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Mound of Hostages
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24-07-2012 4:01am#1Chapter 1: Mound Of Hostages
This thread has become the Twilight Zone in and of itself!
I'm a little reticent to begin a new thread, because I am new here, but since this is post 25 for me, and I can now send/receive visitor messages and insert a signature . . . maybe I can step out a little now?
What if I was to start a new story . . . everyone bounces the story in different directions, based on what just happened.
I have been wandering around many threads here, but not speaking on too many of them. The Who Cares About Northern Ireland thread, the Who Were The Celts thread, the 2000 Year Old Coins Being Dug Up thread, and finally, the Migration from Specific Parts Of Ireland thread, all point me in one direction . . . Unity, Druids, Celts, Magic, and 10,000 BC to 10,000 AD.
One thing I will do is ask a lot of questions to myself while the story is moving along. People take the cues and chime in with more questions, answers or guiding talk, and the story moves along. In other words . . . we . . . are me . . . Oh, and anyone who wants to become a character and add to the story is quite welcome.
There is one caveat: I like to include at least 6 senses in my writing, so expect a lot of sight and sound; there will be a healthy smattering of music, video, links to other sites . . . a plethora . . . no . . . a myriad of links and embeds!
pickerooney, Old Goat, Gordon, Jeff Lebowski and Insect Overlord need to give me the OK for this project, as MegaLinking sets off alarms, it seems. I wouldn't want to be a gimp, create a scene, and start something that wasn't allowed!
The story begins as I stand on top of The Mound Of The Hostages in Tara, wondering whether The Father Of Ireland, Donn, will give me back my Aston Martin Rapide, as I need it to go to see my friend Steve, in Canada. This is where Donn originally stole it from me. It's really foggy out, and I really can't see much, so I begin wandering around a little. I can hear the hum of the M3 in the distance. My feet are getting a little bogged down, so I'm getting quite the booter right now, making me feel a little icky. Out of the fog wanders a man. No way . . . not _____ . . . he's dead!
TZ's dead, baby, TZed's Ded. Long live TZ!
Is anyone into it?0
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aPoO3vFpoJM
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BRWPt4TnE7IComments
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Incredible, how credible that split second can seem like minutes . . . can make one jump to conclude that it was Donn, but I had to pull back on landing a dudno on that train of thought. Was it really Donn?
I had to pull back from fearing that, indeed, I was facing Donn . . . already dead, yet killed [again?] in a car accident . . . in my Rapide? Did he pull a Warm Leatherette on the M3 with my Viridian Green beauty? Quite normal to think such a thing, when one is emotionally attached to such a vehicle.
. . . but interrupted by that metaphorical phone call from Steve . . . Steve Munster. Is he a figment of my imagination? Stephen is his full name. I'm playing a game of chess with him, you know . . . somewhat like Mr French played by phone call moves across wires, across the ocean with his friend in that old US TV show: "Family Affair." Never a "bad hair day" when it comes to Mr French, although it seems to be a signature image that Steve portrays . . . hair all over the place . . . never seems to comb it . . . just like Marc Bolan.
I remember now.
That is why I have to see Steve. The Chess Game. I made a mistake . . . a wrong move . . . I need to know . . . is he a compassionate King, like he said to me at the outset of the Game?
It all started when I asked Steve to re-invent the lost Druidic Rules for a Great Game . . . a fidhcheall Chess Game (or gwyddbwyll - in Welsh.) Steve took all the centre pieces off my white army of 12, making it 8.
Then he moved one of his black pieces first. My starting move went OK - pretty basic. Then he moved right across the board, then I made what I thought to be an offensive move, but it was a Game Stopper . . . after I realized what I had done, that is.
I'll try to upload a picture of the first 4 moves a bit later on, but get a lode of this rather odd event just past:
dogmax had no idea that unkempt hair is Steve's and my outstanding facial feature. Steve and I do not own a comb or a brush.
Anyway, the figure emanating from the fog had no appreciable facial features. It reminded me of EggyBaby! He offered me an iron rod, then pointed at the ground off to my left. Funny, but the morning dew was not gathering in a roughly 8 foot by 20 foot rectangle area. EggyBaby! motioned me to poke at the ground, which I did very carefully. The bog was quite soft and my rod went in easily. It stopped at something hard.
I had been thinking of EggyBaby! since July 11, and this, being the morning of July 13, 2012, made it a couple of days since I had read his story about the Vadrang.
I didn't notice the ground swelling until the headlights were staring at me, all lit up like. dogmax and I got into the Rapide, pressed the keyblock in for a moment to start the machine and we were off!
A crawl at first, but dogmax hasn't been behind the wheel of a 570HP powerhouse before . . . give dogmax a break, eh?
Now he is One with the Rapide.
Where are we going, dogmax?0 -
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You're actually very good behind the wheel, dogmax. Very relaxing. And it gives me more time to think.
What do you think of this new intro? . . . I would have put it before the Twilight Zone video, but I seem to have run out of edits for the first post, which is a MetaBummer.
Maybe pickarooney could change the title and insert this intro . . . please?
July 13, 2012, 04:14 . . . the day time stood still for 7 days.
One man, Agent Weebley, a Master of The Magical Mystery Turing Number 7 . . . a man who hears a constant toll of the drum . . . gives the signal . . . . drum . . . drum . . . drum . . . For 4 days, then 3 nights he maintains an uplink to . . . The Hundredth Monkey . . . The Higgs Boson . . . the invisible wave/particle continuum . . . togetherness.
July 16, 2012, 09:54 . . . a lone voice echoes back . . . dun . . . dun . . . dun . . . confirmation The Irish Triangle of Dundrum, Dundrum, Dundrum is complete, contiguous and strong. Lia Fáil is now screaming in ear splitting silence across Ireland.
John Donne: "No man is an Island, intire of it selfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor of thy friends or of thine owne were; any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee."
July 20, 2012 . . . after 7 days the unimaginable happens . . . time does not restart. Have we reached the end of elastic time as we know it? Is time now plastic? Have we reached Mile Zero . . . the end . . . or the beginning?
You, my friend, have already entered . . . The Twilight Zone.
Illusions of the mind . . . all over the place . . . that is true, on many levels. But "all over the place" could mean illogical and incoherent . . . it could mean logical and seemingly incoherent. Maybe the English I speak is the 7th harmonic of direct speech, tuned to a frequency that Enda Kenny and his ilk cannot hear . . . the perfect steganographic frequency . . . coded talk between friends . . . like the morphed English that subverted the French speaking Norman Courts in England . . . but I can speak directly, sans merde sensationaliste, which I did . . .
Trapped in an illusion? That is the 100 million dollar prize. Ahh, to be able to flip in and out from one illusion to another. I wish for us to be trapped, then free ourselves to go into yet another, and another. Let's go into EggyBaby!'s illusion, shall we?.
Oh, and Donn and his friends are legion . . . and they are on our side. He told me. He is in the back seat with us.
You asked: "now one question if you can give me a straight answer -- what did you see in that rectangle area"
Although I only saw the Rapide afterwards, when I hit something hard, due to intense "poking with an iron rod" training by the Elders Of The Internet, it felt like a slab of bog oak with legs.
Hang on a 'mo . . .
Hmm. I just got an email? Weird. I don't have my iPhone4. That "old telephone" ringtone sounded like my long lost iPhone 4. Agent Pete 8 never did go to get it back for me from Bloodbridge River, in the Mountains Of Mourne . . . it was left sitting on a rock (not by me, but for me to add yet another contra-Aquiphibian character into this story would be a little over the top, at this stage.)
Oh, an "old telephone" ringtone redux. Got it. My iPhone4! Yippee! Under the passenger seat! Thanks, Donn!
[no answer]
Really. An email from my budsky, Epstein. "When are you coming back?" he said.
Excuse me while I answer Epstein . . . I am a little thick fingered: “ I a m wit h D on n. B ac k in 15 mi nute s. ”
I included a short video of an Underwood 5 typewriter, to really screw his head around.
Oh, since I can now browse on Safari, I'll see what he did with my email . . yuk, yuk, yuk.
Er . . . No way! I didn't steganographically embed the link to this video! I've never seen it before in my life! I swear!
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Silly me! I almost forgot . . . when I was on my way out to see Steve in Toronto, my parting words to Epstein were: "wait."
I know . . . that's only 1 word. Maybe the other words were inferred?
Epstein then played the following video. Either I caused him to play it, or he caused me to say wait:
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OK, dogmax. I stopped the Rapide. Switch!
Did that slab of Bog Oak with legs ring a resonant bell? It did with me. What could it be?
And I don't think the confused look on Donn's face can be changed like some sort of Mr Potato Head . . . he's probably wondering how the heck we're doing this time warp thingie . . . no he's not. He's faking Perplex City. I believe it. Do you believe it?
We have stopped time invisibly on a small scale quite a few times in the past, to cut our teeth, so to speak, but now we have done it on a big scale . . . thanks to the Hundredth Monkey . . . was that little Monkey you, dogmax?
The Druids stop time. They keep this MAGIC stuff a secret, you know. That is one reason for their hand-off to Christianity in Ireland. To teach everyone a lesson. Now we must recap the last 16 centuries . . . a long lesson, methinks. It should help us for quite a quite to come. I'm a little mischevious in that regard. I am explaining MAGIC to the best of my ability. The Druids, as before, are giving us the next direction for humanity . . . are they giving us another lesson?
Anyway, I'm not sure about us going down the Zombie-time road, dogmax . . . We do have lots of friends in the Valley, but pulling a Vincent Vega and blowing Marvellous Donn's head off would definitely throw us right into Pulp Fiction territory . . . not to mention the clean-up on the Rapide would be extensive, and would slow us down . . . remember our upcoming trip: "The Road to Suns?" Not to mention the PG13 rating on this site! The Vadrang may enjoy the splattered blood effect, but the Craul . . . not so much? Which reminds me . . . we need to bone up for our trip soon. I noticed a few contradictions and omissions in Eggy Baby!'s storyline, in which Eileen De Generously expounded on for us. EggyBaby! seems to be explaining more about the scene setup, rather than being in the thick of the events of the story . . . therein lies our opportunity to be there to help him see what we see . . . to help him. Wanna help?
Another thing is very difficult; how do I make the reader empathise with alien characters if many of them are incapable of human-like facial expressions? It would be difficult to describe conversation with the many-eyed Vadrang, for example.
Welcome. Take a seat, Dean09. I promise not to kick you in the head . . . unless you want me to, that is. Sit beside Donn in the back. Don't worry, he bites.
By the way, I've given up on being able to insert the 4 chess game moves here. IMG is turned off. I would ask pickarooney to turn them on for this thread only, but I'm not sure if he will do that.
. . . please, please, Mr Postman . . . can you do that for me?
It would be so much easier to explain the long lost rules to Fidhcheal Chess. Here's the links in the meantime to tide you over:
Move 01 - Steve,
Move 02 - Weebley,
Move 03 - Steve,
Move 04 - Weebley.
How weird is that? Move 04 is so boring looking. The last time I accessed the image for Move 04, it had 4 ancient Leprechaun flutes in the image . . . 2 for Steve and 2 for me. The first time I saw these flutes was on a video from some Irish Diaspora in Mobile Alabama, just before St Atrick's Day. A Leprechaun was in a tree. Tree is Irish for three . . . 1 and 1 and 1 make 3.
I really like my flutes, as they ward off spells.
Here's the video from Mobile AL:
NB: the lady in the car @ 0:55 . . . she thinks that the Leprechaun is on craic . . . a CraicHead. I think that a CraicHead would not be able to communicate . . . lost in their own mind . . . agreed? If you are reading this on drugs . . . stop, please stop . . . forever. The reasons will become apparent later . . . much later.0 -
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Agent Weebley nice to read you are keeping it together -- and the Hundredth Monkey -- now now don't go there Agent Weebley been there done that remember - little Monkey - - and the Druids stop time - their MAGIC was no secret - - not anymore and Agent Weebley - Christianity - recap the last 16 centuries - you're indeed a little mischievous in that regard - but I'm quite happy with this time -- isn't time progressing quite happily now.
and yes welcome Dean09 - forgive Agent Weebley his bark is worse than his bite - you met old Donn then - it look as if old Donn is starting to get a bit of colour in his cheeks - coming on nicely - that good - if we pick up anymore hitchhikers Agent Weebley we-re going to have to find a bigger form of transport --- and as for Eggy Baby, I already told you this is your show Agent Weebley -- now why don't you ask Dean09 would he like to drive -- nicely of course -- and I was only joking about blowing old Donn head of, I like old Donn - and as long as he like me he can keep his head -- and the slab of Bog Oak with legs we'll talk about that some other time -- or should that be - in some other time
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Ha ha ha ha . . . I met you in the future, dogmax . . . but I did not speak to you at the time . . . maybe that will change?
The Rapide is only a metaphor. We do not need it to move from place to place . . . quite literally . . . or from time to time . . . quite literally.
Oh, and Dean09 and I have a little inside joke going from the future as well.
I took my wife, Lucy, with me to see Steve. We're still here with him, working on a mound of issues. We'll be back soon with a laundry basket of what has transpired so far, for those that need everything to hang nicely in their mental closet. We're ironing out the last few things right now . . .
With any luck, we won't stay stuck in a moment, and you too will be able to go with us to EggyBaby!'s world.
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Steve's home seemed empty. It was a hot night. The stars were glittering in the night sky. The city lights were 50 miles away, and not a cloud in sight; it was another good night for star gazing. But we were here to see Steve and his wife.
No lights were on in their home. Even the lawn lights were off. The MDX and the UC van were in the driveway, so the chances of them being home were high. I unlocked the front door and Lucy walked in ahead of me. She turned on the kitchen light and proceeded to put the kettle on to make some tea. I made off to go downstairs. I wanted to see the Celtic Chessboard . . . what was Steve's move 5?
I turned the basement light on so I could see my way downstairs, then the main basement light once I was down there. Huh, Steve hadn't put the cover on the billiard tablet. It's going to get dusty. I walked over to the far end of the basement where the chessboard was sitting on a coffee table. I turned the light on.
It felt cold and clammy down there.
There it lay . . . the chessboard . . . move 5. Dang. No mercy. And what's the Shillelagh for?
Then I noticed something moving in the shadows near the cold cellar. Being a pretty big basement, I would have needed to walk a little way to reach another light switch, so I decided to see if my eyes were playing tricks on me instead. The slight movement stopped . . . it seemed almost black on black.
Then . . . someone spoke . . . "It's when you start to become really afraid of death, that you learn to appreciate life. Do you like life?"
Me, being the ultimate optimist, said yes. I picked up the Shillelagh.
"That's good," he said.
Although the intial bizarre statement, followed by that simple leading question made me think I was dealing with a priest, it's what he said next that gave me the heebeegeebees . . .
"I take no pleasure in taking life, if it's from a person who doesn't care about it."
Then, the 27" TV lit up and played this video . . .
Once the video ended, I looked over to the shadows. "Does that mean you actually take pleasure in taking life, if the person does care about life?" I said.
There was a short pause, then a "yes" came from the darkness.
"But you will still take the life if the person does not care. You feed on fear?" I said.
"You have stopped time once too often, Weeble. People are beginning to notice. You will pay with your life. Do you care?"
Just then, the lights went on throughout the basement. Every corner was now lit up.
"Hi, Weebley," said Steve. "How's it hangin'?"
"Excellent," I said, as I looked over into the corner. Nothing was there.0 -
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.
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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 . . .
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"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?
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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. 0
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. . . . 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?
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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:
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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?0 -
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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.0 -
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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 handcuffs0 -
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?
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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!
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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.0 -
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 . . .0 -
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The van sped up as Steve merged onto the Gardiner Expressway, Westbound. "You need to tell everyone about Game Theory, Weebley."
Instantly, a thought flashed across my mind about John Nash and how his Game Theory needed revision . . .
"But they aren't ready for it yet, Steve. Here we are in the Turing Machine, waiting for an input for the next decision to be made . . and the only person to change the direction a few times . . . was dogmax . . . and now he seems to have backed off!"
Steve sat there at the wheel. I watched him make ever so slight adjustments to the direction of the van to keep it in the centre of the lane as we approached highway speed. He backed off the gas pedal a little as we reached 100 km/h, then added and removed the tiniest amount of pressure to maintain a constant speed. but I could see he was thinking . . . pondering . . . getting ready to answer me. His right foot was acting mechanically . . . his left hand on the wheel, a little left, a little right . . . like his body was a machine connected to a machine. He slowly reached over to his travel mug and brought it to his mouth without looking at it. I also thought about the daily direction changes amanfromMars gives the Turing Machine . . . such as: OK, Heineken is a great beer, too!
Slurp!
"Damn fine cup of coffee, Weebley! Want some?"
That's it? The sum total of his massive brain power hard at work?
The traffic slowed down. A jam up ahead. Stopped. Steve looked over at me.
"If it wasn't for dogmax, I wouldn't be here with you right now. Apparently, I have this incredibly important thing I need to tell you."
Waiting for him to tell me, I watched his right hand move to the Sony Vaio Zee.
"Everyone needs to ask you why you are doing this . . . why you are in Ireland . . . otherwise, time will continue to stop and start until everyone realizes they need to admit that something is indeed happening here. You need people to ask questions on this thread . . . so the Turing Machine can compute the answer."
Click.
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Mesmerised by the Pink Floyd morphage, I sat there . . . drifting . . . what did he mean by everyone? And that cat . . . looks like Aslan's wife . . . and that green prism . . .
I didn’t even notice Steve leave the van. We are now parked at 501 Lakeshore Rd East in Mississauga. I remember this place from the past . . . the old Inglis plant. During WW2, they made munitions here . . . instead of washers and dryers and fridges. I haven’t been here for a long time now.
We installed a Europlex A100 in that place. 3 buildings, 14 sprinkler systems all tied together with DLEMs . . . an AbFab security system made in Dublin. But not anymore . . . shelved by Siemens.
As I imagine me wandering the plant all over again, the 18 foot low bay and 30 foot high bay ceilings, the old dented columns with short spans and weirdly engineered open web joists, chunky wooden roof deck, old electrical boxes, old light fixtures, all still mounted there . . . odd looking sprinkler valves from the 30s and 40s . . . still working well, though . . . most stuff abandoned for newer stuff . . . now mostly empty except for bulk skid storage . . and remnants of the junk abandoned when the wine bottle plant went belly up a little while ago. . . the company was called “Wine Bottle” . . . how imaginative . . . but Inglis made shells here during WW2 . . . women on the production line I hear . . . I don’t want to go back there . . . but I cannot help but think about Steve's Trans Europe Express video and the Azimuth of the Sun, the CME, the train on the Trans Canada Express video . . . the train that morphed into a tank. Do you . . . remember?
Ah yes. Subliminal messaging . . . construction morphs into destruction . . . very Sisyphean.
That's our supposed leaders, folks. Sentenced to destroy everything we have built. When the aliens arrived October 13 2010, take me to your leader was a hoot . . . a lot of back peddling took place . . . the leaders postponed first contact . . . little do they know . . .
I checked my iPhone4. Yes indeedy . . July 10, 2012 . . . 2 days before the CME is going to eject a plasma burst directly at Earth People.
The train . . . the tank . . .
That reminds me . . . I’m not sure if I mentioned my friend, Agent Joe 90, to you yet. He used to be “Most Special Agent Joe 90” when he was a kid, but as he got older, he became self-conscious about being a puppet on a string. You know how it is. As you get older, you begin to feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. You feel you can’t change anything. Trapped. You need to escape . . . escape into reading . . . and maybe writing . . . or worse things, like drugs and alcohol? I remember feeling so free when I was a kid. The world beat me into submission for a while. . . yeah, you know how it is. Now we have austerity . . . I feel like commenting here . . . but they may think I’m an alien from the future or something like that. Maybe later . . .
Dang, the Mod closed the thread . . . I must find out why . . . later.
Agent Joe 90’s in China right now with his new wife . . . and new baby. He said something to help Epstein on July 18, 2012, during my July 13 to 20 week off . .
Good morning / afternoon / evening everyone!
Shuo, Weiji and I are on the edge of our seat(s) . . . and jollyjumper . . .
You have some serious, yet playful MAGIC going on right now. In this weiji moment, it seems to me that you need to exit the forest and jump the base immediately; you have a 24 hour window.
Then he played this video:
1:13
I miss Agent Joe 90. We had some good times early last year. We went to China together in his AirCar. We flew under the Radar-Range.
That’s where he met Shuo (pronounced Showa.) I remember when she asked Agent Joe 90 about those strings as she tenderly felt them. He brushed it off like it was nothing. She asked him if he would like her to cut them away . . . ah, Joe, no looking back now, eh . . . budski? Are you reading this?
I just looked up . . . er . . . I’m not at 501 Lakeshore Rd East anymore, folks. It seems I am back at the Mound Of Hostages, and I feel I am not alone . . . I hear whispering . . .
My iPhone4! Yep .. . got it . . . what? No date? WTF . . . what's this? That old Twilight Zone video jumped onto the screen . . . .
Oh well, here we go!
Click
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Ah Agent Weebley sorry I couldn't get back to you earlier but unfortunately my time to write is less now than when we first met, due to other commitment, reading here you seem to be going down memory lane -- Ah, I have had many great journey's down memory lane, I like to think it's the very first form of time travel -- I use to play in that field over there -- now there are houses every where -- and the shop at the corner -- It's a family home now -- but when it was a shop it was the greatest shop in the world, old Mrs O'Connor use to own it, you didn't need to buy the local paper when old Mrs O'Connor was on, she could get on with everybody -- and that why you didn't need to buy the local paper -- Ah yes Agent Weebley, memory lane -- you know if you walk down memory lane and look back, you'll see your future -- Ah, how time has change, and the kids of today when they grow up, they to will have their own memory lane to walk down -- so I guess time hadn't change that much, talking about time I have to go now, but before I do, are you sure they're aliens, and Joe 90, is he still hanging around -- one last thing I have to tell Agent Weebley (time will continue to stop and start) I use to have a car like that, but I got rid of it, time stops for no one, and to find the answer, you have to ask the question, so Agent Weebley, till next time -- whenever that will be, but there will be a next time -- there always is -- Oh and by the way -- that Rapide -- old Donn says oh yea -- till next time Agent Weebley. 0
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I can't see for the fog. That whispering . . . it sounds so familiar . . . that ethereal music . . . also familiar. . . but there are many voices too . . . one of them in the group . . . is it . . . is it . . .
Oh no . . . whatever did I write on my Underwood05 to Dean09 about what my Mum used to tell me . . . r i autistic or artistic, Mummy? . . . Dang, it's coming true! I need to scrap that post ASAP - that must be what Steve meant by that Underwood5 "W" video . . all crumpled up on top.
Do I hear Donn . . . . is he talking to Hans about me?
Is it . . . dogmax out there in the fog? Yes it is! Hi there, dogmax!
It smells like someone is building a bonfire. Is it Adolph? Is Adolph in the KLF? We went to Mu Mu, Adolph.
No worries on you not being here much, lately, dogmax. You are merely phasing . . .
"I don't think Agent Weebley can explain Game Theory, Donn." Oh yes I can, Hans. Just watch me now.
. . . but it is strange that you seem to like to join us at the Mound of Hostages, is it not, dogmax? This is a strange place.
What are they saying? . . . Game Theory becoming Game Practice . . . is he up to it? Sure I am, Lottie, you can bet on it.
What is the other one is saying . . . who is talking? Is it Donn?
Memory Lane . . . are they my memories? . . . Steve's memories? dogmax's memories . . . I love it . . . it doesn't matter who's memories they are . . . they're all good . . .
"I like to think it's the very first form of time travel --" dogmax, fer sure, no way . . . we all do it . . .
I see you have your own glyph now . . . very APT, dogmax . . .
Is someone hiding in the dunes . . . pissing on the goons in power? Yeah, they invaded vaded vaded Blarnia.
Agent DelKey . . . did you just tell Aslan what dogmax just said: -- you know if you walk down memory lane and look back, you'll see your future -- . . . OMG . . . it was him! dogmax . . . Agent DelKey just told Aslan that there are many people ready for the truth in Blarnia!
Or is he speaking to Jacksie?
Who is with you, dogmax? I can't see through this fog . . . oh, I hope you like your new Rapide . . . I got clearance last year from Markus Kramer, Aston Martin's Marketing Guru . . . Steve can borrow a Rapide to test drive in Toronto . . . and shoot some video. I don't want to appear too forward and drive that issue until we are sure . . .
What time is it, dogmax? Is time linear? I think not.
Aliens? Did somebody say aliens? Take me to your leader . . . too late . . . done . . .
Game Theory? It'll be a knockout.
Agent Joe 90 . . . Chi-An has seen him in Nanjing. He just told Lin-Ti-Yu. I didn't hear if they said he was coming back, though. I think he will . . . the same as Troy Tempest . . . he's just dive, dive, diving with Aquamarina, right now.
Silence.
Peace.
Finally.
N'est-ce pas c'qu'il est beau?
I hear Donn speaking to Rico: "They have to learn how to play again. Everyone is just too serious these days. Tradeya."
I'll take that on board . . . but what does Tradeya mean?0 -
"Who is Steve, Weebley?"
Donn looked at me with those warm, but piercing eyes. Something drew me to his forehead . . . left eye . . . right eye . . . forehead . . . and back . . . why?
"He is my friend."
"Walk with me, Weebley."
The fog was still pretty thick, but as we walked, I could see a dull green glow off in the distance. It was Lia Fáil. I could see that classic 3 green laser beam winding up in a helix. As we approached it, just North of The Mound Of Hostages, where it used to be located, and will be located once again in the future, we stopped.
"Look up, Weebley."
I gazed up and noticed the 3 string helix had begun to envelop us. I could also see the AirCar, where everyone was waiting for me to return, once again. My wife, Lucy, my daughter, Nerfy, my friends Epstein and Agent Heggle, Doctor Sternum, Agent Dale Cooper . . . all in some sort of stasis right now? Why?
Should I go back, Donn?
"You need to be everywhere, now, Weebley. They do need you there. But we need you here, and you are also needed over there."
Funny. When he said they do need you there, He pointed up, just like Lucy did in the Women Of Ireland video. I remembered the point when Lucy was consoling me at The Mound Of The Hostages . . .
As Donn said and you are needed over there, an image came to mind . . . a strange yellow siamese connection. A fire department connection . . . where the pumper truck hooks onto, to supplement the sprinklers . . . support the crew going into the fire . . . Steve needs me . . . and that red Gamewell box on that pole . . . it's a Matrix Phone . . .
The SARS masks . . . the dog . . . he looks like Agent DelKey . . . those masks remind me of the last Peter Gabriel video . . . sshhhh!
"I want to shake hands with the person that is responsible for this Master Plan?" But there isn't one . . . it evolves . . . just like Pokemon."
Donn and I locked eyes, once again, had a knowing little chuckle together . . . and then I began travelling up with the 3 green laser beam, and back into the AirCar . . .
"Finally!"
"Oh, hi there, Epstein. Waddap!"0 -
It started out kinda funny. I looked around the AirCar and saw no Doctor Sternum, no Lucy, no Nerfy, no Agent Dale Cooper . . . but what I did see was a total mess. It looked like a bomb hit it. Guinness cans everywhere, some crumpled up and lying on the floor, a corresponding amount of green Heineken cans also . . . and pizza boxes like everywhere.
"Was amanfromMars here too?" I said.
Epstein looked at Agent Heggle then looked at me. I looked at Agent Heggle, then Epstein. I don't know who began to laugh first, but we ended up ROTFLOFAO . . .
We cracked a few Guinness and compared notes.
They had none . . .
They had done absolutely nothing since I left . . . we laughed again.
Socks on the floor, pants in a pile on the captain's chair, a pair of undies hanging stinkily off the gearshift for the Turboencabulator.
Turboencabulator?
Why would I bring that up now?
I looked at Epstein, who looked at Agent Heggle, who looked at me . . .
As he burst out laughing once more, Epstein managed to squeeze out 4 words . . .
"Welcome to the future!
"Oh, we just got a message from Doctor Sternum . . . steganograhically encoded video, no less!"
[OK, 18 words]
As you may or may not know yet, this is beginning to feel like Groundhog Day to me . . . but I did manage to squeeze off a somewhat lucid reply to antoobrien in the Irish Economy forum, yippee 20,000 jobs thread:
antoobrien wrote: »The you'll know that the "trade" you were referring to 200 years ago was actually colonialism/imperialism and not anything close to modern trade.
Hi antoobrien,
I'm not quite sure what you mean by "modern trade." Are you referring to digital currencies as being "modern?" Maybe you could define it for me?
I would say colonialism/imperialism is alive and kicking today (see Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya . . . as well as Portugal, Italy, Ireland, Greece and Spain.) You still trade under these barbaric conditions. Does that make you complicit? I don't think so, myself. Therefore, people from the past should not be generalised as being complicit in the actions of a few bad people.
Plus, trade and colonialism/imperialism are actually mutually exclusive, since forcing yourself on another is stealing, rather than trading.
I picked 200 years ago as a safe date in the past where governments had much less central control over trade between people at the street level. Most trade these days is price fixed by laws, taxes, centralised services, and political interference . . . yet we still try to trade under these barbaric conditions.
The best example of trade without interference is children trading with each other. They are completely oblivious to taxes, governments, loans from banks using fractional reserve lending - making the money supply grow exponentially, new currency "paper" issued with a corresponding amount of bond debt that accrues interest which also makes no mathematical sense, saving for their retirement, and colonialism/imperialism. Everything they own is an asset and tradeable (as long as Mum & Dad don't find out.)
Anyway, the government stating they will create 20,000 new jobs is a joke. They can't even count properly. Their "full employment" number is 1,000,000* people too low, based on the OP's referenced article compared to the CIA Factbook. What are these 1,000,000 people doing?
Governments don't create jobs . . . people do . . . we just need money to do it.
*based on most 15-18 year olds being moved back into the child (dependent) bracket
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Boom!
It just came back to me. Epstein and Agent Heggle were supposed to pick-up Agent Joe 90 in China in the AirCar back in early March, 2012. Our destination . . . Ireland. We were all going to go help with the "No Vote" in the Fiscal Treaty Referendum.
Agent DelKey was a stowaway on that supposed short trip to China. He was just our little dog at that point . . . our little Quiche La DelKey. Epstein and Agent Heggle took a Turboencabulator and activated it, as they wanted to go to China via Outer Space.
Instead, they ended up in the future . . . via a hyperspace experience . . .
Everything became very mixed up at that point. Now our dog talks!
We were so mixed up that we changed our destination to England, then detoured to the roof of DP Lenticular in Dalkey to pick up Troy Tempest. We never left! Needless to say, or is it needful . . . I don't know right now . . . I'm so confused . . . it took us till us from early March to early May, 2012, to actually land in Ireland and begin to help with the "No Vote" as best we could . . . 70% "No", by the way . . . a resounding success. It really brought home the fact that only 30% of the people can give away the sovereignty of the people of Ireland . . .
And now, look at where we are . . . back in the AirCar. But where is Agent DelKey? And how does all this tie in to The Mound Of Hostages, The Myriad Of Hostages and LugNutz? Are we now in the eye of the Gaelic Storm we predicted in the Irish Triangle of Dundrum, Dundrum and Dundrum? Why did Donn guide me right here, right now?
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How impolite of me! I never introduced my 2 friends: Epstein and Agent Heggle. Since we have a little "eye of the storm" going on, here we go . . .
I first met Epstein when I was a small child . . . maybe 10 at the time? I had just got The Beatles Blue Album from Mater and Pater for my birthday, and was playing it in the living room when my neighbour heard the AbFab songs wafting out of the window. You could say that we have revolved around each other ever since.
Oh . . . hang on, Epstein wants to speak:
"Hi everyone. I'm sure we all know what having a friend can do for one's self-esteem. Bouncing ideas of each other, having fun, correcting each other when one of us goes awry . . . learning . . . all part of the feeling of belonging. Never having to recap why it took so long to get together again and what you did while we were apart. Enough said.
We are in the eye of the Gaelic Storm right now. We are going to split up. I am heading to Dundrum, Agent Weebley is going to Dundrum, and Agent Heggle is going to . . . you guessed it . . . Dundrum!
What will happen next? Tomorrow never knows . . ."
Thanks, Epstein. Nicely said. What are we . . .
"Whoa, there, big guy. I get to do a 77 second infomercial too!
I'm Agent Heggle. My friend, Doctor Sternum, who I am sure you will get to eventually meet, brought me in for the 2nd leg of our mission . . . a mission to England, back in 2011.
I have a friend on the inside, called Agent Power Elite, who feeds me Intel, as well as AMD . . . but you know, and I know: it is better not to judge.
Anyway, I was supposed to be the crackpot professional, but got a little shown up by Agent Weebley's antics very early on. Il est très, très, fou.
Anyway, to make a long story short, the current Intel is that Plastiki and his 2 father figures have pretty well given up on world domination, since killing, lying and cheating to achieve their end is really not a good plan . . . Their goal right now is to release control of the world to a team of 7 billion equals. A Catch-22 backdrop to this is that the goal is really 2 goalposts: no-one wants to be the first to reveal they are working with us, even though they know deep down that The Power Elite want it to happen.
This is where I come in, since I invented The Hegelian Dialect . . . but Karl Marx stole the concept and warped it into Marxism. No matter . . .
Game Theory, moved along the field by John Nash is the answer, with slight modifications . . . total consciousness of all parties involved.
And the goalposts need to be moved without the help of The Power Elite, as it may be misconscrewed as us "being on the take."
I guess you could say that we on the lookout for some Angels to help turn Game Theory into Game Practice . . . these magical beings can move mountains.
Now I get to play a song . . ."
Thank you, too, Agent Heggle. How come we aren't laughing right now?
Angels? . . . or maybe Leprechauns? Are those magic flutes in your pockets, or are you guys just happy to build a scaffold into the sky with me?
Now I get to play a song!
Here we come! . . . Dundrum^3 . . . it still makes 1 Dundrum . . .
. . . 1 and 1 and 1 make free0 -
Funny, really . . . we were here, floating 7 feet above Lia Fáil, looking out of the cabin windows down at the foggy scene below, seeing the 3 green laser beam emanating from The Stone Of Destiny, up through the cabin floor, and out through the roof, going who knows where . . .
"It's made up of a twisting blue positive DNA strand, a yellow negative DNA strand, and a white positive silicon strand that counters the effect of the negative strand. The helix is perfect," I said.
Agent Heggle cued up a nice steganographic tune from Claire Roche . . . see if you can decipher what she is saying . . . I sent her an email, by the way . . . she is golden . . .
. . . then the conversation turns to their lack of ability to communicate and their incessant laughing, during the last iteration of this future scene . . . but where is Agent DelKey? He was the only one able to speak last time. Back then, I was in the past, and they were in the future.
Both Epstein and Agent Heggle have no problem communicating now.
Epstein spoke first: "We were laughing because there are so many futures. We are currently in more than 1 future. I'll bet you cannot explain it yourself, Agent Weebley."
I thought about it, and . . . yes, indeed . . . how funny! I have no idea how far into the future we are right now, and all I have is a pleasant feeling of peace all around me. The government is gone, and people are free to trade without coercion. Down through that fog, it seems I am looking through that fog to the past . . . what was . . . and it leads from where we were to where we will be.
But I cannot explain it . . . after all the pain . . . we are free again . . . I see momentum from government inertia . . . now dissipating faster than ever before. Plastiki and his 2 father figures are helping us by slowly collapsing governments all over the world.
But the pain has to stop soon. I cannot bear to see the confusion about money and debt much longer.
Agent Heggle mentioned something that happened April 2011, when I applied for the Digital Director job in the UK in the Cabinet office . . . I'm sure David Cameron saw what I wrote . . . I told him what was going to happen . . . he ignored me, like they all do.
A journalist . . . some sort of lêche-coup, named Mike Bracken, got that job. And he is not doing too much to reach his transparency "goals", it seems.
I told David Cameron that if I got the job, I would put the entire UK government on 1 website, then wind down government revenue and expenses to zero, and into a Meritocracy based on performance. I guess he didn't like my idea . . .
Agent Heggle and I began to talk about the Limbic System, flipping between logic and emotion until the limbic switch breaks and people are now mentally free, but we were interrupted by Epstein:
Epstein mentioned a potential Catch-22 I may be interested in pursuing in The Creative Writing forum . . . I leapt out of my seat shouting You Reeka . . . or something like that, but . . . er . . . how do I say it . . . I stumbled headlong into the 3 green laser beam!
I seem to be in some sort of holding pattern right now; I have not popped out the other end yet . . . I see green numbers all around me . . . a steady stream of numbers . . .
. . . it feels like I am the epitome of a Matrix Error 42 . . .
Hang on . . . OMFNG . . . well, well, well, well, well . . . who do we have in this wormholish place?
It's . . . .0 -
We both shouted in unison:
Yogi! . . . Dad!
Then we paused for a moment . . . then, oddly, we backed up and shouted in unision:
Agent DelKey! . . . Agent Weebley!
Me, wondering why I called him Yogi, suddenly remembered I could actually be a mental extension of myself, and he, a mental extension of my dog . . .
We smiled at each other for a moment, then he said: "Alsan wants to know if you are ready to do battle."
My mind whirled . . . where had I heard that before?
"Yes, Agent DelKey, I am ready."
The 3 green laser beam was swirling around us. The yellow and blue helix were mixing together with the white beam that was parallel to the yellow beam . . . it was mesmerising . . . I could see the Aircar above, and the Mound Of The Hostages below.
We were slowly dropping.
"Aslan thinks you may be confusing the Hostages," said Agent DelKey.
He paced around me with his hands behind his back, like a teacher who had asked a pointed question, and was waiting for an answer. I had never seen him this confident . . . and had also never seen him walking on 2 legs.
"Maybe." I said.
I suddenly realised I was ego-less . . . Questioning myself . . . am I confusing the Hostages? Do they know they are willing Hostages? Friends . . . not just some sort of Stockholm Syndrome "friends?"
"We just stopped time together," I said.
Agent DelKey sat down, and looked at me . . . a little perplexed.
"Nice neuticles," I said.
"Did I ever say thanks, Agent Weebley?"
"Oh yes, but not in so many words," I said.
Then he shot up onto 2 legs again.
"Jesus H Christ, Agent Weebley, would you stop sidetracking for once?"
"OK . . ."
He continued: "It was exactly a month ago that you said you would go to EggyBaby!'s world and meet the Vadrang. WTF, Agent Weebley . . . WTF!"
Hmm, I said to myself. I do tend to go on and on and on and on . . . a bit. Last I remember, it was Saturday, July 14, 2012. That's what everyone is thinking . . . I guess we should be moving on. In this Twilight Zone, time has stopped and started a few times since then. We have proven that The Underwood5 can make whatever story direction we take come true . . . and I am working towards the Nuclear War story, where a stalemate is created between the Superpowers . . . and the RoboDaughter story will be an easy one to explain, since our robotic body is just an extension of our free mind . . . Funny though, if I were a concrete thinker, I would say we have attracted another AH dude like Padraiggg . . . an 8" tall fellow, who has a magic flute, called Prick! Maybe he is a Leprechaun, here to grant us 3 wishes? More willing Hostages?
"Agent Weebley?"
"Yes?"
"You have to move along . . . go see EggyBaby!'s Vadrang . . . take The Enterprise . . . how about you take Captain James T Craic, Mr Spook and Scatty on your mission?"
OMFNG! I suddenly remembered something from the past . . . my conversation with Jernal . . . and Mr Spook
Unbeknownst to me, we had floated down to the ground in all of this discussion. Agent DelKey motioned for me to step out of the 3 green laser beam.
You're not going to believe who was standing there waiting for me . . .
Lug!
He looked grand, as usual.
"Finally," he said. "42, Agent Weebley!"
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42 . . . that's not till the next post, I thought to myself.
That's the big one.
We stood for a short while, Lug looking at me, and me looking at him. I noticed that Agent DelKey was also outside of the 3 green laser beam and sniffing around the area, rather surreptitiously, I might add. I stood with my back to a tree.
Lug looked rather buff, like that Ragnar Danneskjöld guy from Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged (I wanna know where the gold at . . . show me the gold), and, because this is a first person narrative and I must switch from past tense to present tense immediately for a proper segue to speech, I have no idea what he was thinking of me, so I must make him say something to reveal what he actually does think of me, rather than make Shallow Hal assumptions based on body language or facial expressions.
"Excuse me, Lug," I said, "do you think my nose is big?"
"You are truly bizzare, Agent Weebley."
Got it. He motioned me over to doorway to The Mound of Hostages.
"Agent Weebley, come Fire Walk With Me; see how you summoned padraiggg to return with a Myriad Of AH Hostages that will join with us in our Quest for Peace."
As we walked in, I felt like I was going back in time to help old friends come back to life, like in Harlen Ellison's Demon with a Glass Hand . . . and to thumb my nose at Lplated and his irrational fear of copyright, which is a big business construct designed to rip off people that create and experience art.
I drifted . . .
"Agent Weebley?"
Drifting back, I snapped my head back and looked directly into the Lug's Coventry City Sky Blue eyes.
"Remember Led Zep?" he said, knowingly.
I nodded approvingly.
"Then pay attention to this video . . . especially the ending, where Aragorn and Captain Obvious jump ship and have much ethereal help attacking the midgets . . ."
Welcome back padraiggg. Next post, we battle . . .
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"There's 70 billion people in here, where are they hiding?" Sat on the floor inside the Mound Of Hostages alone together, I didn't know who had said that . . . Lug, or I.
The walls were earthen, grotty, and dampness pervaded the scene. Lug looked warm and toasty in all his layers of wool and leather, and he had various gold and silver adornments hanging off his neck, wrists and . . . and that sword of his . . . it had a translucent glow . . . it looked like it was made of magical bog iron, fashioned into a sword by elves and pixies . . . and it had a strange insignia near the base . . . it looked like the sketch of the leprechaun in that Mobile, Alabama video . . . how odd . . .
"Agent Weebley."
I looked straight at him, his hair was blonde and wild, like mine . . . Blondie, I thought to myself.
"How old are you?"
Wondering why he would even ask me that, as it doesn't matter, since time is irrelevant, and not quite knowing what to say, I fell back on my stock answer . . ."49."
"And what is your relationship to Steve?"
Man, that was a loaded question. How do I tell him I am the mind, but not the body of Steve. How do I tell him we became disconnected after amanfromMars and the JLAIP helped me forgive?
"He is my friend," I said.
"I think your friend needs to send an email to Rob Nail immediately. Steve does that sort of thing for you, does he not?"
I had to laugh to myself . . . Steve does whatever the feck he wants to, as do I. But he does love to yank chains.
"Yes, he does . . . when he feels the time is right. He has had a draft email to Rob Nail in waiting, so my friend Epstein tells me."
I had a feeling we were not alone. Lug leaned over and pulled out his Bog Oak Fidhcheall Chess Set . . . nice . . . but my eyes were scanning behind him in that translucent glow . . . someone was . . . no . . . 2 people were behind him.
"Do you see them, Agent Weebley?" said Lug.
"I do."
Both people were a little fuzzy, but my eyes were drawn to . . . no way . . . my Uncle Jammy! Then suddenly, he spoke.
"Peace, Agent Weebley. We will help" . . . then they were gone, just like that.
"Who was the other person, Lug?" I said.
Lug smiled, and all he said was that my Uncle Jammy helped him hide in the mountains many, many years ago. He helped save his life at the time. He then went on to be a great leader. Then he quickly changed the subject.
"Agent Weebley. How did Steve figure out my rules for the Fidhcheall Chess Game?"
"From you, I guess" . . . it seemed to be the most APT thing to say.
Lug got pensive. "Your Dad said something to me recently about how he used to bet on the dogs in Belfast before he left for England when he was 18. Remember how he used to say: if I was a betting man . . ."
"I remember alright."
"Well, Agent Weebley, I bet that you are going to beat Steve at that Chess Game you have on the go right now. And furthermore, all Irish people need to lay bets on who they think is going to win. It will be good for them."
"But they have no money, Lug." I thought about how the IMF has all non-in-crowd Irish people by the short and curlies based on debt based money shenannigans and shell games.
"Then give them your futuristic lenticular plastic chips to play the Game with. They can pledge them as a bet and give you guidance on boards.ie . . . it'll be fun . . . you dig?"
Lug looked deep into my eyes, and without a word he gave me his sword.
The moment my hand touched it, a movie scene flashed past . . .
. . . and I felt that padraiggg was outside . . . and someone else!
As I exited the Mound Of Hostages, I surveyed the scene. One guy had a hat on . . . the other . . . only one eye and no hat.
Which one was which? padraiggg . . . Prick! . . . well, well, well . . .
We circled each other slowly. I kept my distance from the the guy with the hat, as it had a very large brim, and could have easily poked me in the eye. The potential for a snapkick was low, due to the distance he would have to cover before he even reached the edge of his brim.
The one-eyed guy seemed armless enough . . he had some sort of mushroom haircut, and was wearing a trendy beige turtle-neck.
We circled . . . and watched each other for a sign one person would attack.
"Choose your weapons," I said to them, without taking my eyes off either of them, but noticing myelf spending a little more time looking at padraiggg, seeing how good looking he was, and how irresistible he must be to women, and feeling it would be a shame to reveal I am indeed a worthy adversary. Would he be able to pull after this scene?
"You pick first," said padraiggg.
"My mouth," I said.
padraiggg's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.
"Yummy," he said. "Wanna honk on Bobo?"
I didn't want to reveal that Lucy has been inside me for the past few weeks, helping me with my story, so I just smiled.
Prick!'s eye also lit up like a Christmas tree, but less intense; he had an unusual tic, some sort of bobble-head affectation . . . probably due to the excitement of the upcoming fight. He boked.
"What's your weapon, padraiggg?" I said.
"Glock."
"And you, Prick!?"
"Giant sausage."
I looked at Prick! quizzingly, as it seemed he would be inneffectual at fighting me, as I would immediately use my Lorena Bobbitt move on him, and he would go off screaming into the wilderness at the onset of the fight, leaving me to focus solely on tonguing padraiggg into compliance.
"OKs, thens . . . let's rocks"
"I can make this EZ for you guys," I said.
"How so, arsewitch?" said padraiggg. "I could squeeze your head like a zit in 2 seconds."
Prick! nodded.
"Well, firstly, although I don't quite agree with all the killing and one night/day stands you seem to all enjoy, I could give you a pass if you help me."
padraiggg and Prick! became quite limp with uncontrollable laughter. I could have stuffed them both back into their pants and sent them off with their tail between their legs at that point, but what would that have achieved?
"If you help me, you automatically help yourselves and make some money," I added.
They stood to attention on that note.
"I need you to get the word out . . . enlist all your friends and relatives to find out as much as possible about the new FU (Fál Ulaidh) Party . . .
. . . I hear they are betting people."
[to be continued]0 -
padraiggg kicked his head back, laughed gutterally, then aimed his Glock squarely at my face. But Prick! came out of nowhere . . . probably due to his youth . . . slapped me sideways through the air . . . me landing at the door to The Mound Of The Hostages. I quickly opened the door and ran inside, but Prick! was Quick! . . . too Quick! He stuck his massive head in the doorway, so I had no choice but to slam the door on it, I mean him, I mean his Giant Sausage.
"Explain that to your GF LOL," I said, as he screamed like a banshee and ran off limping; his now not-so-giant L-shaped sausage dragging behind him.
I exited the Mound once again, and saw, from afar, padraiggg eying up the scene, probably trying to find a female to impregnate. He found one . . . a lady in a red dress.
I took the opportunity to run over to save the lady from potential STDs, as padraiggg never seems to wear protection.
"Whoa there, big guy. What's with the Colt .45?" paidraigg said, with obvious fear that he had met his point blank match.
"I speak with my fingers, padraiggg. I programmed the lady in the red dress to divert your attention away from me, as well as creating a handy equaliser to your Glock."
"You dog," he muttered.
padraiggg watched in amazement as the lady now not in the red dress suddenly disappeared from beneath him. I noticed she winked at me, just before she disappeared, but held that fact back from padraiggg in case he got the impression he would be sloppy seconds, which is not an image I like to bandy around, since we are equals in this world, and anyone who tells you differently, is lying.
"Listen, Agent Wobbley, premature discombobulation is anti-climactic, so prepare to die . . "
I planted my left foot on his face, catapulting myself into a reverse somersault, ending up in exactly the same position as before . . .
. . . impressive move, I thought to myself. But I am left handed, as well as left footed, so it really wasn't too "out there" as a move.
"Do I have your attention now," I said, as I aimed my Colt 45 squarely at his left temple . . . and for those CSI wannabe types, I am ambidextrose, an explosive mix, since I am ADHD, ADD, OD, and ODD . . . especially ODD.
"No effing way," he said as he snipkacked my gun into the rhubarb, which later proved to be quite tasty with a little added dextrose . . . he then jumped high in the air . . . and as he came down, he ricocheted and simultaneously sprung off my head, landing 30 feet away on one foot (his left, for those that need unnecessary detail.)
That hurt (my pride.)
Still on one foot, he aimed his Glock at me and fired 9 times in rapid succession. . .
[to be continued]0 -
Before I go on, I must advise you that my friends are watching this scene from The AirCar, directly above Lia Fáil, and recording the scene for posterior's sake, or something like that.
The only reason I mention it, is that a moment ago I heard a familiar ringtone . . . it sounded like SKRRK! SKRRK SKRRK!, or maybe the old phone ringtone from my iPhone4 . . . no matter, I let it go to VM.
Anyway, after padraiggg laid the boot in on my face, knocking me to the ground, my wife, Lucy told me to get up. As usual, I said "no," but did so immediately, as transgressing my wife's "suggestions" is a recipe for no dinner and definitely no dessert . . .
Hang on a mo', The Daily Bell Tolleth For Mee . . . KK, done.
OK, so these 9 bullets are heading my way . . . I put my hand out . . .
[to be continued]0 -
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You can forward your $10 to the Santa Strike Force. Thank you.
Well, well, well, well, well . . . we meet again . . . on more pleasant terms this time . . . I like it!
You got added credits for speed, efficiency, and ruthless devotion to The Cause . . . $10 becomes
PayPal
Sep 4, 2012 09:00:59 GMT-04:00
Transaction ID: [URL="https://www.paypal.com/ca/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_view-a-trans&id=5MH37235KU6530143 5MH37235KU6530143[/URL]
Hello[Agent Weebley],
You sent a payment of 13.00 EUR to Santa Strike Force
It may take a few moments for this transaction to appear in your account.
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Donated on behalf of Old Goat at boards.ie . . . I hope all goes well for the kids this Christmas!
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That was unexpected . . . and so was padraiggg taking a run at me while I was logging into my UltraSecurePayPalMobileApp from my iPhone4. I didn't have time to react. He did a classic Fung Fu Chop Suey move to my left cheek . . . I felt like my head was departing from my neck, but luckily, my body followed my spinning head to the ground with minimal neck elasticity. He pinned me down on my chest, prostate on the grass . . . and plonked himself on my lower back, but I assure you there was no funny business going on, although there were some funy noises coming from him, namely "peow [repeating,]" which gave me the opportunity to reach inside my trousers and pull out my . . . . jiu-jiubitsu move #2: green, in that brief period of his inattention to the moment at hand.
My Colt .45 was lying on the grass. In the reflection of the barrel, I saw his mouth wide open at regular 50% intervals, giving me a 500 millisecond window to gain entry. I positioned the ju-jube between my thumb and index finger, waited, squeezed it, then fired . . .
Direct hit!
He seemed to choke for a moment and held his hands to his mouth, giving me the space to simultaneously grab the red dress, also lying on the grass, flicking him up in the air a little while I spun around to face him. I wrapped the dress around his face a couple of times, then grabbed him by the throat, forcing him back, reversing positions . . him now under me.
I finished the transaction and logged off, since it is always good practise to log off all programs, even though PayPal locks you out after 10 minutes of inactivity anyway. You can never be too careful.
I yanked off the dress, ripping it sensually, since it got hung up on his left ear, loosened my grip on his neck a little, and looked him squarely in the eyes.
"Do you have any more?" he asked? "I like the red ones."
He was sounding a little hoarse, so I loosened my grip just a little more.
"I have red and blue ones, padraiggg. Why are we fighting, anyway? How about we munch back a few and I'll tell you a story?"
"But who's going to say U.N.C.L.E.," he said, so I squeezed harder and harder on his neck, assuming he was not finished fighting, erring on being prepared for anything. His sudden asphyxiation caused something, I know not what, to springboard me high in the air and land 20 feet away in the rhubarb.
We both got up pretty quickly, but I ran right at him, but he was too quick for me and I overshot with a poorly aimed snapkick; he had me on the floor again . . . this time squarely on my chest.
As he was picking his teeth from the sugary treat . . . oh by the way, I only buy organic ju-jubes, because HFCS is a poison . . . I tried to appeal to his sense of charity . . .
"padraigg, I said, "I have 70 billion people wrappped around my thorax, digitally encoded as a program on a wire. Do you really want to kill 70 billion people right now?"
"Say U.N.C.L.E.," he said. He seemed a little non-plussed about the 70 billion people . . . probably didn't believe me . . . and seemed like the type that needed to always win, otherwise his value system would shatter into a million pieces.
He was hoarse . . . I was a Trojan . . . I was in.
"U.N.C.L.E.," I said.
We sat and ate a few ju-jubes together, but I held the red and blue ones back.
"How about we watch an instructional video, padraiggg?" I said.
"That would be great!" he said.
He was now firmly in my mental grip . . .
[to be continued - fighting over ( I hope,) but more subtle sexual innuendos to come]0 -
I noticed padraiggg was a nibbler. He would begin at one end, nip it off, then nibble methodically and rapidly to the other end, like a mouse. As I palmed in a mouthful, I also noticed he was using 2 hands, so another was always at the ready. What a weirdo.
"Agent Weebley, why I am I here?"
"I brought you back to begin writing a new thread as a beta test, padraiggg." I wanted to see his reaction.
"Agent Weebley, I suddenly had this idea to come back out of the blue, but the Trent character had fizzled a little, so I came back as mr sexington." Then he looked me straight in the eyes and said: "why did you take me off my thread?"
"I didn't. We are all in a multiverse. Everything is happening all at once. You are still over there, and over here at the same time."
I sensed padraiggg was thinking about sex again, so I moved away just a little, in case he grabbed my coin purse, then changed the subject back to the beta test.
"The beta test has been running ever since you posted 232 words and got thousands of views, women and men swooning, and the best one yet . . . the last comment: Classic Trent! - by Ah_Yeah, netted around 800 views so far." Incredible.
"That wasn't a ju-jube you fired into my mouth, you know."
Dang, he got me. Time to squirm.
"Actually, I was using poetic license on that one. It needed to sound like a Chinese Martial Art."
"Jelly Beans, right . . . to match up with The Matrix red pill and blue pill?"
He figured he had me over a barrel, but I am no Phil McCraic . . .
"No, padraiggg, these wonderful treats are Jelly Belly brand. I buy them in big bags from Costco, in Toronto."
Jelly beans do not come in blue . . . Jelly Belly does . . .wanna hear about the under-rated blue pill from The Matrix?"
"Is The Matrix your mantra, Agent Weebley?"
"No," I said. How could I tell him I have been flipping from mantra to mantra for over 1.5 years now? I am the gingerbread man of mantras. But all he thinks about is sex and killing. How could I tell him that if anything, Don Quixote is my mantra. The man who idolises Dulcinea, a rough diamond in a seemingly hopeless situation. She cannot see she is stuck inside a system of animalistic men, follows the crowd, and spurns Don Quixote's constant, unerring reinforcement of an image of her as a beautiful Sophia Loren type. He eventually turns her into a beautiful woman . . . through persistence.
Ahhhhh, I drifted . . .
So, padraiggg, do you want to continue with a storyline only exascerbating sex and killing? Do you want to stay within the system, or change it, like a true Knight Errant?
"And do you want to hear about what the blue pill can do . . . when you munch back a red pill / blue pill combo?"
"Exascerbating?" he said. "Sounds kinky . . . OK, tell me more . . ."0 -
I looked at padraiggg . . . he looked at me . . . we both ROTFLOFAO!
"padraiggg . . . that was awesome . . . especially when Trent stuffed Prick! into the mini-bar. 8 inches is a perfect size . . . the maid would think he was just another Red Bull."
He seemed chuffed with that. I could have suggested a different way he could have done the HOME RUN thing, as he was trying really hard to be American sounding, but his first pitch really was a STRIKE. He could leave it as-is . . . but he could have added that the first empty whisky glass he pitched went wide - ball 1, the second glass got him in the groin - ball 2, and then the third glass ricocheted off his head, skimmed past the receptionist and out the window . . . a HOME RUN . . . Prick! stumbles around the mound, then grounds out near the pit . . . but that would have been a bit of a (7th inning) stretch.
"Did you like him being the New York Baddy?"
I couldn't contain myself as to why he mentioned New York. New York Baddies . . . "Yeah . . . I know of those guys . . " I said.
padraiggg suddenly got serious. He had something on his mind . . . I could tell; probably due to him not tenting anymore.
"How did you know I was coming back, and how did you know I was going to post, Agent Weebley? And you didn't post last nght. It was like you left me a doughnut to stick something in."
". . . and I see you used the glyph . . ." I added.
"Yeah." He grinned.
"It is due to the Red Pill / Blue Pill Singularity," I said. "Check this Adrian Belew video from 1982 . . . Adrian Belew's mind saw the concrete crumble 19 years early . . . nothing is as it seems . . . a lot of maybes . . ."
Meanwhile, padraiggg is ultrafocused on big electric cats while a war rages on for his mind.
padraiggg looked at me with his mouth hanging open. "She was mighty hot," he said.
Shaking my head, I cerfed, and stumbled upon this video. Check this video out . . . done by Johannes Ayres
This is what he wrote after he uploaded it:
Uploaded by Johannes Ayres on Feb 27, 2012
the following is part of an interview I did with "the Wire" on (the) singularity (events) And specifically Big Electric Cat....
""singularity" refers to the emergence of greater-than-human intelligence through technological means, resulting in explosive superintelligence. Since the capabilities of such intelligence would be difficult for an unaided human mind to comprehend, the occurrence of a technological singularity has in the past been seen as an intellectual event horizon, beyond which events could not be predicted or understood. Terrence McKenna once descried the singularity as "the Transcendental Object (at the end of Time)" and this stuck with me. He also speculated that 2012 would be the year of it's arrival. Now, Object relations theory is a psychodynamic theory within psychoanalytic psychology. The theory describes the process of developing a psyche as one grows in relation to the environment. The basis of the theory is that the way we relate to people (and situations) in our adult world was programmed into us by the way we experienced our parents when we were infants and while we grow up.The Self (or subject) relates to Objects in the unconscious. "Objects" can be images (internalized) of one's mother or father. Objects can also be parts of a person, for instance an infant relating to the breast..Objects may be both real or things in one's inner world (one's internalized image of others)..At (these) singularity performances I got to sculpt these "Transcendental Objects" in real time, out of our songs and our visuals, while I was performing. The cues consisted of lighting effects, animation of elements of the set, the mandelbulber program, particle effects, L-systems, and even a big electric cat.. The sound reactive is also important. We used audio analysis to displace textures that then became light projections. Audio was also used for modulating particle dynamics, even the geometry in "Hello little Spark" using a vertex shader. We were getting frame-rates of between 17-60fps rendering stereo at 1024x576. Part of the fun of being Iao Core these days is being able to choose songs to perform from our back catalog, and/or improvising them on the spot (would not be possible without my talented bandmates!) and/or covers of songs from my life as a huge music fan, that are very emotionally charged and special to me.. Adrian Belew was such an inspiration musician when I was a lad, the noises and sounds he squonked out of his guitar blew my young mind, things like "Elephant Talk" and such. so you can imagine how much fun it is to cover "Big Electric Cat " and then turn it into a Transcendental Object, if you will "
Category: Music
License: Creative Commons Attribution license (reuse allowed)
I thought about the videos for a few minutes. I have to see Steve and amanfromMars. They both need to send an email to Rob Nail from Singularity University. Luckily, I am also in The AirCar, right above us . . .
I left padraiggg PEOWing [repeatedly] at Agent DelKey, who was now sniffing around the area again. I ambled over to him. Why does padraiggg fold his trousers into the shape of the letter "M", I thought to myself.0 -
Agent DelKey lifted his head.
"Hi, Agent Weebley, how's it hangin'?" he said.
How could I tell him I am failing miserably. My mission as an Agent Of Peace is in jeopardy. I really don't like the red pill given or taken separately.
"Pretty good," I said.
PEOW, PEOW, came from "over there." We looked over. padraiggg raised the barrel of his gun up to his mouth, blew the smoke from his index finger, and then smiled and winked at us.
"I see you have called a meeting, Agent Weebley." Agent DelKey paused for a moment.
"Did I? When?"
"You could say: when, where, why, who, or what . . . 7 . . . in The AirCar."
As we walked over to the 3 green laser beam, I mentioned I wrote a message to Anthony Wile at The Daily Bell, but Agent DelKey had already seen it . . . .
"Am I some sort of balloon dog?" he said (jokingly.) He did, however, cock his leg and shine my left shoe before we got into the beam.
A warm feeling came over me as we stepped into the beam and looked up. Then . . . music wafted by my ears like a Mobius Trip . . .
Fidcheall Chess . . . yes . . .
0 -
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