Rostov-on-Don, Ch. 4

(The Engineer Valentin)

The Russian electrical engineer Valentin took a liking to the American lawyer

after the lawyer fixed the Russian's ipad with one quick finger stroke.

Valentin didn't take it personally.  He had been trained all his life to solve problems without the assistance of computers or calculators.  Growing up in the Soviet Union, he explained, engineers  read of advanced western technology based on semiconductors and computers.   But they made do without them.   Which made them better engineers.   Better problem solvers.   Valentin joked about his new American co-workers who could not solve problems with a simple logarithmic scale.  Or how when the hosts of  an NPR talk show asked listeners to solve what they considered to be a simple problem involving speed, distance and arrival times of two automobiles traveling from different cities, Valentin immediately grasped the complexity of question.  Eventually, after several days of calculations involving integral calculus he was able to solve the problem.  The next week, the hosts of program apologized to the listeners for the question explaining that it was not until their producers had met with several math professors at M.I.T. that a solution was reached (which of course involved a complex application of integral calculus).

So Valentin was old school.   A school that flourished before the onset of all these disposable gadgets that make life easier.   When was the last time anyone tried to fix a calculator or TV, VCR, or can opener which did not operate anymore?   Isn't it cheaper just to buy a new one?  Then again, who could fix a broken VCR anyway?  How many people in this country really know how a TV works compared to how many people use them?  Not so in the former Soviet Union.   When a machine broke down it was fixed.  There was no running down to Best Buy for a replacement.

Valentin still had a lab in his basement to fix all the abandoned machines.  Old School meets Steampunk. The cramped room was littered with oscilloscopes, soldering irons, power supplies, spectrum analyzers, calibrators, ESD simulators, and the vivisected carcasses of electronic equipment of all types--awaiting resurrection.  And ressurrect them he did.   Not so much that he ever wanted to use the machines again, but just for the sheer love of making something whole again instead of disposing it.   Is that all so bad?

Shanti Views, Ch. 1

(Bill)

"Yea I grew up around here, right down the street until my parents kicked me outta the house and I was homeless.  I was a troublemaker back then, still am."

"Springfield?  I've been to Springfield once.  I was going across that old bridge in Springfield on the lake and it was icy out.  I was 18 and driving a stolen car and going like 90 when we hit that ice.   Wasn't any ice 'xcept on that bridge.   Next thing I remember was whoosh and my friend was out of the car and I was sliding on my ass on that ice down the road.  Then a State Trooper came I and had to tell them that the car was stolen so my friend could go to the hospital.  My friend's jaw was sliced open and all his top teeth were dangling like this.   (shows).    So they locked me up at the Sangamon jail and took my friend to the hospital.  My friend came by later and was pissed at me for squealing about the stolen car and all and I told him that I didn't have a choice because he needed to go to the hospital."

"St. Clair County? yea, I've been in a ton of trouble over there too.  Mearl Justice, I think he's still the Sheriff over there.   I remember when I first was busted over there and they sent me to Menard.  They got me for burglary.   First I hit a bowling alley and broke into all those pinball machines and then I went to the clothing store and got me some shirts.  So when they caught me I was carrying around these big bags of change and two shirts.   Then Justice tells the States Attorney I want this boy locked up.  And because I had gotten into trouble over here at Boonville, they sent me to Menard.  I asked him if I'd be able to keep my hair which was long and blond at the time.  This was 1972 or 1973 and I had hair like a hippie.   They didn't think that was too funny."

"Yea, it was hot there.  That Prison didn't have any air conditioning and it was like 120 in the summer.  We took off  all of our clothes but our underwear.   But hell, I was like 19 and all so it didn't really matter because when you are that age you feel indestructible.  I remember getting kicked out of the Catholic services at Menard because the priest thought I was using the Mass as a social hour.   Can you imagine that?  Me, a chatterbox?  (laughs).   So I ended up going to the Protestant service.  They didn't care if I was a talker.  Those Catholic priests are a bunch of pedophiles anyway.  We knew the story back when I went to Catholic schools around here.   You didn't have to tell me about all that priest abuse crap.   We knew it all anyway.  Bunch of sick phonies.   Not like the Mexicans.  Now they are a moral people.  Good folks.   Some of them moved around here.  I liked them Mexican women.  But they always wanted to take you home to their family.   Hell, their family didn't care what color skin you had just as long as you were Catholic.  I mean I was an Irish Catholic and all, but even if I were Baptist, I would have been a Catholic just to get between those tawny thighs.  Know what I mean?  (laughs)."

"Well then I was on probation with some hippie parole officer in Rockford.  He was cool and all and  wanted to find the good in all people.   Jeesh, good luck on that amigo.  So then I skipped parole.   I called him from Arizona and told him I was gone and he said that he would cover for me for awhile.   He told me to stay out of trouble, get a job and lay low for awhile.  He told me things would be ok if I did that.  Hell, I was scared.   I mean when you are 19 you think the FBI is going to come after you.   (pauses, looks reflectively).  Them hippies ain't so bad.   Got a ride from one of them outside of Kansas City.  All the way to California.  I asked him where I should go and he dropped me off at Venice Beach.  Man, that was the best thing anyone ever done for me.  From there I learned a trade in the Aerospace industry as a machinist.  Ain't been in much trouble since then except that fat fuck cop.   Man all I did was slap him.   Cops have such thin skin these days.   That fairy filed assault charges against me."

"Venice Beach?  Man, you should definitely go there.  Best place on earth.  Miles and miles of beach and women.   Back in the 1970s that place was the best.  First night I got there I slept on top of one of those city buses and the driver come up to me in the morning and I sure surprised him."

"But I got a pretty good gig now.   Hauling produce.  I run from California to the Bronx.   Stop in St. Louis.   My girlfriend here works at Nadines up the street.  You should come to the Bronx with me.   Crazy fucking place. (now distracted)  Where did that hippie chick go with the one-hitter?  That woman was all over her.   Couldn't even open up her eyes.   I mean, whatever man.   I bet they left to go back to the apartment. (laughs).   I seen everything--even that (winks)."

"Just got some bad news today.  My first wife is dying.   Breast cancer.   She kept telling me how she was enjoying each precious moment of her life now.   No shit.   I been doing that all my life."

The Philosopher, Ch. 2

So what then accounts for the human project to mesh with the divine?

The human brain is clearly more evolved than it had to be--for survival or even supremacy on the savannah.

To get the better of other animals, the competent hunter gatherer needed to only master fire and simple stone tools.

Such talents alone would have made humans kings of their domain.

So why did we keep evolving?

Maybe I'm looking at it the wrong way.

Is evolutionary intelligence merely a matter of problem solving and tool-making, practical talents to which natural selection easily applies?  Or was Darwin's process of natural selection incomplete-- a product of 19th Century scientific empiricism? For if the mind is merely a problem solver--what accounts for the quantum leaps that have seemed to occur throughout human evolution?

Take a look at whales or dolphins.   They have no idea of the realm beyond their ocean.   Their problem solving brain has never transcended their limited aquatic place in the universe.  Nor can it if the brain is just a raw problem solving computational device.  Dolphins presumably know nothing other than what their senses can tell them--and its all wet.

 Humans are not similarly limited by our "ocean" or perception of the four dimensions of reality we can sense.  If string theory is has any basis, there are 11 dimensions (or circumstances) of reality in M-theory.  Other theories have 26 spacetime dimensions for the bosonic string and 10 for the superstring.  Humans can intuit dimensions beyond a "problem solving" mind.   Einstein came up with his general theory of relativity long before it was demonstrated in nature with the gravitational shift of red light.

The human brain has not only evolved to transcend its senses, but to transcend itself.    In mathematics, Godel's theorem of incompleteness states that the axioms of any formal system cannot be wholly proved from within the system itself:  Thus, no logical system can ever come full circle and bite its own tail. There will always be a gap that has to be filled from outside.  What that outside is is the great mystery.

This transcendence even stinks of Zen where the mind is a sword that cuts but cannot cut itself, an eye that sees but cannot see itself. 

What is the eye that sees, but cannot see itself?

Things that don't resonate with me to the extent they once did, Ch. 5

The Trial, part II, the sequel

Joseph K. becomes Enlightened.

On the first day of his thirty second year, K. finds that he is not dead in the quarry, and that he did not die "like a dog."

(The first sign of the beginning of understanding is the wish to live.)

Instead, he wakes with one hell of a hangover.

(If all language is but poor translation, have you ever tried to read lips?)

It appears his jailers slipped him a mickey.

(If you are a cage, in search of a bird, what will you use as bait?)

So where the hell is he, K. wonders?

We'll, hells bells, if I'm not dead, I should make amends with my father.  Maybe he wasn't such a bad guy after all.

(Always first draw fresh breath after bouts of vanity and complacency.)

And shit, I think i'm just going to cut though all this red tape, and see how my appeal is going.  Its really not that too terribly unimportant.

Wait a second, what's that big house on the hill up there?  It looks like a Castle.   Screw that, I ain't going up there.  I heard the townspeople there have serious issues.

Maybe I should go play basketball with a bunch of lawyers.

(Don Quixote's great misfortune is not his imagination, but Sancho Panza.)

But at least Sancho could cook tapas.  And knew where to find good rioja.

Then, who are these 5th graders?   Maybe I should watch them play basketball in Decatur as well.  

Then go to Pepperland.

(The artist is someone who has something to say.)   Not that it matters, though.

Do you ever get the feeling that any of this matters?

Or that you life is not your own?

(If a book is the axe for the frozen sea within us,) wouldn't an electric blanket be less drastic?

Do you ever get the feeling someone is watching you? 

Well...they are not.   So deal with it.

(by the way, what are you doing up so early?)

From Another Dimension, Ch. 5.

Hochiss Spat was an outcast among the Kusat because he liked to fool around with the denizens of other dimensions.

This practice wasn't strictly prohibited by Kusat customs, but it didn't exactly get him invited to many cocktail parties.

Hochiss didn't care about the cocktail parties.   After all, who was he to begrudge a few fortunate aliens the wonderful Prozenca that all Kusat shared?

 His efforts had been focused on denizens living in M-theory universes.  It appeared that some of these aliens would resonate with the Prozenca quantum state in its titrated form.  Curious, to say the least.   He wondered why none of the other Kusat had noticed this.  In any event, he had been collecting these aliens for thousands of epochs.  It was about time he did something with his collection.

Advocate for Broken Wings, f/k/a Mr. Lawyerman, Ch. 3

Though lawyers tend to be pack animals, there are outliers.

Thank God.

But with any outlier, there usually is a story

or tragedy.

Mr. Lawyerman had a trial against an outlier last year

and wishes he would have found more about her story before her death.

All we have to work with now are various non-specific clues.

To begin with, she apparently graduated first in her law school class.

No doubt that was quite an honor and certainly would have opened some doors for her in corporate america, wall street, or basically whatever the hell she wanted to do with a law degree if there are things to do with one.

However, thirty years after her graduation, she had a solo practice anchored at times in her apartment, an ever changing office address, and if rumors were true, her car.

Her uniform was strictly non-lawyer (at least out of court).

At depositions, Barbara wore ragged flannel tshirts, jeans, and a red dew rag red bandana covering her long grey hair.

They say she looked the part of the homeless person.  But I never trust mob psychology, especially coming from Judges.

Was Barbara like Dickens' Miss Havisham--a victim of some itinerant suitor?  Some modern day Compeyson?

Could that explain the metamorphosis of the top law student?

If so, that was all she had in common with Miss Havisham.

For Barbara sought to protect all the Pip's in the world--be they human or animal. 

I remember her telling Mr. Lawyerman about the story of a wounded bird, and how upset she was that she could not heal it.   Or of all the cats at her apartment that she was concerned about during her extended out of town trial. 

Her clients likewise involved injured birds of sorts, those who otherwise would have gone without legal representation.  They all, like her, were outcasts from society, usually because of their past misdeeds.

But for the grace of God:

BARBARA JEAN CLINITE, 64 CHICAGO - Barbara Jean Clinite, 64, of Chicago, died Nov. 10, 2011, at Holy Family Medical Center in Des Plaines, Ill. Miss Clinite was born on Nov. 10, 1947, to Rolland Arthur and Barbara June (Erbes) in Spring Valley, Ill. Survivors include her brothers and sister, Jerald (Judi) Clinite of Gold Canyon, Ariz., Susan (David) Bacher of Middleburg, Fla., David (Jill) Clinite of Winnebago, Ill., and Brian (Matthew Bruehler) Clinite of Atlanta, Ga.; and her many nieces and nephews. She was preceded in death by both parents. Miss Clinite graduated from Guilford High School (1965) and Augustana College and earned her law degree at Loyola University Chicago School of Law while working full-time as a social worker for the City of Chicago. She was the 1980 recipient of the law school's distinguished Chief Justice Edward D. White award presented annually to the senior with the highest academic performance. A member of the Illinois State and American Bar Associations, she specialized in injury and medical negligence law. She owned her law firm located at 120 W. Madison St. in Chicago. A private family memorial service will be followed by burial of ashes at Greenwood Cemetery, Rockford. Memorials may be directed to Tree House Humane Society, 1212 W. Carmen Ave., Chicago, IL.

Emo, Ch. 1

She was black and immense with peaks, valleys, and alluvial plains.

He was a skinny Asian.

Their first child was beautiful and almost white.

With penetrating blue eyes like his father.

They named him Emmanuel Rights Jefferson.

Just like the city of Jefferson, in what used to be the state of Missouri.


His family called him Emo.

Emo prospered in mind and spirit, but soon discovered he was different from other children.

At school, while the other children had difficulty casting basic spells of transition, Emo found that he could change to a different species with a thought rather than going through the verbose incantation the spell required from other children.

Not wanting to appear different, Emo kept his ability secret. 

And such were the state of events until his thirteenth year when the school was beset with the blight of Crisivaya.  The blight was thought to originate as a practical joke among the students of the high collegueum, but it effects where almost devastating on the students of Emo's class.  For the spell of transition operated under the basic principle of ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny--that is if you go through the incantation to change from a human to an eagle, your body form during the spell must first revert to the lowest evolutionary form of the eagle--the embryo in the egg to the smallest eaglet before one can transition into the adult eagle.  


Crisivaya, and its many variations, without application of the proper counter spell, left the fledgling magic user stuck in one of the many precursors of the eagle.  Which was definately a problem given that Jefferson--the town where Emo resided--was stuck within vast predatory laden jungle which now comprised what was formerly the continent of North America.


Emo saved his class who were all stuck in some seminal form of animal, and soon became a living legend.   But that was only the beginning.

From Another Dimension, Ch. 4

Scene I:

December 16, 1916, 10:16 P.M.

Moika Palace, St. Petersburg, Russia

Father Grigori Rasputin follows Prince Felix Yusupov into the wine cellar of the palace.  The two consume wine and cake, though the Prince drinks from a different wine bottle.   Moments later, Rasputin asks to excuse himself, complaining of an upset stomach.  Rasputin begins to walk out of the cellar.   He quickly collapses and his body spasms with seizures.

The Prince waits several minutes and then examines Rasputin.   Rasputin is still breathing.  With a frown, the Prince hurries back up to the main foyer of the palace where he has a heated conversation with Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich.   Duke Pavlovich then produces a shiny silver object which he provides to the Prince, who quickly stuffs it into his pocket.

The Prince returns to the wine cellar.   He checks Rasputin's neck for a pulse.   Suddenly, Rasputin's eyes open and his hands raise weakly intent on closing on Prince Yusupov's throat.  A struggle ensures.  Three shots are fired.

Two more men enter the wine cellar.  These individuals are later identified as officers of the British Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) stationed in St. Petersburg at the time.   One of the men, a Lieutenant Oswald Rayner fires a Webley .455 revolver at point blank range into Rasputin's forehead, killing him instantly.

The three men then bind Rasputin's body in a carpet and drop it into the Neva River.

Scene II:

March 17,1917, 9:47 P.M.

Cemetery at Tsarskoye Selo, St. Petersburg, Russia.

A group of men wearing factory uniforms uncover the grave of Rasputin.   Rasputin's body is conveyed to a nearby wooded area where the group prepares a pyre.

As the flames begin to engulf Rasputin, he suddenly sits up.

Overhead, the crowd bows as a golden light shines, and an inter-dimensional portal materializes in the otherwise clear night sky. Golden light shimmers though a jagged opening. Though the streaming light, a mass of prismatic tendrils materialize over the crowd eventually enveloping Rasputin. Surrounded in the sensual embrace of the tendrils, Rasputin looks up, his smile now serene.

The telling of the legend of rasputin, and the russian tea house, and the proclivity for those with big noses--enroute to nederland

Inadequate instructions for just about anything, Ch. 4

How to Spoon.

Overview:   Humans are pack animals.   They sleep better in groups.  That means you and you.

Step 1:  Differentiate between the Spoon"or" and the Spoon"ee."  Typically, the Spoonor is male and the Spoonee is female.   However, some reciprocality may be helpful.  Especially if the male is reptilian. This is because we all know that ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny in cold blooded species.

Step 2:  As Mark Mothersbaugh would say:  Assume the position.   There are two basic recommended positions:  the side straddle and the head pillow.  Here is the side straddle:

In the side straddle, both the spoonor and the spoonee sleep on their right sides.  The spoonor drapes his/her left arm over the spoonee's left side.

In the head pillow, the spoonee puts his/her head on the right shoulder of the spoonor treating it as a pillow.  Such as thus and thus:

 This bring us to the crucial issue:  what happens to the spoonor's right arm?  Blood supply to said appendage is crucial to ensure maximal temporal snuggling.   For if the circulation is curtailed, said appendage grows numb and the spoonor must alter his/her position early into the snuggling process.  This is counterproductive to maximum spooning effect.

Step 3:  Maintain proper circulation in the spoonor's right appendage.  The provisional recommendation in this regard is that the spoonor extend his/her right appendage under a pillow to prevent curtailment of circulation to the right appendage.   Snodgress et. al, in their 2001 study investigated the possibility of cutting  a circular hole into the bottom of the sleeping platform and extending the right appendage of the spoonor distally into said hole so that that said appendage extends to the floor.   If resources permit, cutting a circular hole in said manner appears to be the most advantageous position.

Step 4:  Maximize olfactory potential.  In both the side straddle and the head pillow, the olfactory sensors of the spoonor are in close proximity to the neck and hair of the spoonee.  As such, it is recommended that the spoonee maximize pleasurable smell to his/her hair to encourage nuzzling by the spoonor into the spoonee's neck cavity.  In this regard, it is suggested that a spoonee utilize a shampoo with a pleasing aroma.   Hair spray in such circumstances is discouraged.