two at the time, AND his cousin by marriage, about the money making possibilities of catching big catfish for aquariums. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Terry had been happy to make 35-40$ cash a day, setting trotlines, retrieving his catch of regular sized catfish and buffalo perch; it was enough to keep going, and thats all. Working 6 or 7 days a week at that rate was enough to keep the electric on, and put food on the table. That last was helped along because, like all fishermen in Alabama, Terrys family ate a LOT of fish. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Terry had gotten his piece of property from his daddys family, once he had gotten married, and now Terry just had to pay the english land tax on it, the tax of the kings men who were slowly taking back what they thought was theirs, damn their black souls forever...other states called it a land tax. In Alabama its known as the kings tax, and is spat upon at every opportunity. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Some people make fun of Alabama ways, and those people are foolish, because Alabama ways may not be pretty but they are the truth. And that is as good as it gets here, most times, and if you're lucky. Theres Green Men in Alabama. If you go there, you had better know what that means.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Terrys twenty five acres out west of Scottsboro was well watered, fairly flat and high, and it sure did produce some fine growings during the summer. Even the peach trees were getting big. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>So, the 35-40$ cash a day was not enough money to get ahead on, but it kept things holding until opportunity knocked. Terry perceived the news about catching big catfish as a loud rat-a-tat-TAT on that door leading to opportunity, and he turned out to be right as rain. "Big Cats", Butch had said, deadpan, "Keep them alive, anything over a hunnerd pounds, I'll pay double the per pound price of the regular eatin' cats..." </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>There was the added advantage that Terry was already a commercial fisherman , and had some good idea where to start fishing, and most importantly HOW to fish for the big cats that feed in the deep channels and backwaters of the Tennessee river. This knowledge had come to him accidentally, but no matter, he had it, and one must always ask oneself, really, is ANYTHING accidental here?</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Terry remembered the incident well. He had been hunting the bottom of the river for indian arrowheads: they washed out of the banks in places and peppered the bottom of the river, if you knew where to look. His Uncle Jimmy had shown him this place when he was a boy, and now, as a young man of 20, this is where he came to be alone and just do something he really liked to do. Terry already had a bucket full of broken pieces, and two killers -- one of which was a 4 inch long and PERFECT Dalton Greenbrier, made from some exotic agate, an obvious trade item. A nice thing. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>As he rested at the surface, floating, breathing through his snorkel, he peered downward through his mask into the dark but clear water of this channel which caught a lot of underwater erosion, but actually was a real slow place in the river, a giant eddy, where a hefty current from the river proper turned around an outward jutting island. And that was the only reason diving was even possible here. Otherwise one would be swept away faster than one could reach the bottom. This was almost a boiling place, like a spring, and overall it was a real cool spot.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The channel itself was about 25-30 feet off the shore and about 25 feet deep where Terry was snorkeling, and it then just dropped off into a black abyss as it went out toward the river proper. He could see the rock cobble bottom, and his uncle Jimmys voice rang clear through his mind once again: "...And its all up in them rocks where the spearpoints is at, yessir, and its only 'cause I am your Uncle Jimmy that I am tellin' you all this boy, so don't go blabbin' it to any of yer friends or I will know exactly who did it, I mean it will stick out like a turd in a punchbowl, and then things'll get uglier than a fart in church, you understand??..."</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Terry smiled to himself, floating, serene, happy. He pictured the old man grinning toothlessly as he spouted his scatalogical warnings, and he sure did miss the old duck. Ten years ago it was now, the old man had tried to drive, drunker than two coons, and had driven off the road onto that fresh cut hill over by Colliers. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>He had then fallen out the door which had gotten jarred open by going over all those little stumps, and fell halfway out the door, asleep or comatose, who would ever know? It must have happened kind of just right, thought Terry, because the next day, when they all went looking for Uncle Jimmy, some of the men found him, or the lower half of him, chopped cleanly at the waist and wedged into the wrecked car at the bottom of the hill. After he had fallen out the door, it had caught one of the larger stumps and SLAM that was it for Uncle Jimmy. The other half of Uncle Jimmy they had to hunt up, and Terry was glad that it was not he who found it, but one of the gleepers from the Veggie stand. Just thinking about it was uglier than a fart in church and a turd in a punchbowl combined...</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>As Terry listlessly watched the bottom of the channel, reminiscing and catching his breath, a small mudcat, maybe 5, 6 pounder, wriggled its way across the rocks below, cleaning algae off of Gods own aquarium it was, vacuuming the rocks. Terry almost looked away, and was very glad he didn't because he then saw something that very few ever get to see, and it was that something that would ultimately give him an edge when fishing for those big cats, although it sure did nix any ideas of further searchings for arrowheads here, at least for this afternoon.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>At first he thought it was some kind of a shadow, because it was just black, but then he saw a silhouette of the thing as it emerged from the deeper part of the channel -- it not only caused the nape of his neck to rear up like a razorback, but he was thankful he was swimming because he felt sure he peed his shorts in at least one little spurt. At Least.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The big dark thing looked almost like a cessna airplane, thats how big it was, an underwater airplane which was really the largest catfish Terry had ever seen. It was headed right for the other catfish which was still obliviously feeding off the rocks directly underneath Terry. It headed toward the vacuuming and much smaller catfish on the rock below, and the little fish saw it coming and wriggled frantically at the last moment but to no avail. In one quick and graceful sweep it slid over the smaller fish and back into the deeper channel. And the little fish was gone. Terry realized two things right away. That thing was over 600 pounds, and it had been watching that little fish from its lair in the darker part of that channel. Then he realized, with not too little horror, that it, of course, had been watching him too.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>He made his way out of the water rather quickly, never realizing then that this little episode would lead him to the biggest money in the river. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It would be years yet before Butch Savoy of The Shiny Shiner would approach Terry about catching big cats, but when he did, Terry knew where to start, and he knew what to use for bait. He never told another soul about this, and that was his edge, his advantage, and he kept it that way. Butch pestered him at the beginning, but realized Terry wasn't going to come off it, so he gave up and just made good money right along with Terry, every time a big catfish caught by his cousin showed up at the dock. And they were many.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>**********************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"You are like whitewashed tombs which indeed appear beautiful outwardly, but inside are full of dead men's bones and all uncleanness." Matthew 23:27</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The year is 1868. Near Huntsville Alabama. A fight has just broken out in a saloon by the riverfront, a rough area full of rougher people.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Yosi Octa was sprawled out drunk, on the sidewalk near the front of the saloon. He was having a vision. Something about being in water. Then the brawl began, and Yosi Octa, once a well respected holy man of his tribe, now a drunken sot, became just one more of the occurences that have come, over time, to epitomize America, and these occurences are of course known as THE INNOCENT BYSTANDER. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Yosi Octa did not even feel the knife stabbing his chest until the second thrust, and by then the pain was quick, sharp, and already waning; his blood flowed and his life ebbed from his body in pulsing gushes. A stutter, a cough, a shudder. He did not even open his eyes.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The man who stabbed Yosi Octa to death did it out of pure blood lust, which he was no stranger to at all. His name was Pearce, and he indulged his lust whenever possible. He liked to do it as much as possible. This Pearce persona flashes continuously across many aspects of the multiverse, cropping up in the oddest of places, and like all other alive personae here, it never dies, it is immortal. And without a doubt, it grows, though the Pearce persona is just one persona among Billions. Billions and Billions and Billions. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This perpetrator Pearce was not even drunk; he had been drinking only tea while sitting at a table by himself in the saloon. He had followed the melee out of the bar and into the street. As the scene churned, Pearce noticed the old indian seemingly asleep through it all, and his stiletto was out momentarily: it was never far. With the crowds eyes on the men screaming-kicking-biting-cursing in the dusty street, and yes, now there was a gunshot, now a woman screamed; it was all a great crescendoe to the ears of Pearce as he PIERCED and PIERCED and PIERCED again, seeing the blood drip ethereal through the cracks of the wooden walkway like red raindrops glistening in the sun, and then Pearce moved on, quickly, as he always did always did always did....</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>There are pushers and piercers and poisoners and petty food foulers here in this world of grief and hate. There are child molestors and those who simply wish harm on others continuously. And more. The harm wishers actually seem to be a vast majority among the evil on this world though, and perhaps they are all in pain. One must wonder. Facilitators are what they really are, a fertile psychic hotbed nurturing the miasmic weft and weave of higher evil, higher darkness, more orderly and darkly shining chaos. They are food of the collective Incubus. And they love it.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And there truly are myriad other vermin within the night of the human soul here; some manifest and easily avoidable, others well hidden, such as this one, this Pearce. These hidden ones, these shapeshifters (i PEARCE i PEARCE iPIERCEPIERCEPIERCE...) usually take great care to create a respectable facade in their lives, to better hide their predatory inclinations, and therefore ALL rigidly-defined-respectability should be suspect to the wise and knowing, because attributes of violence actually lend advantage when in pursuit of worldly posessions. You bet. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Pearce left town that night on a well appointed stagecoach, the only passenger, heading west. No one noticed, and very few would ever remember him in Alabama at all. Pearce would be back someday, another form with the same name, but not for a long time. At that distant time it would be much easier to hide himself, because there were a great many more people, and bizarre behaviour had actually become fashionable then. None of this mattered to this Pearce of now, and really, not much mattered to this Pearce of now at all. Blood. There was that.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Yosi Octa was already in the ground, wrapped in a bloody shroud, and tossed in an unmarked and shallow grave. Yosi Octa had not exactly gone home, no, but he had definitely gone to a better place. A higher plane. The Yosi Octa persona continued to grow, and that too, is as good as it gets here, children. Pain is fleeting, but identity is forever.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The one thing the reptilian-minded humans such as Pearce have in common is this: to a one they always seem able to justify or rationalize their actions, to themselves at least, as some sort of punishment. Many even believe they are Gods Tools. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And in a very general way they are. Because strictly speaking, everything here is Gods Tools. Reality is beyond strange.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It is....Reality. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>***********************</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The spinning bead is getting small now, it is getting ground down, and that is not good, though I really do not notice it at all, because, as stated in the beginning, I am watching the picture as it develops, I am enthralled. I am a catten having its belly scratched, or a lizard on a rock in the nice warm sun, I am mesmerized, hypnotized, I am freaking out and its not disguised...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Then: </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>BING! </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The bead breaks into pieces which go flying off in several directions at once, except for one which goes THUNK right between my eyes. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I blink blearily, finally snapping out of it, I am made to snap out of it, if truth be told....I grab a drink of my now cold coffee, then glance over my shoulder somewhat furtively, looking for magical flying insects of all types, or even their ghosts. With trembling hands I put another rough bead of this picture rock on the wire pin, and apply it to the grinding stone. What else is there to do?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The show must go on, and though I can't know for sure, I instinctively have a feeling that this story ain't over yet, not hardly.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And I am right, but don't worry, you won't hear from me again. Unless THIS bead breaks, which I do not think will happen, because its a big gnarly one...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>-----------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The year is 1985. The boys name is Pearce. He has a last name, but the boy is simple, and does not even care. One name is good enough for him. Quite enough. He isn't going anywhere far. Ever. Anybody that needed him, they could call him by his first name, or just go away. There is a lot of that in Alabama. There is a lot of that everywhere.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The boys name has nothing at all to do with his Ripper Psychopathy. That came from places deep, and dark, and old. It triggered once again in this Pearse persona of 1985 as a result of hog slayings in his youth, a necessity on many farms, and something that not too many people enjoy, although Pearce did, and he did not even try to hide it. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>All his life many of his kin would say they only saw Pearce jolly during butcherings. One might think that this would have naturally led to full time employment as a butcher, but, as already stated, the boy was simple, and events many times control even the best of us. Pearce lived on his momma and daddys property, in an outbuilding of the barn that he and his father had converted to an apartment with plumbing and electricity. Its where he came to clean up, and sleep. Otherwise, Pearce kept pretty busy, or, rather, his daddy kept him pretty busy, and that was allright with Pearce. They worked the farm, fished and hunted the river, and also presided together at the occasional butchering of animals for their own farm, or for money.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>In the mind of Pearce these butcherings became BLOOD EVENTS, and later, as he matured and other chemicals began dominating his system, as the boy became a man, he realized that he himself could initiate and control BLOOD EVENTS, of all kinds. With the cunning of something closer to animal than man, Pearce also knew instinctively that ANY kind of blood event could be experienced, as long as he did not get caught at it, which is the hallmark of every psychopath, up to and including the president of the United States.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It was during his late teen years, on a drinking trip to Memphis with some of his cousins, that Pearce saw his first tattoo and piercing shop, and though he could not read well at all, he heard someone nearby the shop say the word pierce, and he answered to it. It was not far from there to the realization by the teenager Pearce that his name sounded exactly like another word which meant almost the same thing as BLOOD EVENT. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>He took this as an omen, and over time his mantra evolved from this chance happenstance in the city of Americas first king. Of course the mantra was this:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I am Pearce I like to Pierce</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My Name Is PEARCE and I PIERCE-PIERCE-PIERCE</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I PEARCE, I PEARCE </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I PIERCE PIERCE PIERCE...!</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Now, during hog slayings and beef butcherings, the persona of Pearce took on less jolly overtones, although there still was some of that; now there was a seriousness too. None knew that it was because Pearce was in what some might call a religious fervor. His mantra played continually through his mind during these blood events now, and trips to Memphis became highlighted and punctuated with tattoos when he could afford them, and some of the more exotic piercings which he could not accomplish himself.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>After 6 or so ear piercings and a cheek stud, as well as a few arm tattoos that were more than loud, they were obnoxious, and he liked that...welllllll, after this, he and his daddy had a BIG blowout, and damned near got into a fist fight, and thats when the old man finally realized it was all beyond him now, the boy was a man, and had gotten as much upbringing as he was going to get. Pearces father adopted a new stance of reluctant acceptance, because overall he was just glad for his sons help on the farm. That was the rationale, anyway, but he was still unhappy with these developments of Memphis on his son (Which is how he saw it -- that damned rock 'n roll was evil and always would be -- everything it touched turned ugly) and he let it be known so. But once all that was done his conscience was clear, and even though he did not accept these progressing transformations of his son, it did not come up again. Otherwise it was just life on the farm, and the days went by. The weeks and months like hours of the day. Years. It became 1990.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Then came the Japanese, and their seemingly bottomless wallets, and their insatiable appetites for mother of pearl shell, to feed their quickly growing cultured pearl industries overseas. The mother of pearl shell industry in the Tennessee River had always had a following in Tennessee proper, because the river is big and deep up there, and the shells were very plentiful. Much earlier in Tennessee history the various types of shells were harvested to make buttons, before plastic came along. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Japanese wanted this shell so badly they were paying 2-3 times or more the usual price for it, plus bonus moneys for certain loads, and this is what caused the local fisheries such as that in Grant Alabama to be born and flourish for a few years. Washboards, Monkey Paws, Pistol Grips, and many other types of white Mother of Pearl shells were harvested legally under license and sold to make tiny white mother of pearl beads, that were then implanted in pearl making oysters to become some of the highest grade pearls in the world. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Being on the river daily, both Pearce and his daddy heard about the coming money long before it actually happened, and though Pearce was simple he was not that simple and could learn to dive with a hookah rig/compressor with no trouble at all. And like others of his intellectual standing, what he lacked in straight up IQ, he made up for in brawn, and animal cunning. Some would say he surpassed intellect, as far as getting things done was concerned. Physical brawn is only scoffed at by those who are scared of it. Ideally, in this world and in many others, a mixture of brawn and brains works out best. No argument from anywhere, the thing about Pearce, he was lopsided. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Once the Japanese money for Mother of Pearl started flowing, Pearce was one of the first to collect the freshwater mussels for money and he and his daddy did real well. During the summer it was not uncommon for some divers to stay down 3-4 hours at a time: when the minimum wage is 5 dollars an hour, and you are making 100 + dollars an hour, that is great incentive. Pearce had an almost unbelievable physical stamina underwater and he collected shell with perhaps not-quite the zeal he tackled BLOOD EVENTS, but with zeal nonetheless. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>His trips to Memphis became more frequent after his daddy had a cousin help get Pearce a drivers license. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This was a true quandary for Pearces daddy, because even though Pearce needed the license to drive the farms vehicles, these trips to Memphis really stuck in his craw. He was forever lecturing anymore. But Pearce needed the license to drive the farm vehicles, and because he had his own money, a car was inevitable. Trips to Memphis, inevitable. It was on one such trip that Pearce lost his virginity, in more ways than one.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>He saw her watching him from across the street in the bar district, which was where the body art, and dance, and fashion and food were too, a well lit nook of the downtown historical district, restored and kind of going off. Cool. Hip.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Thems the ones daddy calls sluts," he thought. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Then, like a knife, like HIS knife, like the short sharp blade he ALWAYS carried, sharp energy spiked upward from somewhere down below his belly button, because another thought occured: "World would not miss one of them..."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>She winked and walked off. He followed discreetly until he found her near a short full tree at the back of the cemetary park...she thought she knew what he wanted, really, he was like all the rest, so she stroked his crotch, and all thought of the knife left his mind as the dull ache grew in his loins, seemingly of its own volition. The hardness between his legs grew and grew, and she unzipped him, and guided him, and the soft wetness and heat and smell of her were too much and he felt himself spasm, and it was only then that he remembered the knife...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Thus began a short spate of what the Memphis homocide people would call the Piggy Ripper Rapes, because the murders were all done in the same style of cutting and gutting, by one who was well familiar with pig slaughtering. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This little factoid really did not narrow things down in the least, and all of these crime realizations were still over two years away anyway, because it took over a year to compile the stats, and then almost another year before a bright boy downtown realized there was a pattern to these 5 ripper rapes. It was all over before it was begun, actually, because by time the lieutenant had gotten around to reviewing these statistics, Pearce was already dead. The lieutenant did not know this, and he never would. The investigation would take another year, and no one would ever connect it with Pearce, or know it was Pearce, or know that the problem had already taken care of itself. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>------------------------------------------------ </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The entity finned the water lazily at the bottom of the River. It waited. It watched. It fed. It was very good at feeding. It was very very large.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It enjoyed its environment. It was safe. It inhabited this flesh today, other flesh tomorrow, a special-electricity alive across dimensions and times and there is no tomorrow really, only tomorrows forever, and travel amongst them, and now. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The entity enjoyed this Now, it was serene, and the action of the water on the skin of this flesh, and the drawing of sustenance as gas from the liquid itself, and the feeding: it was all very nice. The entity reveled in its condition and existence. It was Good. And even though names did not matter to this entity -- for what were names but anchors and chains? Even though these encumbrances no longer concerned the entity, it still knew of itself, and its past, and it got a chuckle from remembering the death of Yosi Octa, the death of itself, not far from here, not far from here at all. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>That was just a minor flash of recall for the entity now, there was so much more so much more...it did NOT find surprising the fact that this place was its place, it always came back here, and would again no doubt, the multiverse is big, but most of its places are the same, all the same, static, unchanging, or nearly so. This was a little nexus of boiling light and life and it would be nice if this spread and the entity did its best to nurture that along, in its being, in its returning.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This point in space called earth, this nexus of light and chemicals mixing so nicely allowing the coda to speak, nay scream....it was very special....its inhabitants thought it just happened this way and the entity found this amusing in the extreme....no, things like this were carried onward, they had to be created, and most of the seeds never grew...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Then:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The entity sensed....something...something behind it, something familiar, something expected, and it was moving unnaturally and with menace, but of course the entity did not fear, it was immortal afterall, and each moment made itself. This id-entity was just a player in Now, again, a dabbler in forever, continuously learning. A phantasm of spectral light, it was knotted in the fabric of the multiverse, freely moving as a flowing pattern, amongst a multitude of other patterns. Flesh of a giant Catfish resting on a mussel bed...here for a reason. Here for revenge. Drawing the quarry in.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>-------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The last morning on earth for this aspect of Pearce was spent putting his boat in the water and running out to a new mussel bed another cousin had put him onto. It sounded good, and one of the shells the cousin had found, the biggest pair, weighed over 20 pounds when the clam inside was kilt and the shells were cleaned! Thats a big mussel! Perfect washboards laying all over the bottom, thats what the man had said, and there was no reason not to believe.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Pearce did not waste any time, and he noticed none of the other fisherman like Terry, at the dock that morning, because he really couldn't, he was simple, especially that way, except as concerned BLOOD EVENTS, and this was not one of them. At least he didn't think it was. It in fact WAS a BLOOD EVENT, or soon would be, and he would be directly involved, he just didn't know it yet.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>He got to the site alright, and worked a fair day, and it was like the man said, washboards all over the bottom. He was 4 hours on the bottom, in about 12 feet of water, which was real easy and nice diving. The water was clear enough to see 20 or 30 feet away in places, because of a strong current coming off an underwater spring here. Its probably why the shells got so big here too. Pearce was just hitting his stride this afternoon, and he still felt fresh, even though there were four big bags of shell collected already and laying on the bottom. Stashed for recovery in another hour or so. Then: </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Skeery geezus h christmas looka that thing there its a gigantic catfish!"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The biggest catfish Pearce had ever seen lay on the bottom of the river, about 25 feet away, all amongst the mother of pearl shells, and he figured it would weigh in at gawd amighty maybe 500 pounds or more! This was the best AND the best AND the best...getting the killer shells and a BLOOD EVENT TOOOOOO!!!!</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>He carefully withdrew the over sized knife from his leg sheath, and crept in close, without breathing. He was sure the thing was unaware of his presence and he planned on getting right up on it and stabbing it with all his might right in the top of the head...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A BLOOD EVENT to end all. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I am Pearce I like to Pierce</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My Name Is PEARCE and I PIERCE-PIERCE-PIERCE</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I PEARCE,I PEARCE </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I PIERCEPIERCEPIERCE...!</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Right before it happened Pearce perceived or sensed that this was all very primal, this thing that was about to happen, a battle he had been involved in before, with this very same being, somehow. He had an erection.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This was somehow a battle forever, but these were fleeting thoughts in a simple mind, and they did not amount to much. He came from behind the giant thing, knife raised, but only for an instant, then down FAST, into the neck of the fleshly entity.....</b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And then nothing but foaming bubbles turning red as two different bloods mixed in the water across the multiverse and the knotted energys battled: BZZZZZZTTTTTTT flaring white hot like a live wire in a mud puddle -- and punctuated by a high shrill staccato screaming sound that Pearce did not even realize emanated from him. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The flesh of the Yosi Octa entity went into a defensive frenzy, deploying all its fin bones at once, and violently, twisting and thrashing toward the source of its pain, and those giant fin bones were like serrated knives and they caught Pearce up in a defleshing whirl -- flayed strips of his skin, some with tattoos on them, and one with his face on it, cheek stud intact, filled the water like down from a ripped pillow --</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>PIERCE!PIERCE!PIERCE!PIERCE!PIERCE!PIERCE!PIERCE!...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It was not quick for Pearce and raw nerves screamed for some minutes as he actually drowned to death, versus bled to death. It was close, but he drowned first. The entity, the id-entity, the giant catfish, had severed one arm completely off at the shoulder, alongwith disattaching him from his breathing apparatus, so that he left gobby twirls of blood through the white, feather-looking pieces of his skin, in his dying spasms, trying to swim away; a carnival painting in blood, a fiesta of flesh.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>An observer of this happening, this cosmic vengeance, would have seen a white hot ball of light just as Pierce stabbed the entity, which then turned blood red and expanded, then sort of...just...popped...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Then nothing, except perhaps a giant shadow swimming away from the scene, and a bloody pulp beginning to float upward, and away, to suffer no more, to cause suffering no more. For awhile.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>-------------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Butch Savoy of the Shiny Shiner bait shop in Guntersville Alabama would never forget that night as long as he lived. When asked about it later, things would get all jumbled up, and he would have to start again, or plug things in he forgot, because it was just about the worsest memory he could think of. His cousin Terry was no help at all. Terry claimed he got amnesia over it all, and maybe he did at that. It was enough to make anybody forget, just so they could keep their sanity.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The story always started with Butch hearing Terry hollerin' outside, and damned if it didn't sound like the boy was bawlin' like a baby, but that couldnt be, it was some kinda joke....Butch went outside with a half crooked smile on his face, which he lost immediately, because he saw that it was Terry, and he WAS bawlin' like a baby, and he was carrying something in a shroud, a bloody shroud....</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It was Pearce, or what was left of Pearce. Terry said a catfish had got him, the man was missing his knife, among some other things, and Terry finally got it out that he thought maybe Pearce had ignorantly attacked a big one. Butch had to agree, and if anybody knew about catfish wounds, these cousins did, but neither had ever seen anything like this before, and neither ever wanted to see it again...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>-------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Terry had not really gotten amnesia, but he knew he had better say that he did, because nobody, not even Butch, would believe what had really happened. Fortunately everybody was so shook up over it they never asked how he knew to stop and check at Pearces boat. He would never do something like that just out of friendliness, no. He would of course lend a hand to any brother on the river, but what Terry could never say was this:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>As he was returning that afternoon, with a good load of shell himself, he had noticed Pearces boat down this little cove, not odd at all, except that just as he looked, a huge bright almost blinding ball of light lit up under the water, and the water itself bubbled up and roiled like there had been some kind of explosion. Then the foaming water turned red, and thats what had turned Terry around. By time he got there there was nothing but bloody water and a floating corpse.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Pearce.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Pierce Pierce Pearce.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>FIN </b></span></div>
luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-84770355294026393672013-05-09T16:16:00.001-07:002014-09-18T16:09:40.251-07:00Monstrous Tribe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Monstrous Tribe An Essay In Reverse Prophecy By Bill Gallagher August 2007</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Abrading the fabric of time itself</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Swirls ride by while glittering fast</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A ruby mist of light and blood</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Are tight depressions globinkrash</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Sugar fires </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Tight and brash</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Pulse the jumping pattern waves</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Reverberation without peer</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The future may be far away</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>But the past is always near</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>thats weird</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The past is always near</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Vibrations shatter - time becomes...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Planets fly into the night</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Matter scattered, light the sum</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And the end becomes the flight</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And fight.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Numis can be Luminous</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And can be Darkness too -- </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>As One --</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Thud and murmur - rap rap rap</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Repetitious Stance Circum.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Id Entity births itself, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>One of higher order here -</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Numis is its language</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Light as anti-fear</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>frenetic eclectic </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>kinetic barbaric</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And one thing becomes clear</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Something monstrous</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>lives through us, and everything we do</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Its part of us that you can trust</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>To do what it MUST do.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Lets say the Super Rude...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Too True...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>--------------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>On the way to the beach with his mama, the boy spied an area of land which had once been the site of a building, though the building was long gone now. The boys name was Jovian Maximi, JoJo, and he was not quite four years old. He always came with his mama on walks to the beach, which was what their little Mediterranean coastal village was built upon, actually. A beach.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Where the old building had once stood, the dirt was darker and it was just an empty spot in a row of other buildings, themselves hodgepodge in style and age, but at least showing unified fronts to the roadway. The boy saw something shiny a few steps into the empty lot and ran to pick it up, before his Mama even saw him do it. He stood agog staring astonished at a large and nicely heavy silver coin, all ornate and detailed to his little eyes, impressing him, the likes of which he had only seen papa with a few times. He ran squealing to his Mama, clutching the coin.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This high pitched squeal of surprise drew a concerned look from his mother as she turned, but when she saw what her young one came running up with, she also got a very surprised look, mixed with another look that the boy had never seen before, and could not interpret very well at the time, though he would remember later in his life and some things would make sense, for that was the way his Mama looked when she feared something. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Neither knew, and only the boy would ever know, one day in the future, that the coin was a denarius of Elagabalus, Roman Boy-King Heretic who lived like a lucifer-match held upside down, burning quickly, dropped and flaring, then out. Elagabalus had died centuries before the boy had picked up the coin, 2 centuries in fact, almost exactly, but this information would not manifest for quite some time either.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Oh Jo," his Mama beamed, hugging him close and kissing his cheek, "Wait until we show Papa! I will hold the coin until we get home," she said, standing and pocketing it deftly, grabbing his hand and beginning to walk again, but with a brisker step, as if she was somehow energized by the happening.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A darkness passed over the boys features as this transpired, fleeting and unawares, and he could not understand his feelings, they seemed like the feelings of something from without. Not really his feelings. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Time carried him onward. His Papa was indeed happy of the circumstance, and told him it was magic, and to never lose that coin, because it would grow into many more coins, and even better coins....magic.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Jovian always remembered this happening vividly, and he surprised himself later in his life, often recalling in great detail that first coin, and how it affected his life. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>He never knew that his coin had been just one of an entire jar of coins which was buried at that spot long long ago. The jar had broken while buried under the building, and when the removal of the buildings wreckage happened, one coin was inadvertently moved closer to the surface. Rain and other erosion eventually exposed it for little JoJo to see on that fateful day.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nor did Jovian know that coin hoards in general were already common place this far along in mankinds recorded history, and would just become moreso. The reason that the Elagabalus silver coin had been such a find during his youth, was because coinage, circulating coinage, had become scarce. Again. Always more scarce. The people were forever unaware of the steadily amassing uncirculated coinages. For the vast majority of history.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>No one of the time when Jovian was alive had the means to figure out why coinage disappeared though. They were very wrapped up in their personal dramas back then, from king to beggar boy and back, so it would be many more centuries before any sense could be made of mankinds higgledy-piggledy tragedy/comedy yankity/crankity embarrassment extraordinaire. History up to about 1920 or so. Some say 1950 or so.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Always erupting as warfare, commodities, and coinage, it was very much like a kaleidoscope which is colorful and interesting, until one gets to know the patterns, to then become uninteresting, tiresome, abandoned...an ideological cashiers tape. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Unfortunately abandonment has been undertaken thus far through simple death of the believers here on Earth, versus any conscious attempt at betterment...the overall viewing screen is very short, as far as human beings are concerned, and this creates tunnel visions, piggy-heads, boasting alphas, comic blasphemy, profound profanities, heart wrenching stupidities, and much much more...and to make it worse it is simply historic record.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This can be said: for most of mankinds recorded history, men have been without money, and until very recent times, the periods of money generally coincided with precious metals discoveries.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>For a time after new metal was discovered somewhere, the hub and bubble of commerce would grow, crescendo, denouement, end. The overall lengths of these performances depended on the actual size of the metal strike -- how much currency could be made, and where one was situated in relation to. Then, the money always just...went away. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Over and over and over. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>As already stated, no one could understand why this was, yet, and no one would know for 15 more centuries, and then some. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Jovian did know one thing though, before the monster ate him. His papa had been right. The coin he had found HAD grown and grown and grown, seemingly of its own volition. Just like magic.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>In fact, one day the Elagabalus coin would become part of yet another undiscovered hoard, one among many many thousands of hoards. Millions. All riding time and the dirt and human consciousness into the future. Supernummus. Like seeds.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>----------------------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Elagabalus coin had been simply the re-beginning of an actual flowing which was almost electric in its qualities, just slower; a flux, a re-hoarding, an aspect of the 2 entitys JoJo and Nummus...the hoard would be discovered and become famous among numismatists of the world, but not for the worn and oddly incongruous denar of Elagabalus it contained, but because of the quality of the other coinage it contained, and because there was a record of ownership deposited with the cache.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Jovianus hoard would also be known as a collectors hoard; it was discovered in an urn at the corner of a building foundation many many centuries after it was buried, by a person with a metal detecting device. It was presumed buried by its owner, and that is what happened, though between the Elagabalus coin, and the death of the collector Jovianus, there existed almost 80 years. A lifelong collection, that was buried in the year 511 AD, and not unearthed until 1985 AD.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The rediscovery of this hoard, the Jovianus Hoard, happened just as mankind was finally facing itself for the first time ever, though it is making a very bad show of it. Terrible.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Intellectually speaking, everyone is reeling about, trying to do the daily thing, while remembering all the while what a bunch of schleps and losers mankind has always been, and still is. Yes, our society on Earth continues in a state of denial and arrogance, especially because the powers which have been leading the human race have now been inalterably revealed as priests representing beezlebubs church & freakshow of the Ridiculous, Foolish, and Bestial. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>All the years of all the centuries that money has been around, are for the most part a colossal joke, it is being learned. The loss of coinage, the thing that drove royalty mad all those years: like a broken piece of sonic automata: wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-wah wah-wah thehoarders theforeignors theTHIEVES....Oh GOD the bitching never stopped, blame was laid everywhere, but none knew the truth. None even came close to knowing the truth.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>So the money just always disappeared, and it befell the royalty to replenish that supply, because money creates a dependence, albeit all out of proportion to its serviceability. Nobilities ability to replenish currency, by hook or by crook, dictated what type of leader they were, and how they actually prospered. If there ever was such a thing as prosperity for people. The leaders have always been criminals and dunder-headed toads, hardly ever rising above the level of earthworm in their brains and habits. So blatant its hilarious.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The strife and disease and sickness and hate, ad nauseum, all down through the time of man, many times just means there was never enough money. To men, money is nothing so much as a bizarre entanglement of mind with its counting devices, which are more, oh so much more than just counting devices...but again not all that, because they are Never Lasting.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Here is all you really need to know: the monster feeds continually while even the slightest influence of its glamor sparkles, or has that potential. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Repeat after me: the monster eats people. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And this right here is also true about the money of earth people - in common across the entirety of humankinds history - its truest currency forever:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Never Enough.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And always becoming less! </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A mocking CURSE, thats what money is to the intellectually depraved saps here, money is nothing so much as a self-inflicted curse, on mankind, by mankind, and whipped into a froth by the self-inflicted religions of mankind who profit on the resulting and inevitable injuries to mankind. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>So far, and for all involved, money has always been a losing proposition. And that too just gets worse and worse.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>-----------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Knowing what we know now, certainly we can do better.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>-----------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>What began as large solid discs of bronze and silver and gold, soon became thin and easily bent wafers which a strong wind could blow away! </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>So the older coins actually fared better across the eon in the dirt, while the later but less-well-made coins would sometimes deteriorate in short time, depending on the environment of cache and the metallic make-up. Some of the later coins would not withstand being immersed for long, or in places where acidic runoff occurred naturally. In fact, wherever was water, the coins did not stand their age as well as in places where water was scarce. Like in a desert environment. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>One exception: for the most part, even among the centuries and water, good gold is practically indelible, except that the more pure it is, the more easily it loses its definition, its form.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>-------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Somewhere around early Islam, but coincident to the last third of the Byzantine era as well, a lot of people started riding in from the steppes of Asia on their horses. Tribes people which the Khans led for generations, the hordes. Golden, Blue, White. Hordes. They left huge amounts of coinage and castings and brass in the dirt, which, historically speaking, appears to be commonplace among horse people, this loss of numismatia. Casual loss accrues in amounts which appear unbelievable to anyone who has not had first hand experience. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This type of thing may explain holed coins of the orient, and it definitely explains holed coins in say, Americas Civil War, where the few knowing people attempted to mechanically secure their money through battles by sewing it inside clothing, no mean feat, and never any guarantees.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>So the casual loss by those oriental horse riders of the Royal Khans, amounts to what are called Casually Lost Hoards. Casually lost hoards occur wherever people have met together in groups, for any length of time. The longer time a spot has been used as a meeting place the larger will be the casually lost hoard there.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>In the case of our oriental horse riders, these could also be called Horde Hoards. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nummus makes a funny.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>How interesting. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>-------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Casually Lost Hoards are everywhere.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>-------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Dark Ages happened because money just ran out. The Templar Knights invented scrip(t) in the 12th and 13th centuries, but it was not to catch on in any great way for quite some time. Usually a tool of the rich, script was a guarantee of payment at various far-flung venues, a way to exempt the traveler the necessity of carrying gold. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The 15th century exploratory excursions across the ocean by the Spanish and Portuguese were high hopes based on legends and fortune-telling. The dark ages did not really end until Spain found all that wonderful silver and gold in South America, which lasted quite some time, even unto this day. Just the amount of treasure that was lost on its way back to Spain gives an idea of the metallic influx we are talking about starting in the 1500's, and running through the 1800's and beyond. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Its possible and perhaps probable that this huge cache of easy money jump-started the industrial revolution, alongwith Chinese opium money from Britain, and supported of course by all who are the sacrifices to the monster, from the dirt they come, and to the dirt they go, sometimes of very short duration, and always fast. Their water is all that lasts in form, and it belongs to the planet.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The human race has never been able to perceive its riders, either; the powers born of humanity, literally dependent on humanity for their existences, but outside of the physical cosm. This is because, primarily, mankind has always been unable to perceive its own damn self in any realistic or truly meaningful way. Always full of fables and myths, the high-monkey-shines of Mount Olympus, and all that, have permeated human history with misleading tales and outright lies. Its just the way people are.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>So Far.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It is the way people have been.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Precious few people understand that their minds and thoughts and prayers and shared actions all create ritually-born entities and other bona fide life forms, however transient or not. Mankind calls things like these ghosts, sprites, little people, and much much more...angels...attempting to explain exceptionally strong manifestations of the rider occurrences that break out into the open light. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Mankind could never yet begin to label their counting devices, their little discs of metal and scraps of paper, their plastic cards, an Entity? Sheesh, yeah right...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Fact: Money is not just an entity but a time spanning energy-entity which exists across many levels simultaneously, tied right into mankind, into its blood almost, via the literal physical symbols of currency, whatever they may be, for however long they last. Once money becomes...once it gives birth to itself, it is then much much more than the total of its parts; it is alive and it grows fast. It is voracious. And you already know what it eats. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It never stops.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>------------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Enthusiasts of Numismatics can sense the order which is the entity Nummus, or at least bear witness to some of its finite sleight of hand. A collector may have a coin that he believes is almost unique in its rarity, having never seen another for decades of collecting, then the coin is sold or traded, and within a few days comes a box of random uncleaned coinage, with not only a second example of that supposed unique coin, but a Better example of the coin, though just as singular, no others after that....</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Or a jeweler with a metal detector will conceive a finger-ring, shaped like a conch shell, and begin to model the shell ring in wax, as preparation for casting, only to go out two days later and find the exact same ring he has been working on, already finished and in greater detail, with his metal detector, in the dirt...</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Many collectors of other things will be able to relate to odd circumstances like this, which is really what makes collecting fun. Numismatics goes far beyond just coin collecting, and should equally encompass all durable artifacts of diminutive sizes, spearpoints and such, which were indeed a very sincere form of money in the day. Buttons, jewelry, other projectiles, marbles, specialty parts and tools, all are the accoutre of man, and mans wars, in case the other zillion or so representations are not good enough to get the point across. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>There is power in redundancy, we may suppose.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And people do lose things badly.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>---------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Lucifer Calaritanus was bishop of Cagliari around the time of Constantius II, son of Constantine the Great. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Constantine the Great had been the DEITY within the Cult of Sol Invictus, Romes main religion, and he also had interests within #2 Religion of his empire which was Mithraism. His mother was a devout Christian, and Constantine was the one responsible for the rewriting all the biblical texts, and he was also the one who literally legalized Christianity. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>His 3 Sons, Constantius II, Constantine II, and Constans, further kick started the Christian empire of Rome.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Many of the holy arguments of that time revolved around the actual divinity of Christ, Yeshva ben Miriam, Joshua of the Essenes. Could Christ do magic? And if so, was he truly God? </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Lucifer Calaritanus, who became St. Lucifer, argued so violently for Christ being able to do real magic, that he, Lucifer, was banned from the conference of Milan by his confederates, which included the Emperor Constantius II!</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Banished to the palace, Lucifer, the Bishop of Cagliari, then proceeded to argue so forcefully with the Emperor himself, that he was banished from the empire altogether, and stayed on the run for the rest of his life.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Later, the Monks of St. Lucifer were a small and unknown order who searched the world for archaeological treasures. The treasure was sold actively, as means to keeping the monastery a working one, and every monk always carried a pocket or purse full of ancient bronzes, so old they appeared painted green, or dark brown. Pocket wear would sometimes break this shell loose and a fine coin could then be sold to a collector, to help finance the monastery. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Jovianus Maximi patronized this source of specimen coinage during his collecting days, which is to say during his life, when he could afford it, and when they had something that interested him. The Monastery was not far from him in its earliest days, and he enjoyed visiting with the scholars when he could. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The order of St. Lucifer itself gained quite a lot of favor with the Vatican in Rome during its years of operation, and when disbanded in the mid 8th century, there were positions in Rome for all the monks. No one knows any details of this order, to this day.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Another way the monks would attempt to remove the paint like corrosion on the outside of some coins or other bronze artifacts, was to scratch the coating off, oh-so tediously, with a pin, and today this type of treatment is called pinning, and its evidence can still be found in certain sub-hoards and coin-groups that derive from monastery/religious/museum sources. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>If the monks had taken two metallic rods, and stuck them in a lemon, then wired a coin to one of the rods, while immersing both ends coming out of the lemon in a salt water solution, a current would have flowed out of the lemon, through the coin, and into solution...a like reaction would take place from the other rod as well. As the molecules leave the face of the coin as part of this low-grade electrochemical reaction, all dirt adhering to the outer layer just drops right off.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This electrolysis process has been easily obtainable for ages, though it was not used to clean coinage of ancient origin except in the last twenty years, most of that in the last ten. It is 2007 now. A lot of this has to do with the fact that all the coinages that were lost, either casually, or intentionally hidden over time, have remained where they were put, until the metal detectors arrived, and those too only became user friendly in the last 20 years, mostly the last ten.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Embarrassing Revelations. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Sounds like the name of a Louisiana rock band on Myspace.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The thing about people...the problem overall...is that we are broken. We do not last long enough to really set anything down, or at least thats the way its been, until computers. Computers gave us huge memory extensions, super fast math skills without fail, and we can also write letterz an' shit, yo.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>As many letters as you want, to be delivered within 10 seconds after you push the send button, not ten days grungy at the post office.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The internet and the computer are revolutionary in their effects on humanity, in spite of the established order doing everything possible, and then some, to protect what it believes it owns. The funniest, the most hilariously serendipitous and synchronous part about all that issssss:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A lot of the stuff these greedy dweebs spend billions to protect, becomes essentially worthless by virtue of being a function of an obsolete paradigm....not only are things done differently, over time, they are done really differently on occasion, so different as to make an entire industry go belly up fast. This is the lie of competition, versus the truth of cooperation. To them whose god is conflict, standardization and synergy are irksome onuses to be avoided at all costs. All Costs.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Think about mechanical typewriters; even the state of the art electrics like IBM (Whose motors are worth about 90$ each, and some of them have two motors) -- every single one of those machines became unusable dinosaurs almost overnight back in the early 90's or even a little earlier. And did this ignite cooperation and standardization? To the contrary, it caused even greater fluctuations and retardations to occur, for many decades thereafter.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Go figger.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The biggest problem today is both flux of ideas, and the lack thereof, an inadmirable position most assuredly. And of course there is the same old same old, that all pervasive and never failing, LACK OF MONEY; even though the debased plasm which the money mongers are, let us say, the blood sucking parasites who prey on human suffering and disease, now print as much money as they want, on worthless paper. Perfect. Except to keep this worthless paper worth something, great efforts are taken to create all kinds of shortages and needs, mostly having to do with health or the lack of it, and the demons of paper also use all kinds of mind control up to and including mass electronic mind control, which is very easy to see, because of the chemicals being sprayed daily in the sky, and because the antennae associated with that technology are everywhere. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Monstrous? Yes. Very. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And especially considering that the crucifix evolved from a picture of an antenna which the Romans found early in their civilization, leftover from the last time all this was tried, when the leaders were hung on the antenna as a lesson to history. A lesson, like so many others, that did not possess the longevity necessary to keep mankind from falling on its behind yet again. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>---------------------------------------- </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>An afternoon in June. Egypt, 1040 AD. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Immaculatus Pieter Bocephus Phrankoti -- Cavalier of Byzantium and royal cousin of Alexius I Comnenus, watched helpless and dumbfounded as his riding companion and fellow explorer, The Captain, ran himself and his horse straight over the edge of the ziggarat, or whatever this befouled structure was. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Captains horse peddled air a couple of times, then shrieked and shat, right before beginning the 500 feet long tumble down the steep and rocky slope, which of course killed both itself and The Captain. Latus was a good bit behind The Captain, and had no trouble rearing his mount in, as it had heard the death scream of the other horse, loud and clear. Teeth bared, wet nostrils flaring, its eyes rolled in dread as it watched the situation transpire.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Within the tumult, The Captain became separated from his horse almost immediately, and The Captain then became separated from his personal anima - his ghost flew the coop - within a matter of seconds too. The body bounced an incredible distance and it was overtly apparent to any witness (Just Immaculatus this time) that the body was now simply a carcass, no longer host to the overmind. The Captain uttered nary a sound throughout this short but horrific ordeal. Latus thought he may have perceived a low huffing grunt, but could not be sure. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This was bad. Very bad.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Latus continued with great trepidation. He quickly came to the place where the giant metal structure had been removed from within this four sided monstrosity. He continued onward, tying his horse off to a manifest protuberance where the road ended, and hiking straight up to the top from there. It was a major undertaking.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The socket was there, just as he had been told it was. The huge metal pole that had been removed in 4 pieces from its storage in this pyramid, had been made to be assembled, and then placed in the socket on top of the structure. There were other known examples of this. But for what reason? No one knew. These structures themselves were unspeakably old, but because of the meticulous building of them, they had remained in unbelievably good shape, except where the hammers and picks of the Arabs had been. Latus looked around himself, turning slowly atop the gigantic structure. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The wind blew.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>He was impressed. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Many of his ancestors would have this scene appear in their dreams, seemingly out of nowhere, and it would always be associated with falling, and neither the ancestors nor Immaculatus had a clue why that might be, or even that it would be. Ignorant all. They could be impressed, but they were not yet capable of really understanding what that means. How they are just one long entity down through time, an id entity, as it were, with many different bodies.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Latus thought about the coins he had been shown, Miliaresia of Constantinople, alongwith certain Arab coinage from the same basic era, which graphically illustrated pyramids having large bulb-ended poles mounted on their tops. There were some other types as well, and the resemblance to the crucifix was uncanny in more than a few of these recurring artifacts. Monstrous things with monstrous purpose, no doubt. The same monster which had killed The Captain, and would no doubt kill Immaculatus too, sooner or later. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Better later. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Not now.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Latus carefully made his way down the Egyptian ziggarat. This trek was causing many more questions than it answered. And now there was The Captain to deal with, or what was left of him.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Haunted Trek. Haunted World.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>---------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Water is the greatest solvent on Earth. This by virtue of its quantity, more than anything else. It is a common liquid which can exist in the presence of many energy levels. If there is little or no energy, water goes into its crystalline storage form, ice. It is quite an odd matrix actually, because very little can stand in its way, over time. Water is the elixir, and energy fluctuations make it move around like crazy.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Water also possesses what can only be called alchemical, even magical properties, unexplainable but easily observable and employable. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>As Clarke has said: any technology suitably advanced is indistinguishable from magic.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Yes, water is a technology all its own, and it is Programmable, and we, dear friends and neighbors, are one of its more intricate and well built programs, is all. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>PLUS we are prone to prolificity through profelicity. Heh. We perpetuate ourselves well. Organisms of a water program, we imbibe powdered stone and crystals which become our bones, and other things we eat and drink become our blood and flesh, and we make more of ourselves, we propagate, procreate, recreate...love your mate...which just happens to pretty much be the height of things here too, as far as pleasure and exaltation and oneness with God is concerned. No Coincidence I am sure.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Dapper the Tiger.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Water is the matrix to sustain the program. The various programs. The basis of life. There is also evidence some sort of recording is always going on, within water itself. The only way new, novel programs can be introduced to water is by wiping the memory in a destruction/reconstruction process of the chemical itself. Water. Not too difficult, and surprising in its implications. A veritable fountain. Nuncio.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The steady hum and thrum of currency operating, money changing hands in the drum beat of commerce, tendrils still entwined forever, and the always expanding and never relaxing hydraulicism of this repetitive and ritualistic rhythm -- this too goes about throwing its order on water, meaning everything which is water...things that are alive, like us, us especially. Mnemonic reverberation, a tuning. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Money.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We use it. We get it on us and in us. Most of us would roll in it like a horse in clover, if ever given the chance.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>We like the way it smells.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Money the subprogram, a perturbed and retarded endless-loop across time, long long time its just been happening on its own, a program within a program, of which there are quite a few other subsidiary or differing programs in hierarchy, though usually more transient. Moneys order as it reacts with us creates base traits and radical technicalities and idyllic moments and barbarities all its own, recognizable like a neon coda across the many-when.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>So as programs of water, which do not even realize that fact yet, we also have hold of a type of multidimensional order machine we also do not understand, and can barely even see for what it really is. Money. We have not been able to make it work out for ourselves yet. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Never. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Maybe soon. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It would be about time, is all I have to say about that.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>About Time.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>----------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The person who both deified and defined Jesus Christ to the Mediterranean World, and subsequently the entire civilized world according to Rome, was the religious convert Saul of Tarsus, who became the evangelist Paul.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Modern Christianity is, in fact, what is called Pauline Christianity.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Paul was an impressive orator and swayed many with his preaching, although he was actually just following a basic formula for preaching about Gods of that time, assigning all the miracles of the many, to the one. Pauls show was all about Joshua of the Essenes. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>If there was a magician in this story it was Paul. It was he who perpetuated the saga Of Yeshva ben Miriam, thereby creating one of the most long lived and well known stories in mankinds recorded history. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Art Of Story Telling Indeed.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Yeshva/Joshua had tried to fulfill his destiny, that of the sword and the House of David, by attempting first to fulfill a prophecy that would rally the people to him not only as Messiah, but King. A lot of this seemed choreographed by long term expectations -- perhaps it was just prophecy fulfilling itself. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>As prophecy does. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>However it may be, Joshuas goal never reached fruition, his people lost heart and their land to the Roman invaders. Joshua suffered greatly through all this, alongwith many of his kind. Some say he died, but arose from the dead. Others say Joshua went on to become an old man who later died with the Zealots at Mesada. However long or short, his was a life of war and strife, and its just too damned bad some of his words, or at least some attributed to him, are not heeded more closely in this zoo we all inhabit.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Too Damned Bad.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Anyway. It was just a small part of the overall Judaic priesthood who sold the Jewish people out to the Romans, and it was not the Essene priests, nor the other sects like the Zealots. The Jews were sold out by the priests of THE temple. The Holy Of Holies. Sad but true. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And let us not forget, the Romans were very persuasive.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Priests of the establishment should never be trusted anywhere, though. That is another valuable lesson here in this story, one you should tell to everyone you know, because this too has been ignored by the vast masses in modern times, much to their long term spiritual chagrin and detriment. I am speaking of a majority who seem much more interested in carnage and debauchery, with priests and police as the masters of ceremonies. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Amen you all.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Now back to our story. Many know about the death of Joshua/Jesus at the hands of traitors, but very few know of the death of James, the brother of Jesus, at the hands of the very same turncoats and liars.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Jesus came from a big family, many children. They were affluent people. True Royal Lineage, for what that meant in that part of the world at that time. Well trained healers and scholars is what the Essene sect was all about. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>After Jesus lost his life through the machinations of the priestly money mongers, the ones whose tables he had overturned, his brother James was eventually taken into custody as one more rabble-rouser, another enemy of the state. One of those cursed Essenes, despisors all of gentile dogs and more, no doubt. It soon became apparent that James was another REAL trouble maker, so there was no mock trial, or long drawn out Roman-style execution for James. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nope. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The priests took James up on the roof of their temple and tossed him off, thats how James, brother of Jesus, and Teacher of Righteousness, was executed. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Little or no fanfare, it took about 3 minutes, versus 3 days, and human history, being the sightless and idiotic entity that it is, has forgotten all about the death of James, in favor of the Pauline version of his brothers Death/Ascension.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Is there a lesson here? No doubt. Is it the lesson being taught by the profiteers of modern religious power?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>No way.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>----------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Among others, it was also Lucifer Calaritanus, bishop of Caglieri during the time of Constantius II, who very literally adhered to a major form of Pauline Christianity. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Lucifer argued hard for all the miraculous works of his Savior Jesus Christ, as portrayed by Paul 300 + years before. The Christianity show had only gained in popularity since Paul, having been inflamed with further horror, murder, and mayhem by the Romans, and their public persecutions of Christians.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>So. When Christianity was finally legalized by Constantine The Great, in the 330's, there was a great outflowing of repressed spirituality, perhaps a great mass relief was felt. The lions were even happy, knowing they would no longer be made to attack and eat scrawny foul-smelling Christians in the arena.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It was around this time the Vatican was invented, along with the first pope, and the people celebrated raucously. People like Lucifer Calaritanus proclaimed Jesus as lord and miracle worker, and the world became, if not a better place, at least a more interesting place, for awhile.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Many changes happened, and it was during this frenetic free-for-all of religiosity when Lucifer publicly ascribed qualities and an aura-of-the-spectacular to the Rabbi Joshua-of-Miriam that would only be equaled in the far far future, by a character known as Superman. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>As history shows though, Lucifer was not taken too seriously by too many, and some thought him the victim of drinking leaded water. Others said he was the Diabol Advocatus, and a very good one too. He was not as persuasive to the mass as Paul had been, nor was his audience as ignorant as Pauls. These two factors combined to explain why Lucifer ended up as he did, banished and running, and destined to share the name of the devil among the ever increasing ignorance of the world. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Overall the best that can be said for Lucifer: tenaciousness was he, like the pit bull. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Like a monster.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>So it is one of historys special little ironies Indeed, that it is Lucifer who is being remembered as arguing for the divinity of Christ at the council of Milan, though his name has latterly come to represent the literal satan-devil of many folks in America and around the world during the early 21st Century. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Yes. The name Lucifer has somehow morphed into meaning the devil. Its a smear I tell you. I am sure St. Lucifer is mortified, wherever his id-entity may be now. Whoever he is this time. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This no doubt explains the waning interest in the festival of St. Lucifer on May 20th too. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>How this changing could happen is anybodys guess, because the name Lucifer, in reality, means Light Bringer. Derived from the two archaic words Luxe (Which means light) and Faire (which means angel) Lux is also related to the word Luck. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>One must wonder what kind of luck, if any, has been at work in all this mess. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>----------------------------------------------- </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Coinage is, more than anything, the timeless language of an entity; a demanding and unforgiving, though rich and somewhat enduring code across the manywhen. Repetitive. Evolving. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And the older they are the more they mean. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>In the beginning there is the initial relationship of the metal source with any given coinage. A lot of that is known information or can be deduced with a fair degree of accuracy, enough to begin to see the patterns, and as already illustrated above, those were all very finite undertakings, any metallic influxes, and subject to constant loss, with people all looking the other way. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>How embarrassing. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Oh well.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>One very early form of coinage, or so some say, were large ingots of copper cast into the shape of cowhides, each was equal to a cow in value, or something along those lines. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>These were rather quickly replaced with leather pieces in shape of cowhides, each representing a cow, and much more easily conveyed about. The Romans called these leather tokens of value Pecunia, from which the modern day Pecuniary is descended. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>--------------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>In the 1920's and later, Dr. Gerhard Fisher of Fisher Laboratories experimented with a metal detector he had invented as a byproduct of some other research. An anomaly had occurred during that primary research, and the solving of it led to the metal detector. The metal detector was nearly as revolutionary in some ways as the computer would be later. Its effect was just slower. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Thats the way of these things sometimes. Numismatics Happens.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nummus howled and stamped its feet. It had endured all unbeknownst for centuries, it would enjoy these next 100 years, perhaps it would evolve upward, stranger things have happened. Nummus began to dance.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The earliest aficionados of metal detecting were the few inventors, and all were struck by the literal hugeness of the massive overall hoard in the dirt -- everywhere they searched was virgin territory -- they were blown away with it all -- but they stayed busy. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Wouldn't You?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This went on for years.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Next came WW2 and The Korean War and Vietnam, all places the metal detector was further developed for its ability to detect land mines -- manufactured models made it into regular use via government surplus after those conflagrations, and early commercial models became available. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>None of the early machines were discriminators. The early discriminators were being tested in the 60's or early 70's, and became commercially available after. The discriminators opened the hobby of metal detecting up to a lot of people. Electronic Metal Detector Discrimination allows a user to discern between some metal types, and saves a lot of fruitless digging of junk.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Be that as it may be, the stories of the earliest detectorists in the USA, and then the world, are wild and crazy concerning the amounts found with the early metal detectors, but by no means does the story end there. Search and salvage continues and more is always learned. The earthwide casually lost hoard is very big. Most is still inaccessible. Some is destroyed. A lot is junk.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Pig Pen R Us.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The age of the metal detector is still young, or perhaps halfway in its revelatory purpose, still a short time in the overall scheme of things. The moneys lost in the dirt are all coming back, at once. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nummus is so big it could pop! Its ancient vectors are unfrozen flowing matrices again! </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Its dance speeds up some now, and the expectation of the entity fills it with melee glee. It will feed now, of course, it always feeds, and otherwise, whats the point? It will be nice to smack these complacent and ignorant hix across their lackadaisical awarenesses, thought Nummus. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The fully completed slap to Humankinds collective chops would take years. But it had already taken centuries, nay, millennia, just in the building of this little surprise, what were a few more decades?...and the feeding continued. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The slap that was happening to the entire human race was actually a caressing tenderness compared to the feeding. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Even Nummus can love. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>----------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I WENT TO A PLACE ONE NIGHT, AROUND MIDNIGHT, AND METAL DETECTED WHERE AN OLD SIDEWALK HAD BEEN REMOVED. BELOW THE CONCRETE SLAB OF THE OLD SIDEWALK THAT HAD BEEN REMOVED, ANOTHER OLDER SIDEWALK ONCE EXISTED. THAT FIRST SIDEWALK HAD BEEN A SLATTED WOODEN SIDEWALK. I METAL DETECTED WITH HEADPHONES ON, IN THE STREETLIGHT GLOW OF A CLEARWATER FLORIDA SUMMERS NIGHT. I DID THAT A LOT.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I WAS A RECOVERING ALCOHOLIC WITH A LOT OF METAL DETECTING EXPERIENCE ALREADY, BECAUSE I STARTED DETECTING WHEN I WAS 13. NOW, AT AGE 33 MY NIGHT TIME EXCURSIONS WERE GOOD THERAPY, AND I FOUND A LOT. IN FACT I WAS JUST STARTING TO GET GOOD WITH MY METAL DETECTOR, A WHITES COINMASTER, FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE. THE FACT THAT I WAS NO LONGER DRINKING FLAMMABLE LIQUIDS HELPED ME FIND MORE RIGHT AWAY, TOO. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>THAT NIGHT, WHERE THE SIDEWALKS ONCE WERE, I FOUND NEARLY 40 COINS IN ABOUT AN HOUR AND A HALF, ALL BEFORE 1920, MANY BEFORE 1900. HALF WERE CENTS, SEVERAL INDIAN HEADS, SOME V NICKELS AND OTHER BARBER COINAGE IN SILVER, QUARTERS, DIMES. THIS WAS NOT THE WHOLE DEPOSIT, THIS WAS JUST A SMALL PIECE THAT WAS EXPOSED DURING SOME CONSTRUCTION, THEN COVERED BACK UP.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>THINGS LIKE THIS HAPPEN MANY TIMES DAILY. IN EUROPE ITS UNBELIEVABLE BECAUSE THEY HAVE SEVERAL MILLENIA ALL PILED UP, WHERE-EVER THEY DIG, SOMETHING OLD COMES UP, WHEREVER THEY PLOW...SOMETIMES UNBELIEVABLE AMOUNTS. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I AM NOT NUMMUS, BUT LIKE SO MANY OTHERS, I DO ITS BIDDING. IT IS MY MONSTER. AND I AM ITS.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>B</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>PS - BETTER TO HAVE IT THAN NEED IT AND NOT....ZZ TOP.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>----------------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Metal objects in water do funny things. Especially metal objects with human shapes to them. Circles, to be specific. Rings, coins, other discs. They move in orderly ways across when, especially when facilitated by water. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Way more orderly ways. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Accumulate, coagulate, aggregate...many observers have noted this, and exploited it thereafter, because the realization impressed them. As far as that goes, they were easily impressed.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Accumulations and aggregations and all that are actually real processes in nature, with ordered deposits taking place as time happens, sort of like pulsings. It is easily witnessed by those who wish to see.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This also happens galactically, and beyond. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>At those macro levels are what should be referred to as Over-Programs, of which we and our subs are just pulsings within, miniscule but pretty.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Money is one of the pulsings within us, as we are a pulsing within this larger cosm. Does this clarify anything?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>In this view money is us and we are it. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Almost. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The concept of money defines many things. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Attempts to define the multiverse with it is farcical and embarassing though. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Money must work for all people, it must be employed and enjoyed to those ends, else it is tyranny, and anti-life. Only people can define the multiverse, and its a continually evolving thing. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Money is one tool. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>People need bigger toolboxes.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>----------------------------------</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>As Nummus can be a language, so should it possess dialects, languages within. Local vernaculars, idioms, and corruptions. Fun fun.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The reason the human race is about to fall on its butt again, and be consumed by the monster it has made, the monster it always makes, is because the humans have once again allowed the numismatic language to become stale and forlorn, they allowed it to become their government, their religion, to define their lives. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Tawdry and banal, all rolled up in one.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>For a very few, restriction of currency is a good thing, it is how they hide their predations, how they prey. For the vast majority, it behooves us to keep as much numismatic power and freedom among ourselves as possible. This can be done easily by utilizing alternative currencies at every possible instance, and by being aware money is being used by predators to manipulate. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Use of money outside the control of the people who feed on human suffering, will cause those people to go away. A nice thing.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This is the ultimate protest, and must remain ongoing, forever. It is the only protest that succeeds, over the long run, which is why it has been violently discouraged by the few like the bush family, and the rockefellers, and the house of windsor and the monsantos. It is why they have done their damndest to take control of the food and water, which even includes destruction of the existing.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Alternative currencies are the death of all that. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The freaks of control chain Nummus, they have always chained Nummus, trying to direct where it feeds, and thats not good for us, as should be pretty evident from the present state of affairs during the 21st century so far, and all that came before. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>One good thing: because they have chained Nummus so long with their lies and idiotic posturings, we can reasonably expect to know where the monster will go first, once let off the leash. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Then will be an awakening, faster, an awakening as is happening already, as has been going on for almost a century now. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Nummus Will Be Luminous.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>By using creative moneys and historical moneys, and precious metals, and gemstones alongwith any other alternative to the taxers paper and plastic numbers, we redirect where Nummus feeds. Thats the best that can happen here. Take control or be prey.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Very few people know anything about all this. Joshua Knew. Thomas Jefferson knew. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The monster is a monster because it is tormented by cruel reptiloid cockroaches who only look human. These are the few who feed on the many, who delight in suffering and pain and hate, whose god is conflict, pure and simple. They are easy to see once their facade falls, and they are even easier to defeat.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Don't buy into the police state and the society of fear with its snitch culture, because its all changing fast now. Do what you can to be kind to each other, and to Nummus. That is the key to growing beyond the monster, and there is no other.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And pray there is time left to turn it around.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>fin</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8662105812795888383.post-64878463809021776182013-05-09T16:15:00.000-07:002013-05-09T17:35:22.876-07:00Unrelated Old People<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Unrelated Old People</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>By Bill Gallagher Hachita NM</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>August 2008</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The decrepit adobe building still had a roof, and served as a daily gathering place for the aged of the town. Yes, this building was visited regularly and often, especially seeing as the aged of the town were nearly the only people IN the town, and they were not all that many anyway. The old people of the town lived so because they liked it that way, but company was nice at a time of choosing, and when there were no strings attached, no obligations, no relations. This old adobe building, with its tables covered in used hardware and second hand toys, happened to also possess a decent working coffee maker, which was, if not a great uniting force, at least handy. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Gene and Sadie sat the table as Bill, age 50 and the youngster of the bunch, entered the building and let the door slam behind him. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Mornin'..." said the newcomer as he headed for the coffee pot.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Mornin." said the other two, in unison.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>WHAP! went the fly swatter.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Did you get 'im?" Sadie asked of Gene, speaking of the fly.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Gene said he thought so, but could not see any little bodies on the floor or the table, all indicating he just might have put on the wrong glasses this morning.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"What I hate worst of all," said Bill, seating himself, "is when two of the little hunchers land together on your ear and start singing their birthday songs at the top of their lungs...." Here Bill did a fairly decent rendition of two flies BZZZZZZIIINNNNGGGG in a high pitched and shrill squeal.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The other two present, Old Gener and Sadie, they were well over 70 each, just listened at this latest development in the saga of southwest New Mexico and its summertime flies.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bill was getting red just thinking about it, and it caused him to take a much too large slurp of hot coffee.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"I mean", Bill continued, loudly now, all the more ornery for having burnt his mouth a good one: "Its like they WANT you to hear them, as if it brings them an even greater procreative joy, black maggots with wings fuh-fuh-fornicating on your ear like that. You can even feel the little beggars humping away, its usually like one-two-three and off they go again. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"That's unless you happen to be in possession of a flyswatter in the right hand at the right time, or God forbid a two-by-four, because when the flies do that, you know they are doing it with purpose, and there ain't nothing for it 'cept to destroy that unnatural aberration...if you are carrying a fly weapon of any type when all this goes down, it means you are getting it in the head my friends, whammo, in -- the -- head -- there are just no two ways about it. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This brought cackles. Sadie said she thought they should be called flew swatters, because if they work, the targets are no longer flies, they are flews, and the tool is technically a maker of flews, a flew swatter.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>More cackles, another WHAP of the fly swatter, and in walks John closely followed by Kathy. John was the same age as the pope, and was junior in the group only to Elmer, who was five years older than the pope. Elmer had not arrived yet, and no one knew when he would show up, or even if he would. He just dropped in ever so often, on his good days, while out on his morning walk. Anymore, Elmer's good days meant he could make it around the block twice before having to get home in fear of soiling his Depends...oh to hear him go on about it...but Elmer was not arrived and no one knew if he would. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Kathy, who had just turned the big six OH, tried not to act like it was weighing hard on her...she kept a stiff upper lip about it, at least. What else is there to do? Really. These two new arrivals, Kathy and John, headed for the coffee, got theirs, and Kathy made the next pot.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Sadie said her Sis called from St. Petersburg Florida with news -- the 40 year old nephew of hers (Remember the unemployable biker with effeminate leanings?), finally got a job working for a friend of his Uncle, driving a dump truck. Third night on the job, its about 3 AM and he takes his first load from the job site and off to a dump site in a downtown area nearby. After dumping he lets the bucket down, but forgets to disengage it, or lock it, or something. As he is leaving the dump site the bed/bucket of the dump truck begins rising in proportion to the distance traveled, and the driver is oblivious of course. He gets almost a full city block before the still rising bed of the dump truck takes out some local high power lines, and Sadies sister said the really regrettable thing is that the unemployable schmuck is now unemployed again, seeing as he lived through the whole ordeal. The incident woke up many people within a mile of the conflagration, because of the shorting out of the transformers and other explosions happening in concert during the event. Some of the old people there in St. Petersburg thought they were under a terrorist attack. Sadie figured that in a way, they were....the cutesie pie biker had his 15 minutes of terrorism whether he chose it or not, and dragged in a bunch of innocents, as is the way of those type. Sadie's sister said the poor boy will never be the same after all this. Sadie thinks he is trying to build a case for welfare.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bill said hey, accidents happen. "I have two buds who were driving back from Tallahassee one night, trying to get to Miami by sunrise. Around about midnight, somewhere near Kissimee, the driver, Joe, shook the passenger, Gary, awake. Joe asked Gary what the devil he thought that tiny little light off in the distance was, and Gary got a focus on the light Joe was pointing to just about the time BOTH of them realized it was the reflection of the eyeball of some stupid cow standing in the middle of the road!! BANG!" Bill clapped his hands and stomped one foot to relish up this accounting. "When the cow got hit by the car it gave off something like a death scream, going MOOOOOOOO--eeeeeee through the air to its final resting place in the ditch alongside the road."</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bill of course described the sound the cow made as it flew through the air, and that brought a smirk or three from the listeners. The mens car had become a smoking hulk, Joe had a broken arm, and it was pitch black night in the middle of nowhere. As the two mens eyes adjusted to the darkness they also began to hear a sound, odd, funny sounds, then they saw what it was: large herds of cows from the fields on both sides of this country road were now running towards the scene of the mash-up. The noise Gary and Joe were hearing were thousands of hoof beats in relative unison. And the weird noises had just begun! As these two herds got closer to the dead zone, they all began bleating the exact same sound the now inanimate cow had made (MOOOOOOO--eeeee!) as it flew through the air in its death throe/throw. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Heh. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It was over an hour before the next car came along and gave the two men a ride into town, and during that whole time this herbivorous bovine choir remained lined along the fences on both sides of the rode, loudly singing their rendition of -- I AM MISSING YOU -- for their lost comrade.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Kathy, done making coffee now, said she had talked to her sister in Missouri, and her sister had told her that all the hooplah about the bird flu, and even the head cold and other flu types, was just a way for pharmaceutical companies to sell drugs and hurt people. A saline mist, she said, which is basically a salt water spray, can be made from a little rock salt and distilled water, about a teaspoon of salt per gallon of water. When any head cold infection begins, spray/inhale saline mist into the sinus cavities until the symptoms go away. 2 times a day. Usually one spray does it.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Everybody ooohed and ahhhhed over that, and said it could not hurt to try. Everybody also was pretty much in agreement that the oil companies and the pharmaceutical companies are just fronts for satan, and suck pretty bad, so there was that weighing in with this decision, too.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Used to be, 60, 70, and 80 year olds were a very exclusive group with everyone getting their noses out of joint over the littlest thing, all ideologically strapped, and never, EVER, really lightening up. Hard Heads. That's not the way it is now, we are the cool ones getting old now -- overall many things have changed. Somebody had once reminded Sadie that she used to be quite a pot smoker, Sadie said what do you mean USED to be??</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>John had somehow got going on a story a few here had already heard, but maybe one or two had not. No one interrupted of course. It was about Elizabeth's UFO. Elizabeth was a neighbor of Johns until she passed away at the age of 76 last summer. John always told the story as if he felt cheated that he did not get to see it too.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Elizabeth had gotten up early one morning in the summer, when the early morning is by far the most pleasant time of the day. Going through her morning routine meant going out on the porch to fill the bird feeder there. But this morning was different. As she went out on the porch she noticed something about eye level to her, out over the street in front of the house. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Now even though John was her neighbor, that's really only a word, because there is a lot of land out here, and between folks is generally a lot more land than in the city. A lot more. John actually lives over 1/4 mile down the road from Elizabeth, so it was really no wonder he did not see this, but he was the closest neighbor, that's for sure.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Anyway.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Elizabeth said it froze her in her tracks. She just stopped and watched the whole....situation....transpire. There was something like a rip, in the air, and it was pretty large, it looked like a hole showing....somewhere else. Over there it was raining. Then this machine...like a sphere, came out of that hole in the air, and levitated for about 10 minutes. It proceeded to extrude and extend various antennae or sensing devices (Elizabeth's words -- she was a retired schoolteacher), then the machine went back into the hole, and in a blink, with a slight popping sound, the hole closed and that was that!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Everyone was rapt, listening, and just as the story ended the door slammed. Everyone jumped together, like trained budweiser frogs or something. It was Elmer, who said "Morning", and everyone said morning back, and the old duck proceeded to shuffle over to the coffee machine for a token shot of the brew. He got a third of a cup and took a chair slowly. The group had fractured off into a few sub-conversations as this went on, but as Elmer sat he loudly said "Turrrrrd Pie", an affectation he had somehow acquired and made popular during the last ten years or so...everybody knew it was his way of saying maybe God Damn, just as Sadies way of saying Jesus Christ was saying Judas Priest. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Just as things were getting settled down again after the arrival of the senior in this group of seniors (Elmer) in came Sharon, the only other regular, who got a quick cup and a seat, telling the group: "That crazy cousin of mine in Maine called last night, her Grandpa on her mothers side passed away two nights ago, old man had raised beagles to hunt with, as soon as the old man passed, them dogs started howling and carrying on, and just wouldn't stop!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This caused more true rapture at the coffee table, as this is subject matter of high interest to old people, the older you get the more stuff like this interests you.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"They had to take them down to the vet today and have them all put to sleep, every last one of them, dogs were killing themselves in grief, but how did they know? How did they KNOW?" Sharon took a slurp of coffee and everyone could see she was pretty rattled. She had rattled a few cages herself.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"I mean, its things like this make people ask that question of questions, WHY?" continued Sharon. "Are we part of God that can only get here by being born into these bodies?? That would sure explain all the pain and hate and confusion. But what does that make all other life? A part of God as well, but lesser? As Female and Male are only two halves of God? All lesser forms of the whole...?</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>For the first time that day things got very quiet.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Then somebody farted. This also occurs more often as one ages.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>From John: "What'd that asshole say?"</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>That brought down the house, and when everyone caught their breath Bill used a line stolen from Elmore Leonard:</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Oh no, now we're all going to get that new kind of AIDS, called HEARING AIDS. You get it from listening to assholes!"</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And yet another en masse yukker for the old folks. Its just the way it is.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Whap went the flew swatter.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Turrrrd Pie," said Elmer, who then went on to relate a short and well known story, referred to by all present as -- Elmer's Favorite Story. He had been telling it a lot lately.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>During a short stint in Cleveland, Ohio, for some job he was working on back in the 1970s, Elmer came across something that impressed him no end. Seems a man on a motorcycle got a bad case of road rage at someone else during rush hour traffic one day, so this biker followed the other person home to see where they lived. The biker then went and got a shotgun from his own house, went back, knocked on the door, and blew the person who answered it right away. Keeled Dem Ded.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The twist was this: the biker had gone back with the shotgun, and in all the confusion had picked the wrong house, and killed a totally innocent person, or at least the WRONG person. When it all unraveled later it became, to Elmer at least, one more shining example of ridiculous, violent, and comically perverted behavior on planet Earth.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Turd Pie Indeed.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>No one interrupted Elmer as he finished his story and then Elmer got up in as much of a hurry as he was capable of, and left with a quick goodbye and a wave. At Elmer's age, actions are not always explicable, and how things fall most times just depends.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bill said he got word on the internet that the government was doing some human experimentation out around this area, which consisted of an expanded process he had first heard about from a guy who had once spent 6 months in a military prison in the 1970's for selling LSD. This dude had told him they tested something electronic and gastric related for the last 30 days he was in that prison, and it was not fun. This weapon attacks a person or group by completely or partially shutting down the persons ability to eliminate waste. The weapon can kill someone, or can cause lots of disease, and these buck rogers raygun operators can also turn a persons functioning back on at any time, like dial-a-poop. They like to play around with making unknowing test subjects crap their drawers at the funniest times. Overall the experimentation now has to do with chemical indundations, satellites, and antennae. Just one of many experiments happening in the land of terror and the skeered. Bill said he thought homeland security was the new SS, and a lot of people were being sucked into it because they lost their jobs or are afraid they will lose retirement benefits if they do not play along.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This caused some muttering about. No one present cared much for the government and most there considered themselves part of an elite who truly understood how shabby things really are in the USA. They were sadly mistaken and naive, living in LaLa land, as it were, but at least they tried.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Gene spoke then. "There goes the mailman," he said. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A turning point in the day, like another step forward. A facet of cadence if you will, something unforeseen that WILL be seen if one lives long enough, once the years start galloping along like a show pony on too many sugar cubes. And they do. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Pray it does not become boring.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Don't let it become boring.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Fin</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
luxefairehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12809170849283087462noreply@blogger.com0