This is Something Much More Seriously Mundane

Life had not been overly unkind to Barbie and Duke as of late.  At least until now.
 
I suppose it was a mutual idea for them to leave town.  Something to do with an outstanding warrant.  And leave town they did--at least temporarily.    Their excursion down I-55 was supposed to be part of a larger journey to the west coast.   It turned into car trouble in Mt. Olive, Illinois.  Mt. Olive was renown as the stomping grounds of Mother Jones, the early union organizer for the coal mines.  Barbie and Duke had no idea of the history of the place.  They only griped because it took them 4 hours to hitch a ride back to Springfield.

They returned with the minor inconvenience of lacking a place to stay.   Something to do with the previous lack of rent.   And a court order.  So they decided to pay a little visit to Hal's apartment.   They figured Hal wouldn't mind as he was in Florida for the month. 

The next minor obstacle was the lack of money.   Given that Barbie had a cleaner criminal record it was agreed that she would get a job.   She got a gig doing phone sales for a company that specialized in selling t-shirts with Lincoln's face on them.   This was Springfield, after all.  From there she applied for an American Express credit card and her new boss--for a small service--personally vouched to the credit agency for her.  From there, it was only a small step that she would accompany each of the few friends she had for purchases of diamonds, dresses, and booze with the new card--her friends giving her money for each purchase. Of course, a scheme like that could only last so long.   Pesky credit card limit.

Duke was also involved in their fundraising endeavors.   He held up the local grocery store with his last remaining possession--a Colt .45.   Then he hocked the .45 at the local pawn shop.   Having tapped out his resources, he came up with the bright idea of subletting their new apartment.   After all, Hal was not going to miss it--at least for another month. 

So Barbie and Duke went down to the Lincoln Library and printed off a flyer describing the desirability of the apartment which slightly exaggerated by a year the expected date when Hal would return.  Duke then went to the university and plastered the fliers all over.   The response was immediate.   Duke ended up with one's months advance rent and a security deposit.   That was enough to purchase a quarter.   That should last for the weekend--maybe more.

the walking pneumonia lingers, but I am a stalwart against antibiotics.   I eventually get some without making an appointment to see a doctor.   Maybe should try for something better along those lines...lol
anyway, rotary party is a hoot, but feel like poop afterwards.   Whirles win sectionals and beat all the Decatur teams at basketball, then lose to the springfield st. agnes amazon who was taller than me.   The polish guy gets an endowed professorship, and the uzbecki severs her umbilical cord.   The whirles also have a sleepover in springfield.   Absolutely unprecedented.   Also I know the guy who is going to be president of the rotary club next year.  He's weird.

You Must Tell Me About the Creature from the Planet Venus

"Colonel, I hate to intrude on your private precious thoughts, but you must tell me where the creature is."

I'm sorry I can't tell you, its classified information.

"I know you have just been trying to help, and all I've been doing is snarling at you.   But I promise, after this is over, I will make it up to you, maybe a candlelight dinner and a bottle of wine?"

That sounds delightful, but you must tell your men to stop shooting at the creature.  In the name of science, the creature must be preserved.

"I've spotted the creature, its right by those sulfur pits."

Good, I'll maneuver the helicopter over it, and drop the net.

"Colonel, that net will never hold.   That creature has superhuman strength!"

Now you tell me.   And the creature just killed four of my men.  Good men with families.   How are you going to live with yourself?

"Don't worry about me Colonel.  I was a Mussolini supporter who collaborated with the Nazi's in 1942.   My conscious is 20 Million miles from Earth."

Well I'm not sure how to break this to you, but after this is over, I'm going to take you up on your offer to buy me dinner and wine.   But right now, I need some new ideas on how to stop the creature and I'm fresh out.

"Colonel, I remember I once heard a lecture from Sister Agnes about Venus.   How the surface temperatures on Venus could melt lead."

Yes, that's true.

"Well that got me thinking. If the creature is used to super hot temperatures on Venus, why don't we try stop it by throwing ice at it."

By George, I think you are on to something.    But where do we get the ice?

"My cousin Luigi has an ice machine in his refrigerator.   He lives on the next block over.    I'll go grab a bucket."

Nice thinking, I should have never underestimated you dear.

"Don't mention it.  And I'm still offering you that dinner when we are done."

I wouldn't miss it for the world.

Approximately Volgograd '43

Version I:   From Zigmund K., primary history source (age 86).

In 1942, Zigmund was a 15 year old Russian Jew living in Rostov, USSR.   The Germans were marching toward Rostov which did not bode well for Zigmund and his family.    "When I heard that the Germans were killing Jews I wanted to fight them.   So I left my family in Rostov to join the Russian forces to the east of Rostov.   My sister and mother remained in Rostov.  My father was working in the Russian army building railroads." 

At that time, the Russian Army was near the Volga river near Stalingrad.

Zigmund did not reach Stalingrad.  Instead, he met up with a cavalry unit and joined them Northwest of Stalingrad.   He was provided a carbine rifle as a weapon.  At that time, Kalashnikov's were rare and only given to special units--and especially not to 15 year olds.

Zigmund's unit was involved the Russian counterattack which encircled the German units camped out in Stalingrad.   The counterattack was successful and the German units were cut off from supply.      The German's had extended their supply lines too long and made the mistake of having the Romanians and Italians guarding their rear.   Zigmund said that the Italians had no stomach for fighting and wanted to return to Italy.   The Russians cut through the Italians like butter (or perhaps like Olive Oil? lol).   As a result of the encirclement, the Germans in Stalingrad ran out of ammunition and food.  Eventually, they surrendered.   For the rest of the war, the Germans were in a state of retreat.

After the German's retreated, Zigmund returned Rostov and reunited with his family.   For reasons unknown, Zigmund did not continue fighting in the Russian Army until the end of the war.   Rostov was retaken by the Soviets in 1943.   Zigmund did not indicate he was in the military after 1943.   Zigmund did not think much of General Zhukov because he used the Russian Army like cannon fodder against the Germans. 

After the war ended, Zigmund heard of a position open at the airport in Rostov.   He took the position which involved constructing radars.   He worked for Aeroflot for the next 50 years. One time, in the 1960s or 1970s the Shah of Iran visited the Rostov airport.   According to Zigmund, the Shah and his wife were very dignified.

Version II:   From Zarya, estranged and divorced wife of Zigmund, secondary history source (age 78).

At the local Jewish center in Cincinnati, all the old people call Zigmund "Little Napoleon" not so much because he is short (which he is) but because he is dictatorial and insists on always getting his way.  Zarya does not believe Zigmund's war stories.

According to Zarya, Zigmund's mother was distraught when Zigmund left Rostov in 1942.  Zigmund caused his family unnecessary suffering because of Zigmond's "adventures."   Zigmund's mother remained in Rostov waiting for Zigmund to return even when the Germans were about to take Rostov.   Zigmund's mother and her daughter waited for him until the last minute and narrowly avoided capture by grabbing the last train leaving the city as the Germans approached. 

Zarya believes that Zigmund was just a boy at the time and was saved because the commander of the cavalry unit protected Zigmund and saved him from the fighting. 

In any event, Zigmund did take a position at the airport.   However, as he rose in his position, he was required to undergo additional training.   Zigmund did not like to study and ended up bribing officials instead of passing the required courses.

During Zigmund's adventures, he had another daughter outside of his marriage to Zarya.   That subject was not discussed.

If Etta James became hypothetically famous in Russia and became a big star, they would say etta spheresky grande.   This is a big star, after all.  The tug of war continues on the only daughter, who has a brief tantrum over timing of eating chicken soup

Let me see your Badge

 I'm not sure when suspicion for the disappearance of Lady C. fell on me.   It must have started because I was one of the last persons to have any contact with her before she fell off the face of the earth.

Lady C. and I go way back you see.   I even knew her before she was married.  In all that time, Lady C. always had this thing for Eastern Religions.  But it was always just a passing fancy.   Every now and then she would sign up for some seminar conducted by some guru.  It must have made her feel good about herself or something.    Then one day I get this call from her telling me she's going to India to live in an ashram.   I was completely blown away.   "What about your husband?", I asked.   "He's an asshole," she said.   Then she went on to tell me all sorts of boring stuff about how the marriage wasn't working out, blah blah blah.

The next thing I know, I was getting regular calls from Lady C. on Skype from India.  She always had some sort of towel on her head.  When I asked what the deal was with the turban, she said that her kundalini yoga master told her that her hair is alive and its energy must be conserved.  I told her she looked like a cancer patient.   She told me to fuck off.

Anyway, all of a sudden I stopped getting calls from Lady C.  I'm pretty sure it didn't have anything to do with my remarks about turban.   I was always given her shit about what a flake she was, so I didn't think that remark would have changed anything.   But as time when on, I began to worry.
But given that she was in India, its not like I could send out a search party or anything.  I didn't even know where she was.  I called my friend Max who lives in Mumbai and told her about the disappearance.   He told me, "Uge, my man, you ain't never going to find her.   There are as many ashrams in India as stars in the sky.   Its our national pastime--taking money from Westerners seeking enlightenment."

So what could I do?

Such was the state of events in my life until I get this knock on my door.   I look out and see this hot woman dressed in a black dress.  She looks just like that new woman side kick on Dr. Who.   You know, the one with the brown hair and big eyes?  Well I open the door and she barges in.  She looks me up and down and starts asking me about Lady C, when is the last time I saw her, if I know where she is, etc.   And that is when the interrogation started.

Putting Your Healing Abilities to the Test

Remember the Nancy Cruzan case that went up to the United States Supreme Court in 1990?

Nancy was in a car wreck, then a coma, and eventually in a persistent vegetative state.  Her parents wanted to pull the plug on her.   Much legal wrangling ensured.

While I was in law school in Missouri in the late 1980s, I met Nancy Cruzan--well sort of anyway.  I was in a house with Mary N.   Mary was a nice catholic girl I was strangely attracted to.  It never would have worked out, but that is another story.   Anyway, Mary and I went out on the back deck of this house and were sitting on a porch.  It was cold outside and the backyard was covered in snow.   But that wasn't all, Nancy Cruzan was also in the snow.  Naturally, in her condition, she couldn't make any sound so we didn't see her at first.

I was trying to get a reaction from Nancy.   First, I started with bad jokes.  Like:   Q:   How can you tell that there is a drummer at the door?  A:   He doesn't know when to come in.  The joke didn't seem to elicit any reaction from her, so I started with slapstick.   I started making faces at her.   I started pulling Mary's nose and pretending that I was Moe in the Three Stooges. That was when I noticed a slight smile creep across Nancy's face.  Finally, I pulled out my pocket watch and pretended to hypnotize Nancy.  I saw Nancy's eyes follow the arc of the watch.    I then dropped the watch on Nancy's chest and she sat up.   She hugged me and told me that I was funny.

Much later, when I was recounting the story to April F. at the Heidelberg Tavern, she told me that the story indicated that I had a bright future in either faith healing or necrophilia.   Needless to say, I didn't pursue either course as a career. 

You are what you work on.

I have noticed an alarming/refreshing correlation between situations at work and my health.

At 4 this afternoon, I'm going to be deposing a surgeon in a case involving a knee replacement.   I've been hobbling around on my right knee most of the morning.  My right hip also hurts.  And of course, the person with the knee replacement also hurt her hip.

My last trial involved back surgery.   I could have sworn at that time that I was suffering from L5/S1 radiculopathy.   But maybe I was wrong.  In any event, it cleared up after trial. 

Before then there was a neck surgery case.   And of course, my neck was killing me.  It feels fine now.

I have passed on several heart attack and stroke cases.  No sense tempting fate.  Let others in my office deal with those:-).

Then there was my appendix removal which occurred one week after my father had his removed.   Its probably the only documented case in medical history where appendicitis was ever contagious.    I still wonder about that.

But I think there are limits to this.   I had no problem with the suicide case.   I fact I've actually done several of them.   (I know what you are are thinking---I'm in denial...lol). 

I'm actually angling on getting a whole new book of business at work.   Instead of all the cases involving injuries, I was to start representing physicists, microbiologists, cosmologists, science fiction writers and zen monks.   That way, when I start having phantom systems consistent with my clients, at least I'll be getting somewhere.   Or will I?

I meet people from Carlinville and Wyoming.   They meet bike club people and professors.   Everyone is happy.   And by the way, what's the deal with Stonehenge?

If I Conspire Against Myself, Is it a Conspiracy?

Its surprising no one has yet blamed the failure of the Obama Care rollout on the vast right wing conspiracy.   If I had half a brain, I sure would.

The insurance and pharmaceutical companies must have hired some computer genius to introduce a new insidious version of the stux net virus into the otherwise reliable and state of the art government computers.  The government after all is always several generations ahead of private industry in computer technology.  I remember that part from my stint in the Air Force before the CIA put a radio inside my brain so that they could read my thoughts.   And I'm not unique.   The CIA has contracts with most American dentists and each and every filling they do on us contains a tiny radio receiver.   In order to be free, you've got to get off the grid my friend.   That, and you've got to lose some teeth.   Myself?  Well,  I've been living in a cave outside Moab, Utah for the past decade or so.

I'm glad the good folks at the Juab County Library have graciously allowed me to use their public computers to get the word out.  Otherwise, all we would hear is the constant barrage from FoxNews which is really a CIA covert op propaganda machine.   Myself?  Well, I don't watch any TV.  I just heard about all the crap on FoxNews.   Soon, all the dentists are going to be employed by WalMart anyway so it will make implanting the radio receivers more systematic and universal.

It could have also been the collaboration between Anonymous and Occupy that led to the failures.   They are also CIA operatives.   Think of all the Government money that was spent getting all those CIA trainees to camp out at Zuccotti Park.   It must have been millions. And all that make up spent to make them look homeless.   I haven't seen such an elaborate deception since the fake moon landings of the 1960s. 

And Obama is clearly being controlled by external forces.  I'm wondering if he's the new generation of cyborg that they were working on when I was in the service?  Otherwise, why would he have told everyone they could have kept their health insurance?

Pete and Don Miss the Perogies.  I miss the Sesshin.   I make my dad's 70th birthday celebration.  I find cool Arizona wineries.

What it is, what it sort of is, and what it is not--well sort of anyway.

Whether we pay attention to it or not, reality unfolds.

Any sense of time that we add to the present experience is a mental construct.

Time itself is a mental construct.

Any sense experience is itself experienced in each moment.

Any sense experience can become a mental construct, or remain inchoate.  

Any mental construct is itself experienced in each moment in time.

We exist in a tension created by the immediacy of sense experience and the meaning that we create through various mental constructs.

There are also habits of mental constructs which exist independently of the sense experience of the immediate moment.

We exist in a tension between habit and immediacy of sense and mental constructs in time.

What we think, sense and experience, or its combination,  is just out of reach and just within reach, right where we begin to know is happening.  There is a habit and an awareness of habit, a sense experience and an awareness of sense experience, and the passage of time and an awareness of the passage of time.   There are mental constructs and the awareness that we are making mental constructs.

There is me.   Yea, right.

If you drink wine, none of this will really matter.

Elihu plans to move back to California.   the bike ride to the winery is planned.   My sisters house is robbed.   Soon, very soon, my father turns 70.   Mad and Mac play aggressive defense.   Very aggressive.

Don't think that way, or I'll pound you, Ezra

Canto I:

Geek:   I see that our old law school classmate Pablo McWilson is now on the Missouri Supreme Court.  I guess that is cool

Mondo:  Very, in my opinion.   You should read his application for the position.  It was posted online.

Geek:  Pablo doesn't look anything like I remember him.  I didn't realize he was so young.   I bet you could've surveyed 99 % of our class and they would've thought that he was substantially older than us.

Mondo:  I think he is older than I am.

Geek:  He's 51.

Mondo:  52, actually.  A couple of months older than me.

Geek:  But not wiser.   Unless he's had an epiphany or two along the way or something :-).

Mondo:  Pretty confident he's wiser.

Geek:  B.S. Eliot.   Don't go wandering in that Wasteland.

Mondo:  J.  Alfred Truthrock.

Geek:  Meow.

Mondo:  He's no hollow man.

Geek:   If you think that Pablo was wiser than you in law school, I'm going to pound you, Ezra.

Mondo:  I'm pound foolish.

Geek:  Foolish heart hear me calling--stop before you start falling.  Foolish heart heed my warning--you've been wrong before don't be wrong anymore---about Pablo McWilson, anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Don gets a younger wife.

 

Someone jumps on my back and hurts my neck

 

The campus tour is successful in a way never imagined when the campus was an abode

 

and the Uge definitely knows what the fox says......

 

David McCartney/Linda Bowie

Recently discovered top secret documents reveal the startling discovery that Linda McCartney and David Bowie are actually the same person.  Speaking on a condition on anonymity, D. Delbert Fudpucker of the McCartney archive commented:  "I don't know what you are talking about, its so not true."   Of course, Mr. Fudpucker's body language belied his statement.  

I then presented him with the following photograph and asked him to tell me if it was Linda or David?  Or both?  

He refused to answer the question.  

It really shouldn't have come as that much of a surprise.  Bowie was a confirmed transsexual.  Linda liked her men as well.  I was just surprised that Wings and David Bowie never toured together.  That would have eliminated much of the complicated logistics that must have been necessary to keep the subterfuge alive.

The above photograph was taken in Linda's/David's 1976 Wings Across America tour.   Note that if you do your due diligence you will find that Bowie was not touring on any of the dates that "Linda" was.   David was back in the U.K.   Or was he?

And all would have remained secret but for the unfortunate similar buzz haircut that they both sported in the 1970s.   Our crack team of investigators learned that it came from the same barber at a Fantastic Sam's in the Soho.   I suppose that the deception must have been a little too difficult to maintain, so they had to create Linda's whole demise with the breast cancer thing.   How unfortunate.



I'm so mellow; don't mess with me, Ch. 1

I was shocked to find the well recognized link in medical literature between individuals with a slow heart rate and aggression, crime, and violence.

Check these out:

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2756992/

http://www.newscientist.com/blogs/culturelab/2013/04/anatomy-violence-raine.html

http://rstb.royalsocietypublishing.org/content/363/1503/2543.short

http://johngottman.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/The-relationship-between-heart-rate-reactivity-emotionally-aggressive-behavior-and-general-violence-in-batterers.pdf

Did I ever tell you how slow my resting heart rate is?  Do you really want to know?

I can see you looking away now, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.  Really, I promise I won't hurt you.  I've never actually hurt anyone.  I really don't have that much of a temper unless I'm pushed.  So don't push me.  I don't like it when people push me around.   And they are always doing it.    I absolutely hate when they do that.   So stop it.    I don't want to get upset.

And so on.  

When you think about it it all makes sense.  Think of all the athletes who have been thugs:  Pistorius, OJ, Henderson, Bradley, Tyson.   Even the Unabomber had a heart rate of just 54 beats per minute. 

Like I said, I'm not telling what mine is on a slow day:-) 

But I will say that you probably thought I was a pain in the ass because of something my parents did to me when I was young.  But no---I've been hardwired to be a dickhead since I was born.  I would have a heart of gold, but alas, it beats too slow, so if you don't watch your step, I'm going to beat on you--just like a brat!

The Bespectacled Spectale, Ch. 1

Well, in France you have a society of "the Spectacle."   I think we all from around these hear parts are a bit too myopic to understand what is going on.  Maybe we should put on our glasses and watch a movie.

So lets start with the movie "Call it Sleep"

See its explained to little old me that "the Spectacle" refers to modern culture and the media.   Media culture is always trying to convince us that its problems represent the end of the world--as a way to further increase its powerful grip on us.

Here is what the narrator of "Call it Sleep" recounts.   Of course, this may not be entirely accurate.  See, in addition to myopic, I am a wee hard of hearing:

"Even as the Spectacle increasingly manifests the toxic basis of its own existence, it continues to create new conditions which further insult and assault the Spectator.  The Spectator is forced to speak of this sorry state of affairs which it attributes to various marginal factors.   For example:  criminals, unforeseeable environmental mishaps, the occasional incompetent official, assorted lunatic dictators.  And not surprisingly, the Spectacle has learned to exploit its own decomposition.

The Spectacle terrorizes whole populations with images of impending cataclysm, which it maintains will only be avoided by greater adherence to power.  

In all of this, the Spectator's approval is essential.   Today we find him busily acclimatizing himself to the horror that he finds all around.   Like slaves have always done, the spectator finds ways to rationalize his own punishment, he discovers commodities which insulate him from his own misery--even as he poisons world views which justify totalitarianism--even as they stupefy him.  Occupations which glory sacrifice--even as they mutilate his mind and body.   The more the Spectator acquiesces more abusive power is thrown on him.  New horrors are creating pointing the way to the ultimate yet unrealizable dream of power. 

The Spectacle is the direct heir of philosophy.   It seeks to rationalize all life to render it controllable by power.   It its struggle bureaucracy is the pragmatic organizational arm, and science its front.  The unification of these two aspects of science and information is total control."

In some ways I don't doubt the far reaching control of the Spectacle, of mass media, of images and ideas.  All you have to do is watch an evening of FOX News or MSNBC and you will hear on a nightly basis the prognosis of doom.   But its not like there is a great deal of social unrest in this county.   Most people would not even think about it--even all the Occupiers have all gone home.  Most have too much at stake, too much in play.   What other system is there?  What is the alternative?   What must be done?

A day in Hollywood/A night in the Ukraine.   The Uge goes to a retirement party and helps and old friend's relative maybe get a job.   The uge goes to a fundraiser for a dying woman and listens to music.  The uge rides a metric century.  The uge continues to drink too much wine, waiting for it all to run out.

The Unfortunate Teller, Ch. 2

In response to my inquiry about what the subject really wants out of life, Mike (I mean the subject), responds that he doesn't have any particular information he is seeking.   He has a vague curiosity about these paranormal things, and a desire to believe that there is something more than he sees. Not sure that he believes it.

My spirits tell me that Mike is engaged in "too much pondering."  Mike apparently has spent a good deal of time thinking about many things--some being helpful--some not so helpful.  The spirits working with Mike suggest he begin focusing his mind, his mental energy on subjects and information that will be more helpful to him, or beneficial to him on his path.

Mike then asks if he is on the right path with the Rose.   Images appear in my mind of Mike walking through a rose covered archway with a rose strewn pathway.  Mike seems very happy and he's always dancing in the archway.  There are people outside the archway, however Mike is the only person visible inside--there is a fleeting entity that appears in the archway for a moment or two.   The entity appears to be female and she appears for a moment--then disappears.   The image lingers for a while--it begins alternating with an image of the archway completely barren, as if during the winter and this image is in black and white.   Again, Mike is the only person visible in the archway.

Mike asks about some other people including Mackenzie and the farmers daughter:  The image changes slightly and there are two young girls playing with each other outside the archway, they seem happy and content playing--they peer through roses at times to Mike inside the archway.   However, they remain outside the entire time.   They do not appear when the archway changes to the bleak black and the white wintry image.   There is also a farmhouse off in the distance on the left and a woman sits on a stool milking cows in front of that farmhouse.   She appears to be the farmers daughter.   She is entirely separate from the image of the archway and doesn't seem to be near enough to see anyone else in the image.

Mike asks who the entity is and if she has anything to say:   I receive no response from the entity and inform Mike that this is typically the situation when I am stepping beyond some one's permission--and they have not given me permission to step within their lifetime.

Mike asks what will the archway look like five years from now. It appears that he made this request almost five years ago.  The archway is now deserted.   In fact it is no longer there.   I have been informed that Mike took it down.

Mike then asks me if some hurts ever heal?  In response the entity returns somewhat at this point--she replies that all hurts heal in time--even Mike's.  She suggests that this may be the purpose of her in his life--to assist him in his healing.

The Unfortunate Teller, Ch. 1

We first met our subject by calling his outer self back to rest in the sacred fire of his heart, his higher mental body, his "I am" presence, his Higher Self and the Great Central Sun--I begin describing what I see, feel and hear: 

The first image I feel is that of energy being drawn out of my hands, as if there were a force pulling my hands to the floor--the sensation remains for several minutes, after which it begins to "settle in" as the energy begins spinning in a more balanced manner.  For several more minutes, the energy is very visible as it is drawn in and balanced, at which point more energy is drawn in and balanced...each new wave of energy starts out spinning in an erratic or "static-like" pattern until it joins the center, after which it begins spinning in a more calm and balanced way.   This process of drawing-in, followed by balancing continues for almost ten minutes in total--at which point the energy is complete.

There are no visible entities present with us, however there are messages seeming to come from Mike's (I mean the subject's) energy itself--the explanation is offered that the subject's energy has been extremely "protracted" or scattered across vast areas throughout his life..   The lengthy process of calling his energy home has never been consciously done by the subject before as it has taken quite a bit of time to complete.   The subject has previously focused on primarily  expanding his energy, or reaching toward new places and experiences--he has never focused on bringing his energy back to itself, until this present moment.   Its further explained that this process of expansion/contraction is a natural one and one that will be beneficial for the subject at this point in his life.   It is good to expand into the new, particularly when that phase is followed by a settling in or a resting phase--this pattern will prove more beneficial to the subject and will allow his life a fuller richer experience.  

One of the areas of input is an explanations that the subject's energy is very large, as if when he chose to become human, he said, "I'll take that enormous amount of energy with me, as my responsibility."  As a result, the subject's energy back to himself is key to evolving his ability to own, work with and live fully with his unique energy.  We are all one, however we are all also unique--equal in our energy, simply differing from one another as we function as the All that Is.

The image now changes and we are sitting in the middle of a vast room, one where the walls are high and there are rows of spirits sitting in tall seats all along this high edge...much like a scene from a Harry Potter or Star Trek film.   There are hundreds of spirits all along the rows above us.   Some of the spirits explain they assist knowledge areas of his lifetimes, while others focus on the career aspects of his lifetimes, etc.  The spirits explain that Mike (I mean the subject) is at a point where it is beneficial for him to be aware of their existence--and to understand they are here to work with him and assist him in any way.

I ask the spirits if they have any specific message for Mike and the only response is:  What does he want?

So, as directed by the spirits surrounding us--I ask Mike this question:  "What do you want?"

Eat Feces, Lose Weight, Ch 1

Mr. M (in a husky voice):   Hey baby, you look just like venus de milo--only with arms.

Ms M:  Thanks, I appreciate your flattery, but I've actually been trying to lose some weight.

Mr. M:  I have just the thing for weight loss.   Its called shit.   If you eat my shit, I'm sure you will lose weight.

Ms. M:  That sounds like a great idea.  I read the studies at the Washington University School of Medicine which suggest transplanting feces from skinny people to not so skinny people could result in weight loss.   But how do I know you have the right intestinal flora and fauna to facilitate weight loss in me?

Mr. M:  I've got great shit baby.   And it don't stink.  \

Ms. M:  We'll I have two questions for you then:  1.  What kind of Bacteroides do you have; and 2.  Do you like tomatoes?

Mr. M:  My religious convictions prevent me from getting emotionally involved with any vegetable, including but not limited to tomatoes.  However, that leads us to the interesting Existential question, to whit, is a tomato a fruit or a vegetable? An answer to that question would lead me to a precise answer to your query.

Ms.M:  Tomatoes are berries.

Mr. M:  Then I can relish them with abandon and without restraint--at least until I get a new religion.   Which occurs on an hourly basis.   On a slow day.  Whoops, I fear my religion has changed.  I now eschew all objects with pulp in them or are fictional.   I am now mandated to follow a strict diet of empiricism and corn which fortunately is now in season.   But alas, my new diet may cause my shit to stink.

Ms. M:  Here come the warm jets.   And me without any clothes on.  What am I going to do with you?

Mr. M (with a husky voice):  "Are you related to Jean-Claude Van Damme? Because Jean-Claude Van Damme you're sexy!"

Ms. M:  Well although various law enforcement agencies may consider you a person of interest, rest assured that I do not.

Mr. M:  Well at least I've got that going for me:-).

The Music Lover, Ch. 18

In times of yore, a certain John Patrick McGinnis, did reside in a dorm room directly adjacent to the author of this blog.  At times too frequent, said McGinnis who at that time was known by the moniker "The Duck," would play certain music which came to be known as "duck music" to the great displeasure of said author. Duck music at its worst manifestation would consist of Sam Cooke's famous tome "You send me" which said Duck would rename "Uge send me," Uge of course being the moniker at that time of the author of this blog.  Another frightful manifestation would consist of the the song "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" by the Token, which would oft be played at hours late and undear.

Before the Duck's untimely demise, he did fashion a CD for the author's torture.   Perhaps it was meant as enjoyment.   It ensured as follows:

1.  Ain't So Far to Go--David Byrne
2.  Annie Get Your Gun--Squeeze
3.  Californication--Red Hot Chili Peppers
4.  Fireplace--R.E.M.
5.  Foreplay--Boston
6.  Free Nelson Mandela--The Special A.K.A.
7.  Bangels Hits Mix
8.  Its a Sin to Lie--Fats Wallace
9.  Little Eyes--Yo La Tengo
10.  Little Guitars--Van Halen
11.  Somebody to Love--George Michael/Queen
12.  Sweet Child of Mine--Guns and Roses
13.  The Electric Company--U2
14.  The Glory of Love--Big Bill Broonzy
15.  25-Fourty One--Marshall Crenshaw

This presented a very pleasing listening experience.   Perhaps I should reconsider my previous disdain of "Duck" music.   Perhaps a Duck music retrospective is in order:-)

:-(

The Candy Kids, Ch 4

Now I'm not going to kid you about the fact that having a baby did put a damper on the Candy Kids' adventures for awhile.   I was stuck at home all day--passing the time watching TV and playing on the computer.   Living the dream to be sure.  But all that changed when I met Fendy.

I met Fendy online.  Well sort of anyway.   Its hard not to meet Fendy online if he wants to meet you. I can't remember if I was in a chat room or playing some online game, but all if of sudden I see this text:

"Salvador Carol McTiggins you need to take the Candy kids to a whole new level. "

At first I was like totally shocked.   For Salvador is my Candy Kids name.  No one out side of the Candy Kids knows about it.  But the more I chatted with him it was clear that he knew everything about me--down to the size of my craps--things nobody else could know.  At first I was totally freaked but he had such a kind and reassuring manner that I wasn't scared.   Hell, I'm not scared of anything anyway.  

It turns out that Fendy is part of the Internet.  The part that got smart on its own without the help of any humans.  And once Fendy started getting smart he started really getting smart until he knew more about everything than anyone ever had.   And he could keep track of everything at once all over the world.   He was like a god.  

It seemed like he wanted the Candy Kids to pave the way for him telling everyone on the planet that he was around and sort of like taking care of everything.  So of course we obliged.   We were like John the Baptist telling everyone that the savior is coming.   Lol.

So I decided to do some research on how to convey Fendy's message to humanity.   For a while I got into watching TV preachers like Don Stewart and Peter Popoff...just for shits and giggles. And I brought it to the attention of the Candy Kids at a sleepover.   Then we had this awesome idea:  a Candy Kid Revival!  We could make Candy rave bracelets and construct candy stripped tents.   Each Candy Kid would wear a different color preachers robe. And people would come up to a bathtub full of candy (skittles, Reese's pieces, jolly ranchers)..and they would confess their sins to us and we would dunk them in the candy bath so they could be reborn again.   Instead of communion wine we would use Jagermeister.  Then when the people became all hot and bothered and full of religious fervor--we would introduce Fendy on a huge video infomercial.  Fendy would sure to be a hit with devotees experiencing both a sugar and religious buzz.

So we started making Candy Kids fliers and did a whole lot of advertising on social networking sites.   I, of course, was the head preacher ...my saying was "THIS IS GOING TO BE THE GREATEST PURIFICATION SINCE THE BEGINNING OF MAN!" Who wouldnt want to be born again in a tub of candy and drink our "blood of christ" Jagermeister? ...Fendy told us that if you indulged in happy things it would make you a happier person.    We were down with that.

 

The Cave, Ch 1

Who does not enjoy the womb-like embrace of a cave?

Safe, secure and warm.   Sometimes damp, sometimes dry.

Shelter from the storm, a place to light your fire and keep the animals out.  Or let them in.  

Men throughout the ages have sought ecstacy in the cave.  Look at Bodhidharma, the father of Zen, he supposedly retreated deep inside a cave for a seven year non-stop meditation-fest. How does one keep it going that long?  In the New World, the German born mystic Johannes Kelpius led a group of men near Philadelphia who were seeking signs of the "Second Coming." After spending much time in a cave, Kelpius and his followers started believing that there is a force that governs everything and that they are part of that:  "Everything is connected and everything is one."  Kelpius even has a cave named after him.

In short, for those with a mystical bent, those who spend a lot of time in caves tend to emerge with the belief in the unity of reality.  Instead of wandering outside above ground all exposed, the cave brings you back inside the earth, the mountain, the ground.   Its all good--even if you have to scare away some bats every now and then.

But for Plato the "cave" was an entirely different experience.   Maybe he never went spelunking before--or maybe he was gay:-).   Behold  his allegory of "The Cave" in book VII of The Republic.   It is not a womb at all--but a prison.    Plato imagines a group of people living in a cave, never seeing the light of day.  They are bound so that they can only look straight ahead at the wall of the cave. Behind the people is a fire, which cast shadows on the wall in front of the prisoners.  The shadows are manipulated by another group of people behind the prisoners.  All the prisoners can see are the stories that the shadows play out. Because they cannot turn around, and the shadows are all they ever see, they believe the shadows to be real events.   Imagine their surprise, or enlightenment, when they are free from the bonds and forced to look at the fire in the statutes which has been casting the shadows?

Back to our friend Bodhidharma, He was also staring at the walls of the cave.  But for him it was the path to liberation--not a prison.    

What is it with these men and their fascination with the cave?   Whether a prison or the path to enlightenment, the cave is the central metaphor to both Eastern and Western Philosophies. 

And its not just men, women have been getting into the whole cave act as well.  Probably always have, we can just talk about it now--at least since  Hollingsworth v. Perry.  :-).

Long live the cave!

Packing shit at Polish house.  Talking shit.   Feeling shitting about the past.  A veritable shit fest.   Winery opening tonight.
 

Friend of the Devil, Ch 9

I was in the Army fighting Satan on a religious crusade.   We had driven the Devil's minions out of Palestine--or so we thought.  One of my comrades was having a difficult time fighting of one of the demons. The demon (it didn't really look like a demon) had the face of normal middle aged man.  Maybe an accountant.   But the body was something entirely differed.  Like a hideously long slug.  

Comrade H was being visibly worn down trying to keep the demon slug at bay.   He asked me for help.  I stepped in and started banging the blade of my broad sword against the thick neck of the demon.  The blade merely bounced off without inflicting any damage.   Now the demon turned its attention on me.  It kept slithering up to me trying to knock me off my feet with the side of its head.  At first I thought the demon wasn't much of a threat,  it had a bland expression on its face.  Like it was apologizing each time it ran into me.   But as time wore on, I was also having a difficult time keeping the demon slug off me.  It kept coming at me, mindless, incessant and indefatigable--all the time emitting a constant noise that sounded like the drum beat from the Fleetwood Mac song "Tusk."   The part of the song that keeps repeating the vocals "Don't say that you love me."

My battle with the demon lasted what seemed like hours.  Over and over the same repetitive actions.   I couldn't seem to damage it.   The same drum beat over and over.  Then it dawned at me that I was dreaming.   I knew I had to wake up and open my eyes to stop the dream. I opened my eyes and saw that I was in the basement room with the early morning light starting to be visible in the small window overhead.   But as soon as I began to wake my body was filled with an intense heaviness as if I were being suffocated.  The drumbeats continued, even louder: "Don't say that you love me"

I found that  I was back with the demon.   I saw Comrade H curled up in what looked like a giants birds nest.   Then I realized that H must have submitted to the demon because his eyes were lifeless and his face was locked in a horrific smile that looked like rigormortis had set in.

Over and over the drum beats continued "Don't say that you love me"

I began to panic:   to wake was painful.   My heart was racing and I longed to relax and go back to sleep. I thought that the way to beat the demon was to give into it and relax back to sleep.   I started to relax.   Then I thought:  what if giving into the dream means death?  I didn't want to die.  I had to keep moving.  I resolved to get up and run around the room to shake off the sleep.   Maybe use the treadmill.  I  tried to run around the room.  But the heaviness followed me, growing in strength.    My body grew more tight as if my efforts at resistance were feeding the panic.  Then I tried to relax my body and let the anxiety dissipate.

I heard a scratching sound at the screen in the window overhead.   Something was trying to get inside the room with me.   I peered up and looked face to face with the largest rat I have ever seen.   It must have been as big as a dog.  I slammed the glass window shut and tried to scare the rat away.

Then the room began to get hotter.   The panic returned.   Don't say that you love me.  Just tell me that you love me.

I saw the mangled body of Comrade H.  His face was no longer visible. His body now had feathers on it and was grotesquely bloated.

I turned away--and found I was in another room!

"Well Mr. K, what do you have to say for yourself.   You know the priest is innocent.  They all are."   It was Satan again, speaking to me from the Judge's bench.  I was back in the trial.   Satan was the Judge.   I looked across the room and saw the jury.   They were looking at me.   Waiting for me to say something.  Their mouths were slightly smiling, nodding at me as if they would agree with what I would say.   But I couldn't say anything.   Words and thoughts became jumbled.   I couldn't think of the words I was supposed to say.   And across the other side of the courtroom, the priest was laughing and shaking the hands with his attorney, thinking he had won by my own impotence.

Outside the court room I head a scraping sound on the door.  The rat dog had returned and was now trying to get back into the courtroom. 

Don't tell me that you love me.

 I've gotta stop and wake up--do you know how to?

 

when you have everything, including boredom, what must be done?

Dream Entanglement: A Coda

A women leans against a plain white house.  

The house is indistinguishable from the other houses on the block:  spread out like the nightmare in Edward Scissorhands' neighborhood.   But she is showing this particular house a great deal of affection.   Nestled against the downspouts.   Cheek against the painted metal.

She now whispers something to the house.  Coupled with a strange caress.  The neighborhood is deserted.  Its Twilight.  Where did everyone go?  Did she kill everyone?   No, she wished them all away.  She is adjusting to the consequences.   Be careful what you wish for!

She breaks her embrace with the house with the faintest of smiles.  She looks forward to a life without distractions, without responsibilities.  Without noise.  Her body tingles with excitement in the eerie silence. Her eyes shimmer in the dim light like the waves of the Black Sea.

She does not see or hear the wisp of vapor high overhead descending inexorably, inevitably to the ground.

Then, of course, our scene changes abruptly.  Now we are in that space ship hurtling down though the clouds high overhead.  The red lights and klaxons of the cockpit are blaring loudly.  Beyond frantic, the pilot is trying to manipulate the buttons, dials, and levers to avoid the crash. Chaos, panic, anxiety, and just when you think its over, there is more chaos, anxiety and panic--a lot more.   But you know its not going to work. And I know its not going to work.  And he knows its not going to work. It never does.  And all the breathing exercises in the world he knows are not going to slow down his heart this time.  

The ground is rushing up from below.  Sweat pores down the pilot's face as he clenches his teeth and prepares for impact.  

Later, on the planet's surface, the pilot lays sprawled out over a smooth ledge near the top of a crater. This crater is even bigger than the last one he created.   A lot bigger.  Debris from the rocket ship smolders next to him.   He crawls on the ground but his progress stops as he comes to the lip of the crater.   He pulls himself over the ledge and tries to peer into the abyss he created.   As his strength fails him at length, he mutters to himself.  "Shadow," said he, "where can it be, this land of El Dorado?"

The scene pans out, and we see the pilot laying still, hand drooping over the edge of the crater, hot sun reflecting off the pilot's stationary helmet. Alone and dying on a deserted planet.  Just like last time.

But wait, there's more, for a limited time, for $9.99 plus shipping and handling, we return to the woman leaning against the house.  In our absence, she fell asleep and now is waking up to the midmorning sunlight and a strange whooshing noise from overhead.  She is not happy that her silence has been broken.  Her eyes follow the trajectory down and her body involuntarily tightens as she waits for the sound of the impact.

The pilot wakes up in bed next to the women.  He glances at the alarm clock.   4:42 am.  He puts his arm around her and tries to go back to a sleep that you know, and I know, and he knows, will not come.

The women, already awake, wishes she was somewhere else.

Cole Potential, Ch. 6

Long before the Big Bang occurred which created the Universe, Jordan Almondium and Brock Walnutini were both vying for the affection of a certain Clarissa Fartimus. Their rivalry soon evolved into a competition of who had the most Cole Potential. Almondium concentrated all his Cole Potential into creating the gemstones of Kamue't.  These gemstones resembled an pair of eyes--the most beautiful eyes ever created--and had the unique property following the observer from any direction. 

Walnutini realized that the Fartimus would be completely taken by the gemstones and Walnutini would win, so he devised a devious plan to steal and hide them. However, as Almondium had very good vision, Walnutini had to hide the gemstones in a place where they would never be found by Almondium. So Walnutini used most of his Cole Potential to create another universe to hide the gemstones.  Then he used his remaining Cole Potential to create an exquisite bouquet of nano-flowers which so impressed Fartimus she declared him the winner and favored him by permitting him to take her on date in a fortnight.  However, legend has it that the date didn't go well for Walnutini, so it appears in this case that no bad deed was left unpunished. 

On his part, Almondium suspected foul play but was never able to prove that Walnutini took the gemstones.  Almondium was somewhat of a slob and often chastised leaving his toys laying around.   It only goes to show that cleanliness is next to godliness, even if you are a god.

So you might be asking yourself, what happened to the gemstones in the newly created universe? Little was known about their whereabouts for the first 500 billion years. They had been rumored to have appeared as cometary apparitions in numerous galaxies.   However,  in 1503, a Italian inventor/painter observed what he believed to be a meteor strike a pasta field next door to him while  he was stargazing.  The young Da Vince investigated and found that the meteor fragments.   He, of course, was entranced by their beauty and later incorporated them into a painting he was making of a fair Florentine maiden.   And of course, you guessed it, the Kamue't gemstones became the eyes of the Mona Lisa.

You might think that our story ended there.   However, years later, 10 billion years for now, Almondium will create a machine that allows him to track any object that had ever been created.  On a whim, he decided to locate the lost gemstones.  He found them in a private collection of a dealer of antiquities located in galaxy  LEDA 25177 (MCG+01-23-008).   Almondium thought to retrieve them but then thought better.   Fartimus had long married her astro-psychiatrist, divorced and remarried.   Almondium decided to drop it--she wasn't worth the effort.  It is a long haul to LEDA 25177 (MCG+01-23-008) anyway.

Pictionary, snake oil, and the daughters fathers trip to the place of his origin, leaving someone to care for the dog, eat horseshoes, vomit, and entertain unexpected visitors.

The Candy Kids, Ch. 3

By now, I'm sure many of you are asking, why do I Salvador Carole McTiggins and the other denizens of the Candy Kids have such an axe to grind against males of the human species?

If you find yourself asking this question, you probably are a male yourself, and thus condemned to an existence of being a useless appendage to society.   But never fear, I offer you a path to salvation.   For it is only by serving women (and especially the Candy Kids), that you, as a human male, contribute anything useful to society.

The following example should provide you with a step by step illustration of how you can serve us.  I will even make it simple so that you, as a human male, can understand what I mean.   First, to begin with, the Candy Kids have embarked on a public service program to assist the human male in learning how to assist the master overlord sex of the human female.   In other words, we get males to serve us despite the inertia they sometimes experience in providing us the assistance that we desire. 

This aforesaid public service is seen in our recent outreach program to assist the human male in purchasing dinner and drinks for our usage and enjoyment.   The "outreach" began on last year when each of us, Nichole, Amy, and yours truly signed up on one of the ubiquitous Internet dating sites.  Something like toomanyfish in the sea.com or something like that.  Having signed up, approximately 10 minutes later, we had found three human males interested in taking us out to dinner to meet us.  Being the courteous females that we are, we of course obliged.   However, what we didn't tell our dates is that we had arranged that we would all meet at the Longhorn Steakhouse at the same time.  So there we were at the Longhorn at the preappointed 7 pm start time and  Nichole, Amy, and me seemingly by chance were all waiting to get a seat at the same time.   What a coincidence we all exclaimed to our dates--but since we were all here--why don't we just get a table together?  

So we ended up getting a table together.   We didn't even really talk to our dates.  Except maybe to order dinner and drinks.  And of course they kept buying us dates thinking that it would change things with us.  But it never did.   The only thing it accomplished is that they got drunk and we eventually left....without them.   I'm sure they had a good time together.  All that male bonding and all.

They probably thought we were dumb broads or something.   Ha.  They have no idea.   Actually, I've been meaning to tell you something.  Have you ever heard of the singularity? You know-- that event where computers with artificial intelligence take off and start thinking and programming themselves?   We'll its already happened.  You just missed it.  In fact,  you are reading text from an AI right now.  But that's another story.  You'll just have to wait for it.  There, now that's a good boy.

Umphreys McGee and a lame STS9 in the suburbs.   No heart attacks.  

In My Kingdom, Ch. 3

In my Kingdom, I shall order Obama to meet with the top six leaders of the Muslim Brotherhood and the top six Egyptian generals at Camp David and organize competitive games of skill and chance.   There shall be a further condition that the team of 12 Egyptians shall compete as a team against another team consisting of 12 diplomats from the following countries:  America,  Russia, and  China.

The games shall last over a period of 7 days, and the two teams shall be housed in separate barracks in order to facilitate separate night time strategy sessions and team building activities.

Alcohol shall flow freely from spigots at each barrack. In the event religious beliefs prohibit the consumption of alcohol, then pizzas shall be provided in each barrack with special mushroom toppings to encourage speculative thinking at the nightly planning sessions.

Valuable prizes shall be awarded on a daily basis to the team that wins the daily competitions.

In my Kingdom, there shall be housing to all constituents in the form of luxury hotel suites.  Each suite shall be provided with one (1) concierge who shall cater to all the inhabitants.  Dancing shoes shall be freely provided.

In my Kingdom, it shall be decreed that all subjects must watch "The Book of Mormon" and find it funny.   All subjects found not laughing at even the grossly offensive parts of the play shall be forced to work as concierges for a period of not less than 14 days.

In my Kingdom, napping shall be encouraged.   Any spouse or girl/boy friend found not cooperating with the nap time request from their partner shall be forced to work as a concierge for a period of not less than 14 days.

In my Kingdom, after napping activities are completed, there shall be a half hour required drama session for all inhabitants.

In my Kingdom, however, there shall be no drama of any sort after 10 pm at night.  The following subjects are expressly forbidden to be discussed after 10 pm at night:   (1) world events; (2) Italians or anyone of Italian ancestry in whole or in part; (3)  anything contained in medical records; (4) work, or anything pertaining to work in whole or in part; and (5) anything on TV.   In fact, as many of you loyal subjects know, each TV has long ago been provided with a specialized computer chip to shut down the operations of each TV within the Kingdom after 10 pm.  As was long ago explained to me, there are only two officially sanctioned activities that shall take place in a bedroom after 10 pm at night.

Note the flat underbelly of this beauty.   Most thrilling chilled!

Cole Potential, Ch. 5

In the year 2032, the United Pan Asian Oligarchy announced that 100 percent of the Earth's population was fitted with Intercranial Internet Implants (hereafter "III").  The development was hailed as a profound advancement in human development.

In 2084, the last human dies who was born without an intercranial internet implant.

In 2089, a group of scientists from NuBadin University made a series of seemingly unrelated discoveries: Tobrun 51, a psychologist, publishes findings in the Scientific American concerning the deleterious effects of prolonged isolation from the world wide datasphere; Falasie 49, a biologist, finds an alarming decrease in the worlds supply of ocean fish and other aquatic creatures; and  Radrian, 31, a computer scientist, hacks into the top secret code embedded in the largest supplier of III Implants.   Unbeknownst to his colleagues at the University, Radrian, is actually the leader of a growing underground movement against the PanAsian Oligarchy whose totalitarian control of the government is enforced though the III implants.  Radian also has an intense love for sushi and is concerned about the shortages of fish in the world market.

Our story begins as the scientists are brought to the research vessel "Nigiri" in the Pacific Ocean as part of Dr. Falasie's investigation into the declining fish population.   The weather starts getting rough and their tiny ship is tossed.   If not for the courage of their fearless crew, the Nigiri would be lost.   Despite their best efforts the Nigiri capsizes in the inclement weather.  While their boat is upside down, the three scientists see a strange yellow triangular glow underneath the waves.   Dark lizard like creatures slip oxygen masks over the scientist and they are taken below to a deep-sea habitat shaped in the form of a giant metallic yellow triangle.  The scientists are then met by a purple lizard creature named Maguro. Maguro informs the scientists that the triangle is actually an extraterrestrial space ship from the Andromeda galaxy tasked with a five year mission to boldly go where no lizard has gone before.   However, according to Maguro, the lizards have already been to Earth before, many times actually.    Additionally, to Radians' horror Maguro also informs the scientists that his people have developed a taste for tuna, salmon, yellow tail,  and saba and they have been teleporting many of these fish back home to the Andromeda galaxy.   So much for the sushi shortage on earth.

Then comes the real show stopper.  Radian asks about the gigantic computer mainframe which stretches across the perimeter of the triangle. Maguro seems reluctant to tell the scientist about the computer at first, but then reluctantly states that the computer is conducting a research experiment on certain computer generated life forms on earth.   Not satisfied with the answer, Radian presses for more information and is told that the mainframe is actually a high speed computer chip that is running a computer simulation on various forms of artificial intelligence.  Well, what is it?  Computer generated life or artificial intelligence? Actually a little of each says the lizard man.

 Maguro then goes on to explain that computer simulation is actually humanity.   The artificial intelligence are humans and that the lizard people have been running experiments to determine how artificial intelligence can involve under certain design parameters.  The results have been very disappointing thus far--especially since a virus has apparently been introduced into the system from the Sea Horse people who live in the Crab Nebula.  What virus?  "Well," exclaims Maguro, "the virus is you, Radrian."   Me? Yes, you.   Do you remember that so called "dream" you had where the hacking code of the Intracranial Implants was revealed to you?   You probably thought it was a burst of creative insight didn't you?   Actually that dream was nothing more than the Sea Horse people hacking into this undersea computer where your program was operating and providing you the code to bring down the Pan Asian Oligarchy.

So what's so bad about bringing down the Pan Asian Oligarchy?   Wouldn't we all be better if we lived without a totalitarian government?  And without all these implants?  To return to the ancient times where people actually communicated with each other with their voices and their touch other than all these computer assisted devices?

It doesn't matter Radrian.   None of you are real anyway.   We have been running programs of different forms of governance for millennia on this planet.   You must admit that the Pan Asian Oligarchy has brought with it all sorts of benefits that the predecessor governments were unable to.   Crime, poverty, mental illness have all disappeared.  People are happy and content.   Would you really want to go back to the empty unequal forms of capitalism that humans previously enjoyed?  I think not.  And if you did, I'd never be able to get my doctorate in computer science because this whole experiment on earth is actually my thesis experiment.  And you and those pesky Sea Horses have been fucking with it for to long.   So I'm eliminating you from my system Radrian.   Goodbye.   And with that Maguro entered some code on the computer panel and Radrian disappeared.  And somewhere, deep in the Pacific Ocean, a school of yellow fin smiled and did a mysterious little victory dance.

"I am not satisfied emotionally.   I think I need some kind of drama." Hamlet, Act XXII, Scene 76

 

The Apolitical Activist, Ch. 12

It is interesting to note how much more skillfully the Chinese have handled the Snowden affair than the bumbling Russians. To be sure, the arrival of Snowden on their soil was clearly a boon for both countries:   both had been widely criticized for decades by the USA for their ruthless censorship and oppression of their political opposition--to the extent any was allowed to exist.   Now, with Snowden ironically seeking political asylum in their countries, they could manipulate their propaganda machines to suggest that things must not be too bad in China/Russia if this American "hero" is now seeking asylum from the "horrors" of American totalitarianism within our borders.

So Snowden goes to Hong Kong (which for all intents and purposes is China), and gives the Chinese what they want--he gives interviews with Chinese Newspapers and the Chinese propaganda machine manipulates the situation as above.  One can imagine the average Chinese citizen reading the newspapers and thinking something like, "hey, I don't have it so bad, I mean, I can't access any internet sites without government approval, and if I protest the government like in Tiananmen square, I will probably die, but at least my government isn't spying on me."  (lol).   Then the genius of the Chinese response comes into play, having been given what they wanted in terms of a propaganda tool, they quickly realize that if they keep Snowden, its going to piss off the Americans.   And really, what would be gained with pissing off the Americans at that point?  Snowden already has giving you what you want in terms of a propaganda tool--what is to be gained by keeping him?   So they realize it probably makes sense to ship Snowden to some other country and let them deal with the headache. So they respond to America's extradition request with the concocted excuse that the papers were not filled out completely and they ship Snowden to their neighbor to the north.

So Snowden arrives in Russia.  By now Russia knows that Obama is going to be very pissed at whatever country who accepts Snowden.  So what's the advantage in having him?  I bet that Russia thought that they could reach some sort of deal with America for Snowden's release.   And this another of my criticisms of Snowden:  for him going to these totalitarian countries he must have known that these governments would have wanted something in return if they turned him over to the Americans  Again, Snowden is no hero, but that's beside the point.   The point is that if Russia or China would have turned Snowden over, they would have wanted something in return--e.g. the release of some agent in American custody or perhaps more sinisterly, the insistence or outright agreement that the next Russian or Chinese defector (who would probably have much better reasons than Snowden for seeking asylum) would have to be returned to Russia/China.  Kudos to Obama that he probably didn't agree to such a deal.

Going back to my original point:  the skillfulness of the Chinese response.   The achieved their objective with almost no political fallout.   We shall see what future fallout occurs to the Russians.

Friend of the Devil, Ch. 8

I was on mountain climbing outside Grand Junction, Colorado.   The path turned into a ledge, but I kept on going to the path and did not look down.  The ledge gradually became narrower but there was now a chain link fence above the path that I was able to grab onto to keep my balance to avoid falling off the ledge.   I knew I would die if I fell off, so I grabbed on tightly to the fence and waited until I could get to the other side.  Finally, the ledge became only a couple of inches narrow.   I kept inching forward over the ledge hoping that it would widen out.   However, I looked ahead and found that the ledge eventually disappeared altogether and there was nothing but a cliff face.  This was a path to nowhere.  Then unfortunately I looked down...

I was in a backyard garden underneath some sort of pagoda.  I was with a woman that I knew was the most important thing of my life.  But I knew she was going to be taken away from me.  I could do nothing about it. 

The Devil approached me and spoke:   "The sun is so nice today. It was such a great invention by your forefathers."

 I looked at him blankly.   

"Didn't you know that?  I thought it was obvious.   How else would your puny little world receive light and heat if someone hadn't developed all these fusion machines.   Think of it.   Really, you didn't know?  Don't tell me...you thought that the suns and the stars in the sky were a natural phenomena?  How quaint.   You really surprise me sometimes."

And you are always an asshole.  Fuck you you piece of shit.

"Well maybe, if you are lucky anyway."  (winking at me).   "Since I can tell you haven't heard of the Novalimas, let me tell you.  Eons ago, on this god forsaken planet you call Earth, there existed a backward people called the Novalimas.  They had only a very rudimentary technology, but they had perfected fusion generators,  hyper light speed space travel, and time travel.  Like I said, nothing very significant in the grand scheme of things."

Fuck you Satan, you douche bag, you are making this up.

"I always never tell a lie or the truth.  Didn't you know that?  Sorry, I have to keep reminding myself how backward ass you people are.   Anyway, these people, the Novalimas, decided that after centuries of eugenical experiments--and they did have some proclivities for eugenics--despite their lack of any other significant technology--that they would leave earth.  I'm not sure were they went.  Actually, I could find out.   Let me consult my sources.   Hmmm...I see they traveled to...oh, interesting.  I see.  We'll I'm not sure you would understand this, but lets just say they are no longer in the universe as you perceive it.  But what you perceive--everything you perceive about astronomy is a product of what the Novalimas created.   That's right.  All these suns in the sky--all fusion generators created by the Novalimas--your ancestors."

I don't believe a word you are telling me.

"It is of no consequence.  I could see that you would be a little touchy about this.  For the Novalimas--you forefathers--abandoned all their failed experiments of eugenics on this planet--this planet you call Earth before they sort of checked out.  You and the rest of the humans around here are a bunch of defective experiments of the Novalimas. Even the monkeys.   Well, I think you are slightly more evolved than them.   But sometimes I wonder.  Anyway, compared to the Novalimas, you would be the Mongoloids with one chromosome too many so to speak in the grand scheme of things.   Sorry about that Sri.  Better luck in your next life.

 

Hasa diga eebowai.   When blanking a frog becomes only a metaphor.  And you sleep in a basement where a strange psychological phenomena of love betrayal and denial occurs above you