[Agent Weebley]

Steve sat down and lit a smoke. We looked at the chessboard. We looked at each other.

"I made an offensive move," I said. "A mistake. Can I take it back?"

Steve looked at me for a few moments, took a long drag on the smoke, then spoke: "everything that happens, happens for a reason, Weebley. There are no mistakes. All you have to do is adjust moving forward."

I looked at the man I lost, tucked in beside his warrior. Gone from the Game. But the 4 men in the background . . . what were they still doing there? They are not part of the Game. They looked like . . . like . . . 4 hostages.

"What are those 4 men for, Steve?" I said.

"I see you met Arthur Jensen, Weebley. Care to share?"

"Network?" I said.

"Before I forget, I have to tell you, Weebley, you and amanfromMars are some bizarre. When I set up that website in late 2010, I wanted you to test boundaries; little did I know there weren't any, and you guys would stumble upon a Human Turing Machine. It is seductive."

My mind was reeling from what he had just said, but let him continue.

"You know the problems I had with Lucy wanting me to stop running the sites a few months ago, right? She asked me what I wanted for Father's Day back in early June. I said I wanted another prepaid 6 months for the website. No socks. No T-shirts. No ties. This time she laughed her head off and gave me the look. I think you know the look. That's it? Continuation of your hobby? She has resigned herself to the inevitable. I moderate the site."

"You know how I pulled it off, Weebley . . . the change in her perception?"

I, now thinking of Agent Smith, let him continue to continue.

"Balance. If she has a priority that precludes me from moderating the site, then that is what I do at that time. The site comes second now."

Wondering what the heck he was talking about, why he was not talking about his own site anymore, The Porte Rouge came to mind.

"You have been speaking steganographically with amanfromMars on his site . . . the 2nd site . . . for a long time. But you now have a third site on the go . . . 1 and 1 and 1 make 3.

OMG . . . where have I heard that before?



Lucy and Lucy^2 came downstairs with a pot of tea and some cookies. It reminded me of Mr French from Family Affair.

Lucy^2, Steve's wife carefully set a nice cuppa down in front of me. "Lucy tells me you are writing a story, Weebley. Mound Of Hostages or Lug Nutz. What's it all about?" She looked so familiar. So pretty. So engaging.

"The hostages weren't hostages at all," I said. They were merely aligned with the current King. That mound is where they announced that they were giving themselves to the King . . . . they did it there . . . . in front of The King . . . in front of The Druids . . . in front of everyone in Ireland."

"They were friends of the King."

Lucy^2 looked over at Steve, then back at me. She looked so much like my Lucy, but slightly different . . . peaceful . . . she had smiling eyes. I could see what Steve saw in her . . . 24 years together . . . you could see how they loved each other . . . a perfect pair. Steve walked over and grabbed a cup of tea and a cookie from in front of her.

"And Bashar?" she added. "Who is he?"

"Brains," I said.

[Agent Weebley]

We sat there talking, laughing, chatting . . . but I was elsewhere.

My lips were moving, and I was engaged in conversation, but all I could think about was dogmax.

He thought I was a female?

We were apparently talking about kids. Steve and Lucy^2 have a cosy home out in the country, which is a great place to raise kids . . . they have 4 kids . . . no, 3 . . . actually 2 . . . just like us . . .

dogmax . . . glyph . . . dogma-x

I tuned in for a moment, because the word wedding, a keyword in my databank, was uttered by Lucy^2.

Oh yes, we'd love to come!

It was now Saturday, July 14:
An all day affair: church (cool priest, by the way) at noon, then the wedding party went off for pictures while we went off for a few drinks with other guests before the reception started at 5 pm. It was such a joy to see the 2 young love birds giggling away at the mic' giving their combo speech . . . the new hubby announced they were going to be having kids as fast as possible . . . 2 children, maybe 3. [applause]

More giggling . . . she could hardly get a word out . . .

Lucy and I danced our hearts out that night. Great extended family, great friends, great food, great music, great atmosphere . . . great DJ, and lots of laughs all around. Lucy and I escaped Operation BlueBalls for a day.

But now . . . we must return to dogmax . . . and prepare for our trip to Another World.

But first, I need to speak to tomasocarthaigh . . . in the future . . .

[Agent Weebley]

"It was Saturday, July 14?" Lucy just stared at me after saying it.

I broke the silence. "I didn't connect that date stamp to the wedding, Lucy. It was not a lie . . . merely word association . . . induced inference."

She kept staring at me for just a few seconds longer than she should have. It spoke volumes . . . that few extra seconds before she turned away, disgusted.

Her head whipped back and her eyes struck like darts . . . "the wedding will be on July 28! You can't lie to these people!"

"Here and now, Lucy . . . everything and every time is here and now." I suddenly remembered that line from Aldous Huxley's Island . . . no man is an island.

She continued to stare at me. It seemed like forever. "Everyone thinks time is linear, Weebley. Don't blow their bubble like that. They wll think you are lying when they find out. Changing peoples perception of the space / time continuum will take . . ."

Her voice trailed off, realising the irony of her words.

"And why didn't you tell Lucy^2 the real reason for us being here, right here, right now? Everyone stopped time yesterday, Weebley. And we did it using the Underwood 5. Of all the themes running in parallel here, they are all sub-themes compared to that one!"

I remember playing Steve's Underwood 5 video with that steganographic link running along the centre of the screen that held the URL for Bashar's 15 minute hyperspace experience video:



And dogmax mentioning my phone call from Steve at The Mound Of The Hostages . . .

Steve has something to tell me. He really hasn't said much yet. It must be coming up?

I am now alone in the basement. I look over and notice the old velocity sensitive Korg DW-8000 analogue MIDI keyboard in the corner.

Where has everybody gone?

[dogmax]

Well Agent Weebley hope you enjoy your trip - I was busy for the last few days -- got a bit of catching up to do but first thing first -- Steve doesn't know the question he was going to ask you because you didn't let him ask it, remember -- Oh and by the way I ask old Donn why did he leave his comfort zone, he told me because some old wise head told him if he go through the mist of time he will find the truth, I ask him did he find it, he say I haven't heard it yet - ancient mythology or not that make sense would you agree Agent Weebley, and as for the shadow talking to you, next time just tell it to piss off, works every time, talk later Agent Weebley.

[Agent Weebley]

. . . . connected.

Oh, you're back . . . very interesting dogmax . . . shadows . . . I would agree that we haven't found the truth yet . . . but we are getting close.

What happened to your poetry post in the future? I will be reading it . . . it ends with Fact Or Fiction? It'll be great!

Epstein just send me this video . . . I am having trouble understanding it.

Any ideas on what it means?

[Agent Weebley]

Hold the phone!

I stumbled upon Steve's dog . . . the only person at home right now, except for me, but I don't count, as you already know I am in Steve's home

. . . like duh! [pointing 3DL finger at myself for being such a Legolas]

I put on his leash and figured I would take him out for a long walk. His name is Yogi, by the way. He looks just like my dog, DelKey. DelKey used to eat much of my written work, but now has become Agent DelKey and is with Aslan in Blarnia . . . but I digress (as usual - sorry) . . .

I just clicked the link again for that old Twilight Zone Pilot Intro, but another video came up instead!

Very weird:

[Agent Weebley]

Being half Canadian, half English, half Irish and half MetaPhorian makes me a little MetroSensual? Maybe that's why dogmax thought I was female? I too thought that . . . pickarooney was a female . . . just for a moment, but that's the beauty of the internet . . . it does not matter . . . the internet is the meeting of the minds, not the sexes.

I put Yogi's leash on. It would seem funny to say lead, rather than leash after living here in Canada as MetaDiaspora for 37 years. We went outside.

The Sun was just coming up. Another beautiful sunny day coming up! Yogi took one of his many leaks on the way down the driveway. He seems to like bushes, but rocks, trees, miscellaneous grasses and poles pale in comparison to the joy he receives in pissing in the house.

We walked down the street towards the stop sign at the end. Where the heck is Steve, I thought. I looked over to the graveyard at 16381 Mount Pleasant Rd, Caledon, Ontario.

My iPhone4 began to burn a hole in my pocket.

Why am I in Canada? Why am I in Ireland? Why am I on boards.ie? Why did time stop yesterday, July 13, 2012? Why does no-one seem to care, or is ignoring it . . . pretending it isn't happening right here, right now?

I have to speak to Steve about it.

I look down at Yogi, the spitting image of DelKey, and ask him those same questions.

Nothing . . . not a sausage.

Yogi is not like DelKey . . . DelKey talks. I miss DelKey.

I am supposed to be in England right now, taking over my Great Grandfather's Leah's Yard and the now defunct Sevenstone Retail Quarter in Sheffield. If it wasn't for Troy Tempest getting us to pick him up on the way by at DP Lenticular in Dalkey, we wouldn't be here . . . I mean there . . .

As Yogi sniffs around the mailbox at the end of the street, I pull out my iPhone4. I watch the 1959 Twilight Zone Pilot intro once more . . .



WTF was that? 6:58 AM or is it FM? That was Steve in his truck on the 401 Eastbound . . . but he was in the Collectors, not the Express . . . and man, do the Westbound lanes seem chock-a-block or what! Such a busy city at such an early time of day.

Is Steve working right now?

And what was the cop doing . . . following him?

[dogmax]

Its the twilight zone Agent Weebley try to understand it and it will entice you in with treasure of great wisdom, but it will only be fault wisdom and according to the laws of the twilight zone you will be trap - the first episode was about a man who was lost -- um I wonder -- I read your diary of words Agent Weebley, Fact Or Fiction -- but that doesn't really matter here -- yes Fact Or Fiction CONSCIENCE OF GUILT a poetical tale base on a story told many many times and in many many times and the reason -- the human mind will always have a great imagination no matter what time it live in -- but the sad fact about this poetical tale is, humans are still fighting the same wars, in many many times -- and yes Agent Weebley we are getting closer to the truth, for the reason is our minds now has the intelligence to understand the truth, remember that great movie A FEW GOOD MEN Colonel Nathan R. Jessep (You can't handle the truth) well Colonel, yes we can - we always could, and now we all can -- but then again, this is the CREATIVE WRITING section yea, ha ha.

[Agent Weebley]

Being a "thread follower" has its benefits . . . in this case, an iPhone4 case . . . made of wood? Some bizarre. I like it! And what's with the place he makes them . . . Celbridge . . . I like that too!

Anyway, I've got one now. I love it . . . made of Bog Oak, no less.

I was perusing the fine detail in my most unique new wooden iPhone4 case, and pondering getting ready to press "play" just one more time, as my ever changing video is a rather bizarre twist, but suddenly, and without warning, I got an email saying that dogmax had posted on this thread. Well, it didn't really say it, as I haven't got that particular app; I'm rather cheap in that regard.

OK, here's my reply . . . really screw his head around, shall we?

What?

OK, I'll play the video for you first:



Nice . . . some bizarre. OK, here we go. Oh, by the Way, that song is by Secret Mommy, called You Choo-Choo-Choose Me?


OK, I mean it now. Here's my reply to dogmax:

I haven't really explained anything, anywhere so far . . . about time stopping here on the Creative Writing Forum . . . have I?

All I have really done is set the scene for time to stop on this thread alone. The remaining threads move along, as always, in a linear fashion . . . but this thread?

Time seems to have disappeared completely from here, so we can now talk freely . . .



dogmax, are we in The Twilight Zone, or is The Twilight Zone in us right now? Moving so incredibly slowly affords us to check out the scenery, see what happened on the last move, adjust for the next move, and move very, very slowly . . . to a new place.

A man who was lost . . . a recurring theme, methinks . . . am I just pretending to be lost, dogmax? A self effacing tool I use?

I cannot be trapped, dogmax, as I am free. Those that are trapped are those that cannot even see us coming, like the Enda Kenny types . . . we are legion . . . the antithesis of Zombie Time . . . here's a tune for Enda



Yes. Their flowers grew too high.

I just got a message from my Granny, Bridgit. I can see her peaceful smiling face right now. No, not an email, not a phone call, not an SMS, not a twitter . . . or Telex or telegram . . . those are all just metaphors for telepathy . . . invisible communication between people . . .

. . . communication that has been lost over time, over many thousands of years, but always in the background . . . guiding us . . .

I have said this many times and in many places . . . You Can Trust The Women . . . sadly, due to The Rules Of The Game, I cannot prove it to you here.

The wars . . . the ruinous money system . . . the killing . . . all will be over when we all say they are over, dogmax . . . when we all think along the same lines.

And post that poem of yours, dogmax. It is beautiful.



What happened in that "week off," that . . . time stoppage . . . is far more important than why or how or where or who . . .

I think it time time to move to Chapter 2 now. Are you sure you can handle the truth, dogmax? I have a funny feeling we are going to find out what it is . . .

PS: my friend, amanfromMars just critiqued this thread on his site . . . check out his awesome prose . . . and he just found another cool Bashar video, too . . . quite APT.

[dogmax]

Well Agent Weebley neither of us is trapped anywhere, our minds are free they always where and they always will be, there is no twilight or illusions or silly little politics or religious tricks that could ever keep us, we are like the ancient bog oak we are loyal to the true reasons why we're here, for in our minds there is history true history history that has bought us to this meeting place so we can both check out the scenery for the scenery is us, and it will help us in what ever time we move into, and yes in our minds there are many legions and they will join us on this journey for whatever that journey may be - oh and thanks for your kind words on my poetical tale I will re post it, and I have to admit it was a very enjoyable journey maybe we might meet that old man in our journey, but fact or fiction I do hope his son has grown up a lot, and I do mean, a lot, but anyway - just one other thing Agent Weebley, do you have a funny feeling there are eyes watching us, maybe some of them would like to join us on our search for the truth, and if they do, please Agent Weebley don’t tell them that old Donn bites, oh and by the way old Donn is ready - no just wait “old Donn put the telly down - no its not a demon put its down - that good now you go and sit down in that chair over there” - sorry about that, but really Agent Weebley, he is ready - and yes I read amanfromMars critiqued about this thread, but I have to admit he does go on a bit - but I should be use to that by now eh, Still your show Agent Weebley.


CONSCIENCE OF GUILT

------------------------------------

Last night as I rest in my sleep

Through a dream I felt sand beneath my feet

In the distance stands a great throne made of ancient oak

Seated is a grey hair old Man

His feature where strong but his face was drawn

In serious thought of what I know not yet

Slowly I approach kneeling to rest

Beneath a look from eyes that where old but wise

He greets me with a mournful smile

In cloth he is draped of the finest design

In hope I wait to hear his mind speak words I feel

Of troublesome time


“This land” he says in a growl tone that rise the spirit of my soul

“Was once own by one who cared who loved who cherish it all

Then from his life there born children equal in their race

and this land where he once roam became home for his own human race

But as their time roll on grown up divided they became

Refusing to share spoiled to the core delusion as they greed for more

For the one who give had long since gone for he could no longer call

The land where he once roam his home

As their decades pass and centuries they became

his people mourn in hope that he would some day return

But in their human greed they fail to see

That this is now their home all the land and seas

Then soon their greed turn to hate for all living things

even their neighbours even their friends

And the one who give just sits and waits

As in disgust he watch his own human race

Destruction and carnage became their daily routine

and his people versus people how their blood runs free

and as for their children how he grieve for these

for they are been taught by what they hear and see

And soon they shall inherit what they will receive”


The grey hair old Man in his throne he sinks as his eyes stares he pause to think

His face I study how powerful he seem and then suddenly again he speaks

“In a world of plenty they had it all yet he still hears their sadden calls

Finally he decide they do deserve one more chance to see that he cares

So answering their call is the one he choose

with his gift of life their saviour he becomes

But in a world divide he dearly tries to teach their mind the fate of life

But only those who seek his words they greet as many more where undecide

And for some their evil reach new high”


The grey hair old Man his face crease in a harsh tone I hear these words he speaks

“They spit they stone they mocked his name

even those who believe just hung their heads in shame

And for many the proved was in his deeds but still they refuse to believe

On trial he stands like a common thief convicted even before his judges meets

They tease him whip him call him a king a king of people covered in sin

Then on his head they place a crown to show their appreciation a crown of thorns

A cross they carve was their ultimate treat

and many watch as he drag it along the streets

Finally on their cross they lay him down “crucify” was his judges call

So they hung him by nails through his hands and feet like a animal and still they mourn

Their saviour he sent to answer their call

but in horror he watch waiting for word that would put this human race to a end

Words that this brave Man refuse to send”


The grey hair old Man bowed his head to my feet I rise and his hands I felt

With looks of sorrow he rise his head in gentle tone these words he said

“From their cross hung his flesh like a piece of meat

Without life his soul in thy kingdom we greet

With open arms I comfort him for their saviour is my son

I give them life this human race yet they betray their only fate

Now again I grieve but not for them but for my son

who wish to return to a world which is dying

from their own Human waste”


As I rest in my sleep to a new dawn I wake in a world that I love to begin a new day

Sad thoughts of a dream which happen long ago

My hopes for a future when our troubles will be no more

But my feeling are for one who his race betrayed

But that was in the past I hear many say

Yes our lives has improved greatly since then

But I do wish in hope that his son shall remain

in his Father kingdom where he shall be safe

Why? Look around - we are still the same HUMAN RACE

Or are we --- Fact or Fiction

[Agent Weebley]

3) Excellent poem, dogmax . . . just as I remembered it! I wasn't AWOL, I was just allowing your poem to breathe.

2) "Donn bites" was just my OD, or ODD, or ADD, or ADHD or something like that . . . I'll blame it on my ODD. (Donn's a puppy, really . . . I was just joking.)

1) I finally got a hold of Steve. Something seemed odd about the UC white van video. It was the Azimuth of The Sun compared to the road at that time of the morning. The video was taken July 10, 2012 @ 6:58 AM, not August 3, 2012 @ 6:58 AM! So that's where and when I went to talk to him.

Sail!


ttyl - and as my Dad says: stick around me and you'll be wearing handcuffs

[Agent Weebley]

Chapter 2 - A Myriad Of Hostages

A funny thing happened as I was composing this post. After formulating what I would regard as a rather decent post, I pressed "Preview Post" but the session had timed out and I was kicked right out of boards.ie. and onto the virtual street . . . on my arse.

I quickly ran back in, but my work was gone into the ether!

Come to think of it, that may have happened because I erase "low level cookies" on a regular basis, as they breed like Tribbles in that folder! Maybe one of those cookies was from boards IT Dept.?

Anyway, whatever it is that I wrote is now gonzo. I was explaining a little bit about time stopping yesterday, July 13, 2012, who I am, and where I came from, but to write that all over again would be a little tiresome and repetitive, even though you didn't experience the first iteration, I did! I can't imagine saying the same thing twice . . . how boring.

So I will take a different tack and just use a song that epitomises who I am so I can get it over with:



Oh, rather than end the post right now, as I am tired and shagged out after writing so much today . . . I need to ask a question . . . and I am becoming convinced that my iPhone4 is magical . . . I pressed the image for that Twilight Zone pilot promo video once again, and once again it came up with a different video . . . any ideas on what this means?

[Agent Weebley]

I got my critique from the most unlikeliest of places . . . the future!

My good friend, Epstein, mentioned I need to add some colour to my writing style, and, being très, très, fou, I decided to put everything on hold on our Road Trip To The Suns . . . and head to the future before seeing Steve in the past . . .

Being amongst you excellent writers, constantly exercising your minds, I feel like a bungalow in the downtown core. Please bare with me on my Quest.

Oh, and Echo Beach: I have been married to Lucy for 24 years . . . and we still Tango Charlie Papa with our India Papa.




[Note to self: ballroom dancing starting again in September - pay the lady for the lessons ASAP - the Singularity depends on it]

So, dogmax, since I may have blown your bubble on the Aston Martin Rapide being a metaphor, that doesn't mean it isn't real!

And it holds an infinite quantity of people, so jump in . . . tomorrow, we punch it!

[Agent Weebley]

Yogi, Steve's dog, who is smarter than your average dog, is gazing up at me with those big, loving, juicy black eyes of his . . . OK Yogi, let's keep walking.

We are trundling along the side of the road; the cornfield to our left is sprouting nicely. It's pretty quiet around here in the Caledon Hills; just the twittering of birds and hearing the breeze in the trees along the roadside. I've heard that farmers plant 10 feet of cattle corn around the edge of their fields for the drive-by pluckers to enjoy . . . an unlimited supply of freebie-seekers that only steal corn twice . . . the first and the last time.

The "peaches and cream" corn is well protected from pests.

Yogi is peeing every few seconds, sniffing everywhere . . . probably sniffing out rabbits, deer and foxes. Oh my . . . already? . . . we're at the brow of Coats Hill, overlooking "The Shire," as I like to call it. Mount Pleasant Road drops down, rises slightly on a mound, drops right down, then proceeds to undulate off into the distance. Small ponds cause patches of fog early in the morning, and it being 6:58AM, the Sun, the road, the trees and the fog are making for a nice fuzzy watercolour effect.

Why did that Underwood video show a crumpled W? I must ask Steve.

I raise my eyes and see the Toronto skyline in the distance, with that phallic CN Tower as a centrepiece to the downtown cluster. It looks surreal, like LA looks from the Hollywood Hills. Why does it remind me of that?

Maybe it's Angelll's Twilight Zone robo-daughter story?

Suddenly, I remember . . . I am sitting atop the W on the HOLLYWOOD sign in the hills, and my arse is killing me. All the stock pictures make the HOLLYWOOD sign look substantial, but I cut myself another one sitting on that sign for an extended period . . . razor thin plywood letters with a steel fence tube sub-structure. Hot buns and I was cross . . . just kidding! I would get into the story, but I am constantly reminded of EileenG's "closure" issue. Something about regularly closing off loose ends or the reader gets confused . . . or something like that.

But I'm kinda confused, so I just like to spread it around!

Anyway, here's Yogi and I . . . standing there . . . gazing . . . sniffing around . . . peeing . . . and Yogi is patiently sitting there with me . . .



Angelll's story was the only one I did not critique out of the 3 stories I liked. I was in the process of developing what I would consider to be a nice critique, when I got the metaphorical finger-wag. I felt it would be cool to give the decoder key for the Underwood story, and the nuclear war story . . . but then I was in the mood for straight talk, which is unlike me.

That is when time stopped. I was just waiting . . . and the Please Mr Postman video was really just a joke! Now we are into day 2. The only activity is EileenG's new book . . . congratulations EileenG . . . where can I get a hard copy?

But we are in the voting and critique period for the Twilight Zone #9 competition . . . and no-one is talking! I'm really conscious of not monopolising the conversation, so I think it is better if I hang back . . . time to go and see Steve . . . and go to EggyBaby!'s World! Time to meet Captain James T Craic, Mr Spook, and Scatty, the Engineer . . .

Hang on . . . dogmax . . . where are you?

Listen dogmax, let's make a deal . . . how about we both drive Rapides . . . anything is possible . . . dead people get to drive them . . . even Donn! All we have to do is pretend that we are driving by seeing through someone else's eyes. Ever thought that you are viewing for more than just yourself?

I'm all alone (except for Yogi,) standing here, by the phone, waiting for you . . . and EggyBaby!

Oh, the iPhone4! I almost forgot . . . another bizarre Twilight Zone video, maybe?



Magical things seem to happen around us . . . has anyone noticed yet?

A prime example . . . August 11 is the 1 year anniversary of the UK riots stopping. The weirdness begins as I am on vacation in BC with Lucy. Lucy tells me in no uncertain terms: "stop posting!"

I did my best on that 3 week vacation from July 28 onwards . . .

That vacation was around the period of us being focused on taking over Sevenstone in Sheffield, England. A beachhead. Our team of crackpot professionals had been in Sheffield for an extended period of time, but no-one could see us, so we left. I remember saying the Irish people will be able to see us . . . they see Leprechauns . . . or something like that.

Anyway, here's me not posting, except for a short conversation with amanfromMars about Stephen Hawking talking through his arse about "operating on 14 levels" or something, so I replied to amanfromMars and sent a terse email to "the Hawk." He didn't reply . . . typical . . . I guess I don't vibrate on his level?

Then the UK Riots began . . . it was horrible to watch. By August 11, I could not stand it any longer.

I wrote a posting.

It involved explalning a little about the Doukhobor settlement in Grand Forks, BC, Stalin's Russian Pogrom killings, and how the Doukhobors got royally screwed by the Canadian government and The Queen . . . a long story about terrorism and governments causing people to fight with each other, when the real enemy is Money Power. Anyway, I tied it into the riots by playing this tune:



Then a few more words about how the government got an Oswaldian patsy to dynamite the Doukhobor leader and burn the co-op, and blame it on other radical Doukhobors.

Then I said this, and played this song:

Please stop the rioting . . . forgive them and go home.

They know not what they are doing with your tax money. It’ll be over soon.



Then I said: There’s a better way to cut a new icehole in a fargin’ bastage . . . smile!

That night, the riots stopped.

[Agent Weebley]

Looking down at the Celtic Chessboard, remembering we picked it up on that Vancouver trip last year . . . as well as a silver Tree Of Life pendant for Lucy's upcoming birthday . . . her present . . . in hindsight, she does prefer diamonds, though . . .



I wondered what my next move would be . . . move 6.

It's funny, really. We took that trip with Steve and Lucy^2. Sometimes I feel that Steve is real, yet at other times, I feel he is a figment of my imagination and none of this is really happening.

Maybe it's because I am a Gemini?

Hang on . . .

Sorry, I thought my iPhone vibrated in my pocket just then. Holy crap it's 9AM on July 14, 2012! Time for the CME to hit us!

Hang on to your pineal gland, folks!



Why am I sitting in Steve's UC van in front of The Roundhouse next to the CN Tower? And where's Steve? Ah yes, he's "testing" their fire systems. The Steam Whistle Brewery relies heavily on pure human power . . . you just can't make this stuff up . . . yes you can. [. . . but nothing compares to Guinness]

Why did he leave his iPhone4 hooked up to his Sony Vaio Zee with i5 chip, 4 gig of RAM and 120 gigs of solid state drive? Hey . . . he's got the bog oak iphone4 cover too . . . with the "mf" logo on the back.

It's a beautifully scrolled "f" with the horizontal tickmark warped into an "m" with a little inward horizontal tickmark on the left end. That logo is a tribute to my best friend on the interweb, amanfromMars. I've never met him face to face . . . but we are blood.

Oh, here's Steve.

"Hi Steve." He grinned, sat down, started up the van, cued up a video on You Tube, then spoke.

"I think I'm going to be getting an email on July 20 about the new Sierra 4G LTE wireless hotspot with download speeds of up to 40 Mbps. I'd say 10 gigs bandwidth per month for $50 is a good deal. I'm in."

"Nice . . . drive, Steve."

He leaned over, tapped the touchscreen, the pointer, I assume, was poised to play the video, but, not being able to actually see the screen due to the Sony privacy screen placed over it so that the display was not visible to the driver (+/- 30 degrees from centre,) and now being ethically exempt from any tickets from cops that may be following us wanting to give us a ticket for having a computer in the vehicle, while they have exactly the same set-up in their vehicles, but, fortuitously for them, are exempt from those controlling "safety rules, to keep us from hurting ourselves," but really . . . just one of many rules . . . more tools to control the masses . . . to create fear . . . fear based manipulation . . .

. . .we passed by the CN Tower . . . the sound began to emanate from the Bose Companion 5 speakers and sub.

"Time to wake everyone up" he said.



7 minutes and 15 seconds later, we began to chat . . .