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Mound of Hostages

  • 24-07-2012 4:01am
    #1
    Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


    Chapter 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?


«13456

Comments

  • Moderators, Arts Moderators Posts: 33,044 Mod ✭✭✭✭ pickarooney


    Thread split, as post is not related to TZ competition. I just picked some words at random for the title.


  • Moderators, Category Moderators, Politics Moderators, Recreation & Hobbies Moderators, Society & Culture Moderators Posts: 81,360 CMod ✭✭✭✭ coffee_cake


    myriad of hostages :pac::pac::pac::pac::pac:


  • Closed Accounts Posts: 158 ✭✭ dogmax


    dead but his mind is still alive searching for a life he left behind somewhere hidden in this fog. and then he see my friendly face "can you help me, please. -- i don't know where i am. -- I'm confuse" i cant believe my eyes it old Donn himself but then i remember which released a anger that flys out of my mouth "OK you ****ing arsehole where is my Aston Martin rapide and don't ****ing lie to me" "what" say old donn "you heard. please don't tell me you crash my beautiful Aston Martin rapide" "whattt" say confuse old Donn "don't ****ing tell me you crash my beautiful Aston Martin rapide" "but I'm dead" cries out Donn "you ****ing will be" but then my phone rings "hello" it Steve who return me to a moment of calmness "oh hello Steve. yes I'm so looking forward to seeing you as well" but then Steve start to go on and on as he usually does and my anger is starting to surface as old Donn look around in total confusing. "OK Steve I'm going to have to go" Steve replies "OK i am so looking forward to seeing you again" "me to Steve now byeee" but Steve has more to say "no wait I'm just after remembering something that i have to tell you" "you can tell me later Steve" "no i have to tell you now" say Steve and then my volcano of anger is again release "Steve i have to go" but Steve is determined "but wait till i tell you this" "Steve i am really having a bad day and i have to go now" "oh stop" say Steve "you are probably just having a bad hair day" then my anger speak "Steve this is not a bad hair day and to tell you the truth i am standing on the hill of Tara and the ground is wet and in front of me is the father of all ****ing Ireland old Donn himself. and i have to go now Steve" silence for a moment then Steve say "oh -- okay -- we have so much to talk about later -- and who Donn" "bye Steve"


  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


    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?


  • Closed Accounts Posts: 158 ✭✭ dogmax


    Illusions of the mind Agent Weebley -- and I'm glad I'm driving reading what you're writing here you seem to be all over the place and as for you and Steve if you don't mind I call him Steve for the time been what I didn't know I certainly know now but anyway -- back to the illusions of the mind -- just like the universe it unexplored but thanks to our imagination we can create illusions of thought but the whole idea is not to get trap in our own illusions -- and as for this mythical Donn of the dead character be careful Agent Weebley he just might have a army hidden in that fog of his -- now one question if you can give me a straight answer -- what did you see in that rectangle area -- now remember a straight answer -- and I might let you drive again -- but then again I might not -- sorry I got a bit carry away there


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  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


    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!



  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


    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:



  • Closed Accounts Posts: 158 ✭✭ dogmax


    And somewhere in all of that Agent Weebley I found the answer to my question a slab of bog oak with legs. --- ha ha now I wonder what that could be --- Illusions of the mind . . . all over the place . . . that is true, on many levels. --- what ever make you happy Agent Weebley and for that reason you can drive your Rapide --- I now have this funny feeling I'm riding shotgun but this is the creative writing section so what the hell -- so Agent Weebley and old Donn -- old Donn still looks confuse, if I blow his head of do you think it would grow back again, just a thought -- legion eh -- Ok Agent Weebley you got any enemies that I should know about, it pointless asking old Donn I mean he has already met his, he dead -- I'm I really sitting in a car sorry a Rapide, with old Donn and Agent Weebley -- anyway, ill go with this for a while -- there could be a few hitchhikers up ahead -- but this is your show Agent Weebley, and I'm just passing through -- You Me and old Donn, and of course his Legion. where ever the hell they are -- so drive Agent Weebley, drive


  • Registered Users Posts: 12,373 ✭✭✭✭ El Guapo!


    This is the strangest thread I've read in a while.


  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


    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.


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  • Closed Accounts Posts: 158 ✭✭ dogmax


    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 ;)


  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


    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.



  • Closed Accounts Posts: 158 ✭✭ dogmax


    Ah Lucy you deserve the highest honor of them all, I know because my wife deserve the same, and Steve I hope you weren't offended by my first impression of you, ill tell you a little secret, my first impression of Agent Weebley was, that he, was a she, please don't ask me why --- and yes Agent Weebley back to the future -- and is the Rapide really only a metaphor -- but anyway -- I took a peek into Eggy Baby world, some weird **** going on there, but if that what you want then its okay with me, old Donn is keeping well he starting to look like father jack but don't worry, ill have him tidy up by the time you get back -- and a mound of issues - mental closet -- you and Eggy Baby are really going to get on -- look like Dean09 and Me are the only sane one here -- I hope -- definitely Twilight Zone --- bring it on. :cool:


  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


    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.


  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


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

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

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

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

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

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

    "Network?" I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    OMG . . . where have I heard that before?



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

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

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

    "They were friends of the King."

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

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

    "Brains," I said.



  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


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

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

    He thought I was a female?

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

    dogmax . . . glyph . . . dogma-x

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

    Oh yes, we'd love to come!

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

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

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

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

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



  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

    Where has everybody gone?



  • Closed Accounts Posts: 158 ✭✭ dogmax


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


  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


    . . . . connected.

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

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

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

    Any ideas on what it means?



  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


    Hold the phone!

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

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

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

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

    Very weird:



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  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


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

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

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

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

    My iPhone4 began to burn a hole in my pocket.

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

    I have to speak to Steve about it.

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

    Nothing . . . not a sausage.

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

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

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



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

    Is Steve working right now?

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


  • Closed Accounts Posts: 158 ✭✭ dogmax


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


  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


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

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

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

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

    What?

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



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


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

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

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

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



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

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

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



    Yes. Their flowers grew too high.

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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


  • Closed Accounts Posts: 158 ✭✭ dogmax


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


    CONSCIENCE OF GUILT




    Last night as I rest in my sleep

    Through a dream I felt sand beneath my feet

    In the distance stands a great throne made of ancient oak

    Seated is a grey hair old Man

    His feature where strong but his face was drawn

    In serious thought of what I know not yet

    Slowly I approach kneeling to rest

    Beneath a look from eyes that where old but wise

    He greets me with a mournful smile

    In cloth he is draped of the finest design

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

    Of troublesome time


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

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

    Then from his life there born children equal in their race

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

    But as their time roll on grown up divided they became

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

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

    The land where he once roam his home

    As their decades pass and centuries they became

    his people mourn in hope that he would some day return

    But in their human greed they fail to see

    That this is now their home all the land and seas

    Then soon their greed turn to hate for all living things

    even their neighbours even their friends

    And the one who give just sits and waits

    As in disgust he watch his own human race

    Destruction and carnage became their daily routine

    and his people versus people how their blood runs free

    and as for their children how he grieve for these

    for they are been taught by what they hear and see

    And soon they shall inherit what they will receive”


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

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

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

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

    So answering their call is the one he choose

    with his gift of life their saviour he becomes

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

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

    And for some their evil reach new high”


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

    “They spit they stone they mocked his name

    even those who believe just hung their heads in shame

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

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

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

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

    A cross they carve was their ultimate treat

    and many watch as he drag it along the streets

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

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

    Their saviour he sent to answer their call

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

    Words that this brave Man refuse to send”


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

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

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

    Without life his soul in thy kingdom we greet

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

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

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

    who wish to return to a world which is dying

    from their own Human waste”


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

    Sad thoughts of a dream which happen long ago

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

    But my feeling are for one who his race betrayed

    But that was in the past I hear many say

    Yes our lives has improved greatly since then

    But I do wish in hope that his son shall remain

    in his Father kingdom where he shall be safe

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

    Or are we --- Fact or Fiction


  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


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

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

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

    Sail!


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


  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


    Chapter 2 - A Myriad Of Hostages

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

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

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

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

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



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



  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


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

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

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

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




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

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

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



  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

    I wrote a posting.

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



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

    Then I said this, and played this song:

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

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




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

    That night, the riots stopped.


  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


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



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

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

    Maybe it's because I am a Gemini?

    Hang on . . .

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

    Hang on to your pineal gland, folks!



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

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

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

    Oh, here's Steve.

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

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

    "Nice . . . drive, Steve."

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

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

    "Time to wake everyone up" he said.



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


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  • Registered Users Posts: 444 ✭✭ Agent Weebley


    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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