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Mound of Hostages
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Greeting Agent Revolver, Agent Weebley and All
(Have you noticed this year that there are, fortunately, much more people who were glad that this world goes on further in its existence, after The End Of The File World, than those of the opposite view? Correct me if I'm wrong, dogmax, but you also don't seem disappointed)
Disappointed, absolutely not, our world is on a never ending journey Agent Revolver, a journey that has seen many changes, and it will see many many more, and hopefully all for the better, but what delights me more is the fact that once again our world has won, I love been on the winning side, don't we all.
Reminds me of the first time I met my old enemy, our armies where fighting on the battlefields of a beautiful planet that we call Earth, it was a long and bloody war that no one could win, and then reality show herself to us, all bloody and beaten, madness, absolute madness, our beautiful planet was no longer a beautiful sight to see, so my old enemy and me came face to face, his first words to me where, "who the fu-ck are you" my first words to him was "Human, with a capital fu-cking H" we've been friends ever since, sadly but, in the real world, not all of us are living in peaceful times, and that is the real journey our World is on. Peaceful Times and Good Health to All.
(Do you want to be Agent Dogmax, dogmax?)
Agent Dogmax, it has a good sound to it I have to admit, am I still riding shotgun.
(1001001) There is a new number coming soon, 13, it mean, FEARLESS.
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Walking around a bit. Quite foggy here right now. I could have sworn I just saw, out of the corner of my eye, 3 AirCars sitting outside the doorway of The Mound Of Hostages, but on a double take, I see nothing there. My eyes seem to be playing tricks on me.
Lia Fáil is just North Of The Mound Of The Hostages, exactly where it used to be, or will be . . . not sure right now.
I cannot tell you exactly how I got here or how I am going to get here . . . whether I am here in the past, present, or future. All I know is that I am right here, right now.
I need a smoke.
Pulling out the pack from my pocket, the $ign Of The Dollar pack seems a little more brightly packaged than before; a nice bright and shiny gold $ sign. My silver Zippo lighter, with the same $ sign seems a little more deeply engraved, too.
Flick!
I take a deep drag, and, as I focus on the the plume of smoke drifting and curling upwards from the ciggy, the still air not affecting the plume one iota, I could have sworn I just saw some out of focus activity behind that thin swirling plume . . . activity on top of the Mound Of Hostages. My eyes are older now. It takes a microsecond longer to switch focus.
Nothing there.
How did this happen?
I remember waking up shortly after going to sleep on December 26. My daughter, Nerfy had been the last to say goodnight, but she must have added the Scottish dubstep song later. I missed it. Not sure . . . I don't know why I woke up. I think the visor on the Rapide was in the "up" position, and the emerging daytime light caused my circadian rhythm to kick me awake, in opposition to my previously long day telling me I should be resting right now. I looked at my lovely sleeping Lucy in the reclined passenger seat. My soul mate forever. I stroked her hair . . . and she smiled, as she slept. Looking back at Nerfy, our sweet little 18 year old . . . she's in College, you know. Little does she know at that age. Ah, the exuberance of youth. They know it all at that age, don't they? Me, I know less and less as I get older.
Another drag. I lean against Lia Fáil and slide my back down to the ground to rest on my bum and enjoy the smoke.
There's some murmuring behind me in the Banqueting Hall, but I ignore it. Probably nothing. Another false alarm. "Touch it, touch it now . . . touch it, touch it, touch it easily." Is that what they're saying? Should I look over there?
Looking up, I see the 3 green laser beam drilling down directly into the top of Lia Fail through the fog. Should I touch the beam and go back to the Rapide? To my wife and daughter? Is that where I'll actually end up? After what has just happened, I have no idea . . . I continue to rest . . . and smoke.
How did this all start, anyway? How did I draw everyone in ARG MetaPhoria to The Mound Of Hostages thread. IT is now a part of us, and we are a part of IT!
ESTABLISH COMMUNICATION WITH SYSTEM NUMBER 2, seems to be a logical entry point. Qubit . . . Alan Turing's most interesting Avatar . . . he said it, using his Avatar.
And we've done it!
After waking prematurely, sitting comfortably in the Rapide, I inclined my seat and listened to the "Scottish dubstep" that Nerfy had played, but thought to myself, that does indeed sound Celtic, but not from around these parts. I right-clicked the video, played it in a new tab, then searched the comment section below.
Aha! Bulgarian Celtic music.
I copied and pasted the suggested path to the source music, and found it.
As I played it . . . mentally drifting . . . I looked at the 3 green laser beams that shot off horizontally to the 3 AirCars . . . they seemed more agitated now. Was it due to the Bulgarian music? I touched the beam that led Southwest to Epstein's AirCar.0 -
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Hi dogmax, or should I say Agent Dogmax? This is Lucy . . . . Weebley's wife. I'm pleased to finally meet you. My full name is Lucid, but no-one calls me that (for obvious reasons!)
Thanks for the most beautiful message in your "post 77." It made me feel much, much better. Also, your timing is impeccable, since you posted exactly 73 views before this thread went onto the Top 20, passing smoothly past. . . Hey Jude! The people are speaking loud and clear . . .
Paddy posted today . . . we have been waiting for Weebley to surface for 7 days now . . . it was a long wait. And I think you have singlehandedly achieved the necessary melding of virtual, and reality.
Bravo!
You should write your own freely swirling story, that swirls between here and there, Agent Dogmax. You have our number . . . make the call . . .
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Oh my, this place is so large! I will return at a later time, but I have a message from amanfromMars, who posted on our site a few minutes ago. He seems to be having trouble logging onto his account on boards.ie.
The following is his message:I don’t yet quite know why but amfM access to post on boards.ie has been removed/blocked ….. and this is what I wanted to share with Agents Weebley, Lucy and Dogmax
Virtual Machine Manoeuvres
CHAOS Computer Club Land is akin to a Permanent Trip and it does so help with Control of Virtual Power to Know and Understand of ITs Simple Way of Glorious Working when Satyr discover Desire in Nymph and a Squared Shared Joint Satisfaction in its Strip Mining/MetaDataBase Awe Collection.
Poe’s Law rules but not here.
Happy New Year, Lucid, AW, Family and All. Are you ready for a monster demonstrative year?
To close, I would also like to add a few words: Peace, Love and a cheeky wink to All . . .
Entanglement Rules, OK?
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Agent Weebley wrote: »Hi dogmax, or should I say Agent Dogmax? This is Lucy . . . . Weebley's wife. I'm pleased to finally meet you. My full name is Lucid, but no-one calls me that (for obvious reasons!)
Thanks for the most beautiful message in your "post 77." It made me feel much, much better. Also, your timing is impeccable, since you posted exactly 73 views before this thread went onto the Top 20, passing smoothly past. . . Hey Jude! The people are speaking loud and clear . . .
Paddy posted today . . . we have been waiting for Weebley to surface for 7 days now . . . it was a long wait. And I think you have singlehandedly achieved the necessary melding of virtual, and reality.
Bravo!
You should write your own freely swirling story, that swirls between here and there, Agent Dogmax. You have our number . . . make the call . . .
Lucy and Agent Weebley, without going into to much detail here, delighted to hear you are both feeling much better now.
Will post again soon, Take Care.0 -
A warm hello Agent Dogmax, and to everyone else on this fine day / night!
Nobody really knows me on boards.ie,, but, once you read on, you will get a feeling for who I am and where I am coming from, and you will hopefully understand me better.
My full name is Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel. I am a philosopher, and, contrary to what John Cleese says, I can pack 'em away better than Legolas. But drinking talk is not why I came here today.
My fine friend, Agent Weebley, seems to have become entangled in the future with Epstein, Agent Paddy, and I. None of us have any memory of any of the happenings that Agent Weebley has relayed to us, so we are convinced he is in the future . . . and our Juicy Lucy seized the opportunity to make a doppelganger joke on her post the other day, calling it Dapper Gongers. I brought this up, because the last communication we witnessed from Agent Weebley was a brief email message to Agent Revolver that ended with 3 hyperlinks. I hope you like clicking hyperlinks, by the way, as they are synaptic connections on the neural net. These links were immediately spotted by Lucy, but they were attached to his standard glyph of 3 full stops, or periods, depending on which side of the pond you dip your toes. Here are the links:
The Fourth Wall
Metafiction
MacGuffin
I think that by now, you have all figured out that Agent Weebley is quite enigmatic, and travels the full spectrum in his writing. These 3 links have meaning, and since I know Agent Weebley quite well, I have some thoughts on the matter.
The Fourth Wall does not exist in his writing. It's as if you are all part of a live holographic story, where you can participate as you wish.
Metafiction is self-conscious fiction, which I am sure you can attest to as being right on the money here.
And money, is an unusual segue into what we feel is the reason why Agent Weebley has gone into the future. Although The 3 Story Twilight Zone is a typical MacGuffin, which I am positive he will eventually clear up how they tie into the story, he has gone into the future to avoid Money Talk on our site. Now that the Money Talk is over (for now,) he will return again - it's as simple as that! And he's disappeared before, and will do it again.
Agent Weebley and I first met when Doctor Sternum parachuted me in on the first European leg of Operation BlueBalls. I was supposed to be the expert, but Agent Weebley proved to be quite the fox. He used to pretend he was some sort of deluded Don Quixote, but he does these quantum leaps of thought that make me think otherwise.
My specialty is explaining how mind control works. Unfortunately, Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels got a hold of what I said, and twisted it into Socialism, which has caused my name to be dragged through the mud ever since. They call it The Hegelian Dialectic. The human mind always tries to compare 2 things, then picks the best conclusion as to which way to think on a topic. The conclusion is a third "thing."
Back in September 2010, Agent Weebley, who called himself "Weeble" back then, was sick of my name being connected with Marx, so he took 45 minutes and dissected the wiki explanation of The Hegelian Dialectic and how Marx twisted it to form a struggle between 2 classes, the owner and the worker.
Socialism was born.
Once everyone began to be shown Socialism, 100 years later, it is difficult for anyone to think there is any other way of thinking! It's now just a question of the degree of Socialism we want or need. Quite intriguing.
It is much like the time when The Druids were the priestly class in Ireland. Life did not end when you died. Living was the same as being dead. There is no Heaven. Heaven is on Earth. The Druids held the key to magic while living, and everyone muddled through life somewhat subordinate to the Druids keen awareness of what life was all about.
Along come the Romans, who never really conquered Ireland. They sent in an upper class Roman propagandist to upset the apple cart and conquer the Irish using mind control. St Patrick offered far better magic than The Druids could offer. Jesus rose from the dead! He walked on water! You earn your way into Heaven! Earth is hell for you, so repent and be clean and holy for Heaven! The subordinate Druids, who didn't force themselves on anyone, let the people listen to St Patrick, and make their own choice on who to believe.
They chose the sexy and way better magic . . . Roman Catholicism.
The Romans then proceeded to exterminate Druids, wipe the magical bards from the history books, and propagandise them as being evil sorcerers.
Now that faith in the Roman Catholic church is waning in Ireland, it is time to conclude something . . . a third thing.
Magic!
Anyway, that's the funny thing about the human mind, if you are given 2 choices, no-one seems to see that these choices are delivered to you, and the premises of the choices need to be questioned. Why does it have to be the worker against the boss? Why does everyone think they should get something for nothing? It has caused no end of problems. It is unnatural.
Heavens, I have gone on a little bit, haven't I? Not to worry, My point in coming here was to say I have complete faith in Agent Weebley's return. He may be a little different, though . . . he seems to be changeling. You will find him in Wormhole 7, if you had followed the links.
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Everyone went out earlier today . . . except for me. I just woke up. When the cats are away . . .
Hi!
They left me a note: "Gone to Bangor. Back later tonight. Do not post anything - Love Mum"
Yeah, right - I'm 18 remember, Mum?
I wonder if it has anything to do with amanfromMars posting on Slugger O'Toole today . . . posting about flag waving or something. I'm sure he's steering everyone to Bangor . . .
Since I am the only one left here to monitor traffic, I noticed something odd that happened a couple of hours ago - a confluency of sorts that needs to be addressed now . . . Rubecula posted a most intriguing magical bird Changeling story! And Dad thanked her (it wasn't me) . . . I'm soooo excited . . . he's coming back!
Funny how Agent Heggle said Agent Weebley was changeling, earlier today on his post, isn't it?
Oops, how impolite of me! I'm Nerfy. My Dad is Agent Weebley, and my Mum is Lucy. I'm their 18 year old daughter, in College, taking Interplanetary Travel and Tourism. I'm due back tomorrow . . . so, because there is an event brewing right now, I'm posting first, and answering questions later.
Rubecula: I don't think it is my place to post on your thread, so I hope you read this . . .
Stand By For Action, Rubecula!
Oh, and Agent Dogmax, you're so cute! Agent Dogmax: what do you make of this - an unusual looking 7 MetaFlorin Gift Coin?0 -
Well Nerfy
I have to admit I've been call many names in my time but I think cute is definitely a first, reminds me of a time years ago when I and one of my sons and one of my beautiful nieces, plus of course the bravest little dog a friend could ever have, we where all walking through this beautiful forest of old times and new, close to our home town, and we where talking about chit chat which included our surroundings, when my son said to me "Dad, did you ever hug a tree" and I look at his smiling face and the face of my beautiful niece, and of course that little face of the bravest dog of all, and I just had to say "no son, I don't think I ever did hug a tree" and as if the three of them where talking to me they said "well, there's always the first time"
So we hugged a tree and each of us made a wish, my beautiful niece wish for water because it was a very hot summer day, moments later she slide into the stream that flow under the bridge that was ahead of us, she got wet but she was happy and we all had a great laugh, because she wish for water, my son wish for a woman, his mother give him a big hug when he got home, as for me my wish really did come true, and as for the bravest little dog of all, she piss on the ground beside that tree because her wish had already come true, she had us.
Fearless are the young that grows, from the wisdom of time.
Enjoy your time at college Nerfy and good luck with your studying, Interplanetary Travel and Tourism, what a great future Generations have.
Now if we could just get rid of those arseholes who would rather we go backward instead of forward, but as amanfromMars says "Methinks that time is coming soon"
And your right, it is an unusual lucky 7, behind bars and in front of what looks like a time tunnel, but then again, looks can be deceiving, Enjoy.
Well Agent Heggle
What a very interesting read you posted, have you notice the speed of which technology has grown in the past hundred years, and thankfully it doesn't seem to be slowing down, and all thanks to a wonderful Educational System that is getting better all the time, whereas, in the past it was only the so call privilege ones that received a education so they could better themselves, while the rest had to fight their way through life to survive, and thankfully many did just that, so their young would not have to go through what they and previous Generations before them had to go through.
So thank you Agent Heggle, for indeed a wonderful post. 0 -
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We have been laying low, trying to understand the Fractality of the situation we have found ourselves in. I cannot get into the nitty-gritty right now, as Weebley just broke his silence by posting a comment in Wormhole 7, leading us to Wormhole 4.
Strangely, Wormhole 4 has 2 sets of 3 Wormholes on either side . . . 42 and 7 are hitting me in the face . . .
I will add to this post later on today, but right now, Epstein needs to post in ARG MetaPhoria
We do not know pain . . . we do not know fear . . .
Continued @ 3:30am 1/21/13 - By Lucy
Sorry for the common intro earlier on, but speed of posting was imperative. We have been silent since Nerfy and a fellow named "dave jr" caused Weebley to say our site was "Fractal" on The Daily Bell.
Oh, by the way, dogmax, that was a very nice post you wrote. Agent Heggle was chuffed, but alas, Nerfy went back to school and unless she "tunes in" during her rush to get back on track - she was a week late getting back, she may not have seen what you wrote yet, and not answer you just yet..
This "Fractal" thing began when Nerfy posted an up till then "private" email sent by Steve Munster to Graham/amanfromMars, as well as Pete 8 and Revolver on or about1/9/13. This email was a comment under her "Emerging See" post last Sunday, 1/13/13, while we were all off to Bangor Pier, looking for Weebley. This was the email:
Hi again, amanfromMars,
This is a global message, as Agent Revolver and Agent Pete 8 also need to know about it.
Note: amanfromMars is suffering from not being able to logon today, but I just noticed Agent Revolver just posted, and I can logon easily – Hi Agent Revolver – I will get the PayPal button up for your story today, but somebody needs to ask you a question on the site . . .
Logon problems:
When we are logged on using Safari, IE9, Firefox on the same local machine over a single DSL router, we tend to screw up the logon/off sequence, especially if we are having, let’s say a 6-way conversation. Lots of logging on and off happens. This is when we first experienced not being able to log on again. This happened for the first time over Christmas. The only thing done differently at that time was I got 6 laptops on the go simultaneously (W7 x 3, Win95 x 2, WinVista) over the same DSL router. 5 of these laptops are asleep in the loft at home - they may or may not be logged on to various accounts right now, as I let them go to sleep a while back and abandoned the concept, due to the logon problem that happened at the time I did it. Tonight, I will liven them up, log on, then log each one off.
Oh, I had ~3 browsers per machine attempting to logon, totaling ~18 simultaneous logons. It never worked, so I gave up. I now have to reboot my DSL router daily. Sorry! If it had’ve worked, I would’ve been posting like the wind . . .
I found this little snippet on the FAQ: http://en.support.wordpress.com/browser-issues/
snip---
Note: It is also possible for your Internet Service Provider to create a cache at the network level. This means that instead of viewing the WordPress.com web servers for some files, the ISP has created a cache to store files on their network to try to reduce bandwidth costs and also to make loading some web pages faster. If a network-side cache is causing you trouble, you most likely just need to wait for it to clear out on its own.
Snip---
Side note (or is it back note?):
By the way, on Wednesday, January 2 at 6am, I was rushing to get out the door to work (first day back,) and, as I was putting on my socks, I tweaked my back, which I haven’t done in years! I severely ****ed it up, and was in agony all day. Jo-ann said to take 2 Advil every few hours, which I did. After a few days of lessened agony, but still hurting badly, I realised the source of why I was unable to post anything . . . even though I really wanted and needed to post.
I stopped taking the Advil last Saturday, even though Jo-ann thought I was nuts, since the active ingredient Ibuprophen, seemed to be making me not myself . . . or myselves?
Weird. I need to be completely clean in order to post. Even a drink of alcohol makes me unable to post.
Anyway, I can’t fit that little ditty into the “story,” so here’s my apology for dropping out for so long. I was actually thinking really hard between Dec 30 and Jan 1 about which way to proceed, and had great expectations for Jan 2’s posting. That’s why I did some minor backroom stuff in the meantime, as well as doing much research, like this: http://www.angelfire.com/biz/JardinSilvestre/Celts.html
Guys, this is a prime example how plans never work out the way you think they will. I had no idea that I would cover up Dec 30 to Jan 7 with a ****ing Wormhole . . . or 7!
Sell, sell, sell!
Sent by: Steve Munster / Aqualine Fire
Phone: 416-410-8877 (press 1)
Toll free: 1-877-410-8877
Fax: 416-410-8867
email: steve @ aqualine fire . com
Aqualine Fire, 8510 Torbram Rd, unit 68, Brampton, ON, Canada, L6T 5C7
From: Graham C.
Sent: Wednesday, January 09, 2013 6:47 AM
To: weebley@heddinout.com
Subject: Fwd: amfM cannot log on. Hey Doc, What's Up? :-)
Begin forwarded message:
From: "Graham C."
Subject: amfM cannot log on. Hey Doc, What's Up? :-)
Date: 9 January 2013 11:44:31 GMT
To: Metaforia
Hi, Agent Weebley,
I am presently having the same difficulty and denial of service with usual username and password failing to open the box :-) Which is all a bit weird and therefore most interesting, for such things shouldn't really happen, should they, unless accidentally temporarily necessary to resolve a hot situation.
Regards, amfM
On 24 Dec 2012, at 00:50, Metaforia wrote:
Hi everyone,
I cannot log onto the website today. Very strange. I have changed the password a couple of times now - the site still recognises me as being me, but the new password does not work.
I see Epstein posted something, but later, also changed his password.
Are we entering Mordor?
Can someone else try logging on and posting something, please?
Sent by: Agent Weebley
phone: 416.410.7720
email: weebley @ heddinout. com
Heddinout Communications Ltd., 8510 Torbram Rd, unit 68, Brampton, ON, Canada, L6T 5C7
No virus found in this message.
Checked by AVG - www.avg.com
Version: 2012.0.2221 / Virus Database: 2637/5518 - Release Date: 01/08/13
What an odd email from Steve, eh? It's like he thinks we are all puppets! Anyway, this has turned into a long post, so I'll get to what dave jr said on my next post.0 -
Everyone is still sleeping in Ireland right now.
Although I have more to add about dave jr on his comment on The Daily Bell about our site being some sort of Dissociative Identity, causing Weebley have a Epiphany when linking it with Nerfy's posting of Steve's previously private email to Graham, I need to segue for a time . . .
Today, I signed Weebley up for the tentative upcoming VOAT (Variations On A Theme) story contest that pickarooney is trying to make stick.
By Lucy
If I could be so presumptuous as to be posting here in lieu of my hubby, Weebley, I would say that him thanking pickarooney for the VOAT suggestion is enough for me to be officially throwing his Trilby into the ring for him.
i.e.: Weebley is also saying "yes" to writing a story.
And if he happens to not return from the future in time, I will write a little ditty in his stead.
Love, Lucy
Since Weebley "thanked" pickarooney, I felt he does want to enter the VOAT, but cannot speak on boards.ie right now for some futuristic reason. We <em>have</em> been married for almost 25 years in this life, so I think I can read him pretty well.
If he doesn't come back in time, then I'll get lucky and get to write something creative myself. Let's see what tomorrow holds.
On another issue, we passed by the Elephant In The Room today. No-one noticed . . . so now is the time for battle: Boards.ie / Self Publishing . . . Number 17 in the hit parade . . . a lot has changed since 2011, and this subject is worth taking a few Polaroid shots at, as we pass by.
So come on . . . take a look at how times have changed with respect to Self Publishing!0 -
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HI Agent Dogmax!
I hope you're enjoying your trip with Donn. As my Aunty Rae-Rae says Rock On!
I've been really busy working at school - no time to go to Dundrum, until today. I feel like I just landed on the Mary Celeste, rather than Agent Paddy's AirCar. The silence here, there and everywhere is deafening. I have sent a message out to Steve on his own website; something weird is happening and I need to get to the bottom of it - I think he is the source.
I had the strangest field trip to Amerika last week. I missed the plane, and so did my friend, Flake. Instead, we drove to Boston, Massachusetts together in just under 2 hours! We had quite the chat . . .
I'll check in when I know more about what's going on. Hopefully, I'll get a Lucky Strike, and not get toasted by talking to Steve on his own site. Will he get it?
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I thought I would mention that I'm pretty sure my new friend, Flake, was the keyboardist in the previous video. I've been spending quite a bit of time with him at school, lately . . . he's really weird.
Want to hear something else that's really weird? 5 days after I posted last, I was checking my Dad's various haunts for any signs that he may be posting somewhere else, and happened upon a post about how the Americans didn't actually land on the moon, and how the Americans are covering up their lies with even more lies.
Imagine being lied to like that! Look Ma, no stars!
Dad told me one time that he always wondered how the moon lander was able to slow down to nothing and land perfectly without crash landing . . . he watched it on TV at the time on their Robinson Rentals B&W TV . . . and he was only like 8 or something! My Dad's really smart.
Anyway, that post led me to look at the comments. This one by Kristen on 02/08/13 05:09 PM directed the readers to a website with a post called Wagging The Moondoggie was chock-a-block full of well written explanations that make the moon landings seem like quite the Twilight Zone episode in our past.
But that is not why I am here today. I apologize for not bringing up the rear here recently, but I have been really busy with school. We went on a couple of field trips. The first one was to St Jacobs, Ontario. They had a cool wormhole to Lancaster PA. I wrote about it here . . . and there is a nice picture of my friend, Flake, as the header. Nice guy . . . and kinda weird . . . just the way I like my guys to be . . . Mum says I will probably pick a guy just like my Dad! I hope Dad comes back soon, so they can meet each other . . . Flake's too old for me, but lotsa fun . . . we partied like it was 1699!
In the absence of everyone else, except Agent Dogmax, I will try to explain and tidy up this Lug Nutz a.k.a. Mound Of Hostages thingy; I think we are going to see Zaph and Gordon soon . . . a little birdie told me, via a Post-It Note to "end with a bang." My Dad beats around the bush a lot, but I am quite impulsive and get right to the point . . . all he is trying to do is help Irish people succeed in helping themselves from getting pushed back into the Dark Ages again. For that, I am going to be breaking a T&C.
Underwood 5, Robot Daughter, and avert Nuclear War . . . .
. . . Twilight Zone MacGuffin tidy up . . . coming soon!0 -
Part 1
I never really thought about how long it had been since I last posted on Lug Nutz a.k.a. Mound Of Hostages until the other day. OMG, it was over a month ago! I tracked back to milestones in the past - I had posted on Monday the 11th, Valentine's Day was the following Thursday the 14th, then the VOAT 11 writing deadline was Sunday the 17th.
Flake, who is, I repeat, NOT my BF gave me the most wonderful Valentine's Day gift. Early that day, he talked me into skipping school. I never skip. "Let's go downtown [to Toronto,]" he said. I asked him why, but he wouldn't tell me.
We were on the QEW heading Eastbound, just beginning to ramp up onto The Gardiner Expressway, when he decided to put a blindfold on me.
"Er," I said, "do you have to put that on me?"
He laughed a little, and said he did have to, as he wanted our final destination to be a surprise. I rolled with it, but it did make driving a little difficult. Actually, the blindfold was probably a cheap Dollarama blindfold from last Halloween, so I could still see quite well [yuk, yuk.]
As we ramped down onto Jarvis Street and made a right, we went underground into 25 Dockside Drive. Flake flashed a piece of official looking paper at the security guard, and we got in easily.
As we got off the elevator, people kept on smiling at Flake as we passed by, saying "hi Christian!". He smiled, said hi back to them, and nodded. Weird. We made our way into a sound room and sat down; some long haired yobbos were tuning their guitars.
The bandmembers gushed when Flake entered. They kept on chanting "Mein Land." It was then that I realized Flake was indeed the keyboardist in the Moon Landing Hoax video! I met Jay Buchanan, Robin Everhart, Scott Holiday, and Mike Miley. I can't stop thinking about Jay to this day [sigh.]
Then the music began - and I metaphorically fainted.
Flake was now my BFF! Oh, and now I get it.
Part 2
The Friday, following Valentine's Day, and only 3 days before the VOAT 11 writing submission deadline, we were at school. Our Business professor gave us the most intense project ever. We had to get into groups of 2 and pick a real life company to work with. I picked Flake as my partner. Big mistake! We picked a company called Niche Interplanetary Travel Adventures from her list and will have to complete a series of tasks, culminating in us actually working there and doubling the revenue in 6 months. OMG. Luckily, after what seems to be a lifetime of living with P&M (Mum & Dad) and them running their business - I'm just going to parallel things they did to grow their business - top notch service, quality employees and ultra professionalism - and I had to write my VOAT story while we had tons of work on our metaphorical plate!
Flake was less than helpful. It was like he was more interested in P (Pater) a.k.a. Agent Weebley, than applying himself to the projects at hand.
The first thing we did was visit the travel company and ask lots of stupid questions. That put us in learning mode, as people love to talk about their business. Flake found that part easy.
Flake inadvertently got my creative juices flowing quite nicely on the VOAT 11 story. He had read the over 500 postings on our site, and liked a post from way back - called Fiver. This part intrigued him:
“This is outside class 4,” he said, pointing at the base of the classroom window. “We used to play a game here. Flicksies, I think it was called. We’d line up a few cards, then we’d take turns flicking cards, trying to knock down the standing cards. Whoever knocked the last card down took all. I wouldn’t play with Gordon Banks, or Georgie Best, or Billy Bremner. They were money.”
That was the fuel I needed for my story 4 fireworks display - but it was a dud, it seems.
Part 3
Fiver. My Dad's idea back then was for you to cut your fivers in half and double your money. But there is another - easier - way.
Yeah, I really wanted to know what was on Antilles' mind after I posted my last comment to him about the source of his inspiration in that VOAT 11 contest. Is he conscious that he lifted what I wrote about the Moon Landing Hoax? Are you conscious of it, Antilles?
How come you never answered me back?
A diminutive little girl posts on her virtual Underwood 5 typewriter about an alternate reality and it comes true.
My Weird Al Yankovic video, Amish Paradise, contained a few choice words: like Robinson Crusoe, as primitive as can be.
Which book made it into your story, Antilles?
And Mr E - did your Vatican Agents Of Time "wormhole" theme come from my Dad going into the future?
Do all 21 writers here secretly read Mound Of Hostages?
It's OK, people, we're all programmable bio-robots - WE'RE ALL ROBOTS - programmed from birth with a reality chosen by the people that have all the money in this world - and the power to change our worlds as they see fit.
But you can change the way you're programmed.
Oh, and welcome back Toasterparks - did you watch the video on the Moon Landing Hoax post - about the Madmen episode where they talked about getting toasted - was that just another coincidence - another Lucky Strike? Are you a Mr T that, like a phoenix, ashes put in The Mound Of Hostages, returns renewed and now immortal - ready to write uplifting stories now?
Now I have to avert an imminent nuclear war.
Oops - almost forgot - Flake wants me to spracken some Deutsch as a Part 3 close:
[to be continued]0 -
Part 4
I've been trying to get my head around WTF is happening here. Flake spilled his guts to me during dinner on Valentine's Day at The Keg in Newmarket. They have these gift cards, you see. Oops, I'm wandering off already!
Flake came here looking for my Dad and Mum, through me, by taking the same course as me in college. He wants to know more about Angels. But it seems I've been screwing with his head so much, he feels like he's on a skydive - meanwhile, I'm killing myself laughing!
"There's just this thing about 'you," he said.
I figured he wasn't really from Planet Binokule - especially since we recently decided to add 2 new Interplanetary tours to the line-up. I think maybe he got the binoculars idea from the Mein Land video. "Planet Binokule is far, far away," he kept saying whenever I asked. Yeah, Flake, like looking through binoculars the wrong way, eh? My trip to Planet MetaPhoria was well planned and full of virtual symbolic highly adventurous bike tours across the many crisscrossing planes found on MetaPhoria, but Flake's trip was non-existent - devoid of specific content.
"Are you some kind of dark sorcerer," he asked. "Am I under some kinda spell?"
Ha. I could go on for days, but it seems to me that my last post needed to be a respectable length, plus, it ended kinda crazy, talking about everyone being robots, and all. And the math that I said I was going to explore in my story, was OUTSIDE my story; in the comments section about Antilles' story number 3. It must all seem so freaky deaky. You have to know: I love you all. Group hug?
So I ended it, and have begun this brand spanking new post!
Hmmm. Flake just grinned sexily at me. He has quite the animal magnetism, you know. I must resist.
"Aren't you gonna tell me what comes next? Or am I just supposed to know?
Although I would like to tell him what being a robot is all about, I would rather talk about the lack of colour in my writing, Dad has the same problem. We seem to use videos to add and support our emotions imo.
"Do I make my own decisions here, or am I under your control?"
Oh, Flakey, get comfortable 2 square on your botty, man. I know you can touch your feminine side. Let go - get carried away! It's obvious I'm not out of line on my thinking.
OK, GO!
Gift cards are sooooooo cool. You buy a $100 gift card from a reputable place that is not going to go tits up anytime soon, and voila, you have a marketable security worth $100, but The Keg also has $100 they can now play with until you cash it in.
Everyone does it.
Perfectly legal and definitely encouraged. Banks do it. governments do it. Bigwigs do it. They call it OPM.
Dad and amanfromMars are working on freeing all Irish people from the shackles of the Euro with their own brand of gift card, but it is a 3D lenticular plastic coin, printed from stock supplied exclusively by DP Lenticular in Dalkey.
That, my Irish friends, is the detonator for the B-Bomb - the balance sheet bomb. None of this is taxable. The $100 paid is not a taxable transaction, and the $100 cash The Keg receives, goes on their balance sheet as an asset, as well as a liability - also not taxable, because nothing has been purchased yet.
But Dad has disappeared into the future for some reason. Flake and I are trying to figure out why. Is this only going to happen in the future?
Flake wants to know something - he just asked me who Qubit is. This is Qubit - Alan Turing. He posted a message just after Enda Kenny gave away Irish Sovereignty after the Yes/No Campaign last year, while Dad was in Prison with Gordon.
Did anyone click the smilie "emoticon" on my last post?0 -
Part 5
Flake stayed over last night. We've been knee deep in getting Niche Interplanetary Tours (NIT) ready for doubling their revenue. We went to Cambridge, Ontario, on Friday to look at a mezzanine. NIT's office is quite small - only 1394 square feet of space. I found a mezzanine on Kijiji
$9500
Freestanding Steel Mezzanine For Sale
Deck area is 64'-5" x 29' for a total of 1868 sq. ft. less stair opening.
Distance from ground to plywood floor deck is 136". There is 10 feet of clearance from the ground to the bottom of the truss.
All posts, beams, joists and trusses are bolted together for easy disassembly and assembly.
Plywood sheets cover the steel corrugated floor.
Comes with a full set of steel stairs.
Brush the dust off and it looks new.
Mezzanine and stairs are only for sale. Lighting, ductwork etc. is NOT included.
Measurements to be verified by purchaser.
Flake said it was too big for the office, but I used that as a bargaining chip. I told the guy it was excellent but massive, and would have to be extensively modified to fit - and we could only use maybe 4 of the 10 bays of mezzanine. Our office is 24'-4" wide and only 50' long. We would have to store or sell the rest. It had been for sale since Feb 27 with a few nibbles, but no bites, and he had a deadline of Mar 28 for it to be gonzo, since they were moving to a new place with a lower ceiling, and they didn't want to hire a bunch of midgets. He did add that he had nothing against midgets, as they are usually very smart, and need little training, but revenue was down these days, and he didn't have enough work for the people he had on staff already. Anyway, I asked him what the lowest price was that he could accept, stating that I wasn't the kind of girl who makes an offer 30% lower than the lowest asking price.
$8500.
Sold!
Space in Toronto costs $160 / sq ft, so getting a mezzanine for $4.50 is a screaming deal. I'm going to modify it so it completely covers the floor area, minus a spot to use the Raymond reach fork to get skids up top and pallet around up there.
Anyway, it was a tiring trip. There were tons of rear-enders coming back , so Highway 401 was stop and go all the way. The 38 minute trip took 1.5 hours.
I got up a few hours ago, but Flake is still sleeping downstairs in my brother's room. Daily should be back from the Middle East in a few days. He doesn't know about Mum & Dad yet. Daily is in the Navy. He's coming back from a tour.
I've been sitting here in the kitchen, pondering how to tie in Dad's Frank Zappa story into the ending, and quite frankly, I had no idea how to do it, until a few minutes ago. This now poses a problem for me. But it's a good kinda problem.
Oh, Flake''s up - he just got in the shower. What's that; he's whistling? Is it Peter Gabriel?
[to be continued]0 -
Part 5 continued
I must apologize. I am now onto my 4th epiphany since I began part 5 a week ago, Sunday morning. I had good intentions of editing that post till Tuesday morning, but the mezzanine purchase took 100% of my time from Sunday afternoon, as I emailed back and forth with the seller about the logistics of getting it taken down and shipped to NIT's office. they had to have it out of there by March 31. And since Flake was coming over for hot crossed buns on Friday, and some sugar on Saturday and Sunday, we had to be done by Thursday, March 28.
The seller recommended a guy called Al, from a company called Stationery Movers. Something seemed off colour about him and his company, right from the get-go. He had reams of glossy references, but he told me he would only staple himself to the tow motor, using it to lift the tongue and groove plywood, corrugated steel flooring, the beams and offer his civil engineering guidance - so nothing would fall and crush anyone - i.e.: no lifting. And we would need 9 man days to take it down. He was a a little one-sided about not wanting to supply any other labour, the truck, or to help unload at NIT's office. I drew a blank at this pile of sheet - what kind of mover doesn't have a binder full of contacts? Anyway, we were stuck, so after arranging labour and a truck we did it over the next 3 days, finishing on Wednesday night at 8pm. Thursday, I was pretty dog-eared - and my brother, Daily, came home on Thursday night.
Which is when the first epiphany began. He wondered where Mum & Dad were, and showed me their gifts from the Middle East. Mum was getting a 2 tone shawl from India, and Dad was getting a black resin Ganesha. I'll take a snap of it tonight when I get home and show you.
Anyway, I have no idea how to begin to explain the epiphany situation, except for the fact that when I searched on the lyrics for the Sparks tune I played, I accidentally clicked on another album cover from Sparks. Something knocked me outta the trees on that one!
I need to relax and take a hundred deep breaths, before I break the news. There is too much at stake.
[To be continued]
Continuation
As promised, here's the picture I just snapped of Daily's present to Dad
Black Resin Ganesha
I'll have to tell you later on how that idol ties in with what's going on - much later. You see, I had a plan. The plan was to have 7 parts to this last post, as a tribute to my Dad. I began famously, with part 1, 2, and 3 in 1 post, then I did part 4 in another post, then part 5, 6, and 7 were to be in the 3rd and last post - a mathematical 42.
But, as I mentioned earlier, I got sidetracked by the mezzanine (and the Arena challenge.)
My goal was to explain how Dad's Frank Zappa story tied in with The Mound Of Hostages, and how his colour blindness story also tied in. But that seems like a long time ago now. I knew Dad had a point to make, but all I had was the few elements he told me about.
One element was the Frank Zappa - Room Service song itself, and the fact he screwed up on thinking the unnamed hotel was The Fillmore Hotel in NY City.
He searched Google and found only one Fillmore Hotel in Fillmore - in upstate NY. He then had to find a business in the same town.
He found one: Cuba Specialty Manufacturing.
Cuba.
This was the point where my epiphanies started, as I began to make connections to everything that has been happening here, and the point that my Dad has been making since day zero: we are connected and need to work together.
And the hundredth monkey says the date is July 27, 2012.
Anyway, my 7 posts thing is pretty well out the window now. I am now in the QED phase of the story.
Epiphany number 1: JFKs "I have a dream: The Moon," and the CIA's games leading to the Cuban Missile Crisis.
Nothing is as it seems - directed history. And we are willingly programmed pawns in their games.
The following was posted in The Arena, but I had to remove it.
Too bad; every word was a pearl:
Hi hcass,
I'm probably going to be tarred and feathered for doing this, but I was just chatting with my friend, Flake; he says I should challenge you to a story. Sounds good to me!
We're pretty busy with the mezzanine that is now in pieces on the shop floor, so we need to coordinate the time to write a story in advance. We spent the afternoon and evening clearing some space for the first 13.5' a 12.5' bay that needs to be erected above the office. The office has a nice laminate floor that would be destroyed by skidding forklift wheels, so we figured we need something that is safe, and would lift a 160lb joist in the air to 10'. I just emailed a man about a hoist, then sat back on the horizontal mezzanine stairs (!), sipping a Perrier. Actually, we had sipped 5 Perriers throughout the day. We didn't drink them all, as the bottles were pretty big and went flat after leaving them open for a while. I began to rap on some "almost" empties with a stick, which reminded me of a song by Fad Gadget. Flake filled up a few empties to varying levels, tuning them properly to 5 notes, then, after hanging them up for me, he called up a keyboard app on my new Samsung Galaxy Note 2, then programmed a simple drumbeat, bass riff, and Yamaha DX7 keyboard lead into the built-in 4 track sequencer. I played the Perrier bottles and sang.
Lots of fun.
We eventually collapsed in laughter after singing and playing our most amusing rendition of the song.
So here's the deal: I'm swamped, especially from now till Saturday night. If you get this message, and are into the challenge, can we arrange a time to for you to accept the challenge that works for you and I? Accepting sometime this coming Saturday night would probably work for me, as I could then write it on Saturday night and Sunday morning.
I'm thinking of mezzanines not collapsing (and never seeing stars,) so here's the subject: Fad Gadget
[I'll add a picture of the mess of pick-up sticks on the shop floor tomorrow, when I get to NIT's office.]
Now I know how Dad must have felt when he got accused of being cuckoo, and got cocooned up inside The Mound Of Hostages - but I feel good!
Upon reflection on what just happened back in the Arena, I feel like I got stopped at some sort of South African traffic light. Am I in a Randian "you can't have freedom without restrictions" place?
Maybe Dad realized we had come come too soon for you, so he went into the future.
Where's my Angel, Gabriel?
As promised, here is the picture of the mezzanine pieces all over the floor of the rear shop at NITs place. I'm a little freaked out right now. Not because the Prime Mover forklift that we have seems to parallel Ayn Rand and "The Fountainhead" story, but the fact that all the alien visitors' baggage is not in the racks; the image of the stuff in the background was not there when I took it - it seems to be fire protection equipment. See the yellow bucket with fire extinguishers in it?. And there is a bandsaw in the rack, just to the right and above the exit sign. I remember Steve bought a bandsaw so he could begin making Stirling Engines.
Very weird. I'm waiting for Mo to come in. He runs the Travel Agency.
This concludes the 48 hour editing window. I am the monkey. Hurt me, hurt me.0 -
Part 6
I wouldn't be posting tonight, if it weren't for my friend, Flake.
"They probably all think you ares singing the blues, Nerfy," he said. "That's not the truth. It's not really the blues. Don't leave them hanging like that."
And I tend to agree. Flake's my rock these days, you see. And he's sooooo Handy!
We've been knee deep in erecting the mezzanine since last Friday afternoon. My brother, Daily, has been instrumental in helping lift the 160 lb beams and 100 lb joists onto the forklift with Flake, while I operate the forklift to get them into position, while they use the electric impact gun to attach them onto the columns. We have 3 of the 10 bays up already. And I've arranged for 5 beams to have 40" lopped off and have the end re-welded by Friday, so we can erect them this weekend.
And Mo, has been instrumental helping keep the place in some semblance of order - all the baggage, boxes, and knickknacks in the racks have been in the way of the columns going up. One day, we had the rear driveway full of skids of travellers' stuff, when we dismantled a complete rack with 4 levels of shelving.
One suitcase in particular was quite heavy, you see. The name on it - Bessie Smith. Mo helped me move it onto a skid, with another couple of suitcases with MM embossed on them, then I lifted the skid outside to make more room for moving beams and joists inside.
I asked Mo: "Who's Bessie Smith?"
Mo, an elderly black guy, slowly disappeared into his own mind; his eyes gazing up and off to the left - a sly grin appeared on his face - a slo-mo moment, it seemed. This was the first time I had the opportunity to take a good look at him. As I waited for him to answer, I noticed his bright eyes, the deep furrowed lines on his face, and the salt-n-peppa hair - and his Cajun appearance. His thin mustache looked like Ron Mael's mustache from that band, Sparks. It elegantly hugged his upper lip from end to end. He looked like a bartender from a speakeasy in Memphis.
Then, all of a sudden, his eyes shot over to me. I was caught staring at him and felt a little uneasy in my cataloging of his face without his permission.
"It's not about her, honey. You need to focus on the zombies." Mo continued to look deep into my eyes, while I digested what he had just said.
I knew it. I'm falling into the same trap as Dad. My plan to end this story is falling around my ankles as I metamorph into new directions. I can't help it. This Twilight Zone story is going to The Outer Limits.
But as my mouth began to open to reply to Mo, his eyes smiled and twinkled. You know what that's like, don't you? An imperceptible flash between 2 people as they communicate something - he communicated something to me - a wordless something. Then, as my tongue got into position for the first word to form, a song came to mind.
"Let's go for a some java and leave these guys alone for awhile, honey."
[to be continued]0 -
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Part 6 continued
"Suitcases, suitcases everywhere, but not a craft to fly them on."
Those words have been echoing in my head since last Saturday night. After I wrote that little ditty in The Arena, while my laptop was lying precariously on top of a suitcase, Flake looked on in amazement.
"How did you know I bought us tickets for a week at The Grand Sirenis in the Mayan Riviera, Nerfy?"
"Er - I didn't?"
So much for going home at 7:30pm that night! I was so excited, yet freaking out at the same time. We had to get the mezzanine finished and everything sorted ASAP. NIT was getting busy. People were coming in to pick up bags or drop off bags all the time.
We leave at 2am tonight (EDST US/Canada,) which is about 4 hours from now, after a little nap.
OMG - we went like the wind and got the last piece of plywood screwed down late last Tuesday night. Then we had to cut all the racking to half the height and rebuild it under and on top of the mezzanine, then move all the suitcases and boxes back into some semblance of order.
But something weird happened. Yesterday, Flake and I were resting on top of the mezzanine. I could hear Mo down in the front office talking to someone.
"Ah yes, she's another Scheherazade, that girl!
I heard murmuring from whoever he was talking to - I couldn't make out anything she was saying. Then he played a song, and I couldn't hear a thing anymore.
I went downstairs to see who it was, but all I saw was a suitcase sitting on the floor, and Mo was smiling at me from his desk.
"Hey Nerfy," he said, "you know the guy you hired to help us with logistics a month ago? He just quit today. He got a government job doing logistics for them, but way more money and benefits, as well as a sweet pension."
My mouth agape, I mouthed the word: shiiit, but couldn't even say it. No wonder the economy is going to the dogs. Once everyone's working for the government, we'll all be commies with a boot on our face.
I picked up the suitcase to bring it back to the shop area.
"You just missed Lorelei, Nerfy. She's quite enamoured with you, but she had to go. She said maybe she'll see you in the Mayan Riviera?"
I looked at the suitcase. In shiny bright blue letters was her name: Lorelei.
I need some shut-eye. Scheherazade, eh? My Dad used to listen to that album when he was a kid. I think it's downstairs.
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Hi there,
I couldn't sleep. Flake got a little burnt today in the Sun, and put on some aloe vera, then went to bed at 9:30pm (Mexican time.) I went to bed too (2 double beds in the room, people!)
Me? I had a weird dream and woke up at 11:30pm. I had a weird dream yesterday too, but my Mum said never to use dreams as entry points into writing anything, as they are overused; the same as Alice in Wonderland down the rabbit hole and CS Lewis through the fur coats into Narnia stuff, so I won't be going there with you.
I just thought I'd check in to say that this Mexico trip is great! We went to Ek' Balam 2 days ago, and swam in the biggest Cenote. Ek means black and Balam means panther. It's the oldest Mayan palace in the Yukatan peninsula. They buried it in rocks to keep it away from the Spanish invaders and just found by satellite it in 1997. It's pretty raw, and you can still climb the 106 steps to the top of the pyramid, which I did - easy and freaky at the same time.
A cenote (pron. cen o tay) is an underground and usually connected lake. They have no surface rivers in the Yucatan - they stumble on underground water sources - hopefully not the hard way!
We got blessed by a Shaman, by the way, at the cenote. We had to say "mal o kin" to him really loudly as a hello, since he is almost deaf - and really old. We had to say goodbye in Mayan, but I've forgotten what the word was already.
Anyway, the subject of monkeys came up with Frederic, our Belgian tour guide. Oh, I got an earful from Mo about me saying I was "the monkey" a while back. He said it was a cop out. I said I don't know why I said that. Here in the Yucatan, the Mayans say monkeys are sacred creatures. Tomorrow, we are going to the jungle side of The Grand Sirenis resort to see the enclave of monkeys that live in the jungle here. I hope they are spider monkeys.
Anyway, I'll try to check in again soon, and hopefully upload some video of the excellent sunrise I took on Monday. Witnessing the first 15 minutes of Sunrise is great for the Pineal Gland, according to Bashar. I hop I can uload it OK, as the net is really slow here. The view is great, since we have an ocean-view room - I paid the $280 for that upgrade. It was the least I could do. I'm sure this trip cost him a bundle. I'm so happy Flake treated me to this trip! Very relaxing.
Monkeys again - narf!
PS: Maybe next time I'll explain a little more about my ROCKford story in the Arena - if anyone's interested, that is. The whole Yucatan is made of rock - hardly any soil here.0 -
OMG, my Dad's back! He posted a pearl to an old friend of his on The Daily Bell at midnight, last night. Here's the text:
@ bionic mosquito
Well, well, well . . . well, well, well, well . . . I see you've finally crossed over into Opposite Land! Click to view link
Do you think it's quite possible that Antal and Ingo are just having a go at youth with their foxy words? This thread proves we are giving them a run for their money, I mean gold, I mean a piece of paper they issue instead of their gold.
Here's a cool "3D printing" comment on ZeroHedge by CH1: Click to view link That's the future.
Now we can only wait, as Narcissus turns into a flower . . .
A Flower?
You should read the "Alice In Wonderland" comment to Ingo by bionic mosquito. Ingo Bischoff was here a while back - remember him?
Oh, I'm so happy! Maybe my Mum's coming back too?
Sorry for not posting on The Arena yet; 329 people have viewed my last post there so far, so I know an explanation is wanted. I've been recuperating from the Mexico trip since Sunday night - unable to gather my thoughts to post - back to real life, as they say. We never did get to see any monkeys, which was a bummer. And the Internet was painful to use down there. $45 for a satellite connection for the week - the long latency made watching any YouTube videos a disaster, cuz the video was sooooo choppy due to the latency and resultant video buffery.
Hang on a mo',
"As Narcissus turns into a flower?" That's a line from Genesis - Supper's Ready, isn't it? And it refers to a story in Ovid's Metamorphoses about Narcissus and Echo (beach?)
OMG, I think Dad was talking to me while he spoke to bionic mosquito. A link to a Bitcoin and 3D printing comment buried deep on the net? And "That's the future?" Is that where Dad was?
And I think Narcissus is Government in love with itself, and the flower is what is going to happen to them.
Lyrics
Metamorphoses - Romeo and Juliet was based on that story, wasn't it? This is getting complicated. I need to speak to Mo again.0 -
"How was the Mexico trip, Nerfy?"
I walked in on a bloody mess in the front office at NIT. Suitcases and boxes everywhere, stacked up so all I could do was walk down a central path.
"Excellent, Mo" I said.
But he could see I was stressed already. Indeed I was. All these boxes had to be organized ASAP. He sat me down and we had some Java, but he had some Javascript up his sleeve, it seemed. After a few minutes, I realized he was running a subroutine on me without me knowing. The source of my problem was not so much the problems at NIT, but finishing my Dad's story.
"It's like this, Nerfy," he said, "there's so many neural connections you are making now, that you will have no trouble continuing on. The story will not end. the end will be a new beginning. You are now fractal."
I sat there dumbfounded. In my mind, the end of Lug Nutz a.k.a. Mound Of Hostages was imminent. This Twilight Zone story was to end as soon as I completed my Clinton and Monica Lewinski ending to the Cuban Missile Crisis. It made me happy and sad at the same time.
"Nerfy?"
"Yes, Mo?"
"I would say, you are like limestone metamorphosis - you won't lose your marbles over this ending thing. Like echo beach said: your destiny is to be a cult writer. The trick is to ensure the cult is 7 billion people huge. I would say you're gonna go far."
As he sat there with those beautiful smiling eyes, contrasting with his ancient face, all I could do was wish you were all here with me to feel the joy of being with him.
Ovid is coming soon. Hopefully, we'll all be able to smoke a Romeo & Juliet together.
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Part 7
I can't sleep. I stuck a Post-It note on the fridge for Flake to let him know where I've gone - I just drove from home in Caledon, to NIT's office on Torbram Road in Brampton. This 2003 Honda Odyssey EX is still awesome. I was up to a buck twenty as I passed Castlederg Sideroad.
Zum Zum!
The night air was so refreshing, blowing hard as I drove those country roads southbound. And all the roads were particularly empty tonight, since it's "Victoria Day" - a long weekend here. We've all got tomorrow off. Most people are up North at cottages, or other peoples cottages or camp sites if they don't have rich parents or cushy jobs. Mum & Dad's home is on the way to cottage country, so it feels like we live in a cottage all the time.
But I needed to think, so I drove. And I can't stand aimless driving - I need a destination.
As I turned off Airport Road onto Clark Boulevard, a cop came out of nowhere and hung behind me as I drove. It's a 50km/h zone on Clark, so I was careful not to give him a reason to pull me over. Signalling then turning left onto Torbram Road, he went straight.
Phew!
As I pulled up to the overhead door of NIT's unit, pressing the remote inside the car to open it so I could drive in, I was reminded of the mezzanine once again. Still a mess, no lighting under the mezz yet, and stuff is still all over the place - I figure I'll take my mind off things by cleaning up a bit.
The coffee machine just beeped the ending of the brewing cycle, so I've poured a cuppa. While I waited, I hooked up my Sony Vaio Zee and logged on. I remembered the "whistle" post I had made in March, just before we got the mezz, so I found it, then laughed; it had a semi-colon in it. I just posted a little ditty here for a lark.
Funny really. I figured out what Flake was whistling in Mexico when he was delirious with the Major Burns thing going on that night. Most of my tan has flaked off now, but man, what a trip that was!
Am I all freaked out because Rubecula just divulged that Noddy used whistles in the latest episode of his story?
Am I now Ms Wobbleywoman? Caught up in a helical something?
Music, yeah, I need some music - It'll break this dark silence.
[to be continued]0 -
So 'ow's my li'le Cho-Cho-San?
I whipped my head around to see some sort of parsley head sitting on the futon in the front office. His buckled teeth framed by a wide cheeky smile. He looked strangely familiar.
"Her name is Jo-Jo, and I'm not a guy! Why does everyone think I'm a guy?"
I reached over to my cup of coffee and took a slurp, almost spitting it out but managing to get it back in the mug. It was stone cold.
"Maybe it's size of your Sex Bristols? Don't worry, sweet'eart, they just fink you're a bi' of a Desmond. And your Dad: a Plastic Paddy."
I looked closely at his features, but needed confirmation. "Er, who are you, and how did you get in?"
"Mawcum is my name, and being a Hampton is my game! You seem a li'le under the wevver. I fink you fink everyfing's gone all Pete Tong on ya."
"It is you! Hi Malcolm. I'm a little bummed, since my telepathic QED got overshadowed by alfa beta's story ending. But what brings you here at this auspicious time? I'm almost done here."
He got up from the futon and paced around the office, stopping idly at the various trinkets, then picking up the Ganesha meant for Dad. I had brought it to the office a while back, as the black ebony look went well with the decor of the office, and it became a focal point of loveliness amongst the mess. He traced the snake running around Ganesha's waist with his finger.
"I fink you're too freaked ou', swee'ie pie. Sam of these J Arfurs can't see the helix. They're dismissing these telepaffic connections as coincidences. They don't want to know nuffin about you. 'Eads buried in the sand, that's wo' i' is. That's why most of 'em ignore you."
"What helix?"
He carefully put the Ganesha down where he found it, and sat back down. Our eyes met once again.
"Your Lardy is about to be smoked, so I wouldn' stick your Gregory out too much on the issue of your Dad in that alfa beta story. It was nuffin, ge' i'? 'E was just talkin' straight wiv your sis' when she was 'avin' over the top 'ormone problems. Just a few misconscrewed up words that your sis' used wiv Children's Aid to try to fry 'im. Bu' your Dad was squeaky on tha'. Nuffin 'appened. Remember, all 4 of you siblings were adopted and 'ave Attachment Disorder. She didin' fink your Dad was her Dad. She was just tryin' to frow your Dad under the bus and succeed in spli'in' your Mum & Dad up. Typicuw. Don't pull a Pinkerton on 'im. Nuffin you say will sound right."
He got up and walked over to me.
"But you're OK, swee'ie, you're pure Me'aPhorian. You're diff'rent to the uvver 3. I fink you need to forge' abou' alfa beta's ending an' just chalk i' up to unexpected telepaffic consequences. It's time to me'amorphosise the ones 'oo wannago fru i'!"
As he gazed at me, and me at him, his words tailed off and disappeared. What's this helix. Dad always talks about the helix. Everything goes full circle, but you are in a different place.
0 -
I wiped my eyes a little and looked up. Malcolm was gone. My phone rang. It was Flake. I couldn't answer it. I knew what he wanted - to see my Dad. But Dad is not forthcoming.
Flake. What a nice guy! I remember spreading Aloe Vera over his torso that evening in Mexico. He was sooooo burnt. Then he tried to get some sleep. That was the night I realized he was married and had a little girl back in Berlin. When he's asleep, he's back with his wife, and when he's awake, he's with me.
He tossed and turned, saying "ow" a lot, but then he must have found a painless spot to lie on.
He then uttered these words: "So here’s the deal . . . we need Angels . . . lots of Angels . . . to help us!"
When he was whistling in the shower a while back, I thought he was whistling a Peter "Angel" Gabriel song, but, in hindsight, I got it wrong. After hearing him say "we need angels, lots of angels," it brought me back to Steve's last words on ukfupped.com.
Both my stories in THE ARENA are about starting a new currency and trading with it. In order to do that, we need angels, lots of angels. And it doesn't matter what the product is. We just need to have one to satisfy the adults so we can produce gift coins and give them away to everyone. 86.2 million people need to give us $1. With that, we can produce billions, no, trillions of dollars. A currency by the people for the people. Then the wars will stop. The powerful people that control us using these currencies won't even see it coming.
As Flake lay there peacefully, he began to speak in perfect English:
Live in virtue no desire
And in the grave an angel's choir
You look to heaven wonder why
No one can see them in the sky
Just as the clouds have gone to sleep
Angels can be seen in heaven's keep
Alone in fear they question why
Goddamn not an angel when I die
Angels live they never die
Apart from us, behind the sky
Fading souls who've turned to ice
So ashen white in paradise
Just as the clouds have gone to sleep
Angels can be seen in heaven's keep
Alone in fear they question why
Goddamn not an angel when I die.
Erst wenn die Wolken schlafengehen
kann man uns am Himmel sehen
wir haben Angst und sind allein
Gott weiß ich will kein Engel sein
Goddamn not an angel when I die
I knew the song he was reciting. The moment I figured out he was Christian Lorenz, I immediately listened to everything Rammstein had on YouTube. It was then that I knew my destiny was to be some sort of Pied Piper, leading the other children into the mountain to escape.
But now, I understand that I am not the one that is blowing that whistle.
Bye0 -
-
Thanks, Danpad!
Oh, and I never do what I'm told, even when I'm remote controlled. Probably because I'm n-n-n-nineteen.
And contrary to what Malcolm said, I have really big guns, and I'm not scared to fire them:
0 -
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