CLICK5: On Christmas Mourn

Story Time: Christmas Death Wish

*Hello, Clicky… /pats snout… Gonna post my Underdog Anthology Christmas story. Wanna help?*

*Whoa there, easy tiger… /lights up and smokes… Just chill out and put your fins up. I’ll do it…*

Dear Reader, I couldn’t leave my Halloween story ‘What Time Do You Finish?‘ to end where it did, so I wrote a follow up for the Christmas Underdog Anthology. With only six days left until the big day, Underdog Anthology XIII: Coronamas would make an ideal stocking filler present, and in an effort to persuade you, I reproduce ‘Christmas Death Wish’ for you, below. Enjoy! ❤

*******

Christmas Death Wish

by Roo B. Doo

Death grimaced at the receptionist, who paid scant attention to the Grim Reaper sitting patiently in the God Lobby. The cavernous reception area was named the God Lobby as that was where those that wished to lobby God congregated in the hopes of an audience. The enormous space tended to be packed out with petitioners from either of the beseecher categories – the ‘Please God’ and ‘Dear God No’ – but at that precise moment, and apart from the goose manning the reception desk, Death was the God Lobby’s only occupant.

“Quiet here today… today… oday… ay…” Death’s voice echoed across the vast expanse between himself and the reception desk. The only response was a faint sound of scritch-scratching from the nib of the receptionist’s quill pen.

How long he had been waiting, Death knew not; it could have been any amount of time between a second and eternity. The God Lobby contained no clocks or shadows to mark the passage of time, only the oblique Mists of Time and even they appeared to have gone AWOL. At best, the most anyone could rely on in this place was their own body clock, but as Death had no body to speak off, he was already at a distinct disadvantage.

Hello, Big D.

Death didn’t need to turn in the direction of the friendly voice to know that God was filling the seat next to him. “Ma’am. I was just saying, it’s very quiet in here today.”

Quite. You wanted to see me?

Death shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “No, you wanted to see me.” Death turned to look God in the face; she was wearing a serene countenance, covered by a floral print face mask.

The scratching of the receptionist’s quill ceased and was replaced by the sound of chair legs scraping against the highly polished floor, followed by slaps of webbed feet as the goose receptionist approached, clutching a piece of parchment.

Thank you, Brian.

God took the proffered page and scanned it.

Ah. Apparently there was an unauthorised Armageddon occurrence on 31st October 2020. Do you know anything about that, Death?

The pause that followed could have been pregnant with octuplets, as Death felt the weight of God’s silence and Brian’s suspicious gaze fall upon him. Death was indeed intimately acquainted with the events that transpired on the Halloween in question. He shuddered at the memory of the brutal slaying of his occasional companions Famine, Pestilence and War in the back of a London black cab, driven by Old Scratch, the Devil himself. It was an abomination, an aberration, a fluke or trick, although Death had not as yet settled on which.

“Um, yes… some,” Death replied slowly. “My understanding is that the whole event was triggered by a misaddressed Christmas wish made by a pure soul. One Molly Darling, aged 6.”

A letter to Santa?

God swung her attention towards the receptionist. Death watched in amazement as Brian’s plumage turned from snow white to an embarrassed shade of pink. A big glob of goose fat trickled down one of his legs.

Brian, I thought we’d patched the Santa/Satan glitch.

The God Lobby’s haughty receptionist replied with a mournful honk.

Oh dear. It seems we have a bit of a boo-boo on our hands.

Death jumped down from his chair and bowed deeply before God. “Surely the situation can be remedied, Ma’am?”

God waited until Death straightened from obeisance to his full height of three foot three, before gently patting him on the the shoulder.

But of course. I have every faith in you, Big D.

Me? …Me? …me? … e?” Death waited for the reverberation of his outburst to disappear before continuing in a more measured tone. “You would like me to, um, remedy the situation?”

You are the ideal candidate.

“But I only have one method at my disposal.” With a flick of his bony wrist, Death produced a retractable scythe from the armhole of his robe. He struck the ground with its shaft causing a death knell boom to thunder around the God Lobby.

God waved her hand over the scythe blade, allowing the lightning sparks that careened from it to latch on to her fingertips. She directed their chaotic dance along its keen edge.

Don’t underestimate yourself, Big D. Short of stature you may be, but in terms of resourcefulness, you are a giant.

Death had been around; he knew flannel when he heard it. “Ma’am, there would be dire consequences for moving a soul along before its time.”

Indeed, so it would be best if that were to not happen.

God stood up and Death bowed again; his audience was over. God started moving toward the reception desk but then paused.

You might speak with dear Soda Pops. He’s jolly resourceful too and, as the intended recipient of Molly’s wish, he may care to have a say in the matter.

“An excellent suggestion, Ma’am. I shall seek out Father Christmas immediately.”

Just keep it on the down low, Big D. Things can get very tricky when one’s fallibility is called into question.

By the time Death had straightened from his bow, God had disappeared. He was alone in the cavernous reception room, save for a now somewhat chagrined Brian, who was once again safely ensconced behind his desk, furiously scratching away with a quill pen and doing his utmost to avoid unnecessary eye contact.

Death sighed; he would have to go to Lapland; he hated visiting Lapland. Not for the first time, it occurred to Death that the ‘God Lobby’ had been extremely well named.

*******

The entrance to Lapland wasn’t obvious at first glance, set as it was in a shady alcove, next to a garishly lit 24-hour Kwiki Mart on a less than salubrious back street of London. The muted thump of drum and bass music playing loudly somewhere vibrated in the air.

Death rapped smartly on the bland and undistinguished door and waited. The flap of the letterbox, set high up the door, opened and quickly closed.

Death knocked again, this time standing back from the door to afford the lookout a better view of his personage. Again, the letterbox flap opened and a pair of beady eyes appeared to scan the street before alighting on Death.

“No children allowed,” the gruff voice behind the door barked, as the letterbox flap once more clattered shut.

Death flourished his retractable scythe and lifted the flap to the letterbox open with the tip of its crackling blade. “I am not a child. Let me in.”

The eyes, now wide with fear, reappeared through the gap. “What’s the password?”

“Ho. Ho. Ho.”

There was a clunk and a click before the door quickly opened, allowing Death admittance to Father Christmas’s main residence. Once inside, Death made his way up a short flight of stairs to what appeared to be the source of the residual music thumping in the street outside: Lapland lap dancing club – adulterating Christmas 364 days of the year.

“Hi, I’m Sally. May I take your cloak?” The beautiful elf that greeted Death was dressed in only a few strands of tinsel, strategically placed to leave everything and yet nothing to the imagination.

“No thank you, Sally. I need to speak with Soda Pops.”

“Sure, come this way.”

Sally led Death through a throng of tables that were laden with drinks, ashtrays and Christmas poinsettia, and banks of couches hosting drunken patrons enjoying all manner of attentions and gyrations from Lapland’s scantily clad hostesses. The air was so thick with smoke, sweat and noise that Death’s route through the crowd could be seen clearly, carved into the fug by the blade of his scythe. They crossed the dance floor and passed a stage set with a shiny North Pole, from which a simply stockinged elf clung, spun and straddled, throwing revealing shapes for the audience.

“He’s through here,” Sally simpered, pulling a beaded tree light curtain aside, and ushered Death into a large side room. The room was ambiently lit, and filled with a mass of sparsely clothed elven bodies, both writhing and languishing synchronously in what sounded like an ecstasy of delight. In the corner sat Soda Pops, a.k.a. Father Christmas, his face buried deep into the backside of a gently bleating reindeer, whose nose pulsed and glowed.

Death cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Soda Pops, may I have a word?”

“Bugger off!” Soda Pops bellowed, without looking up.

The reindeer appeared to catch a sudden glance of Death’s scythe and backed away nervously, hooves skittering.

“Fuck me, you’re keen!” Soda Pops pushed at the animal’s quivering hindquarters as they squashed further against his sweaty face. He caught sight of Death standing impassively in the doorway. “You! So, this is how I am to end?! Suffocated whilst pleasuring a reindeer!”

Death shook his head. “No, this is a strictly informal visit, I assure you. I need to speak with you. Alone.”

“Okay.” Soda Pops nodded and slapped the backside of the reindeer, sending the clearly terrified creature careering past Death and out through the door. “Listen up people. I need you all to get the fuck out of here. Now!”

The mangle of bodies rose up, slowly untangling itself. Death held the door’s beaded tree light curtain side, allowing the disappointed and sullen elves to troop out, until only he and Soda Pops remained.

Soda Pops pulled his vest out from his trousers and used it to wipe his face and dry his beard. “So, what can I do for you, Big D?” He patted the couch seat beside him.

Death eyed the stained couch cushion and decided to decline. “That’s okay, I’ll stand.”

“A short visit, is it?”Soda Pops gibed with a mean chuckle.

Death moved his head from side to side, taking in the whole room before replying. “One can hope.”

“Heh. What is it you want?”

“A child.”

Quick as a flash, Soda Pops’ massive bulk shot from his seat, grabbed Death by his cloak, and slammed his small form up against the wall. His face, barely inches from the impenetrable void of Death’s cowl, was contorted with rage. “Now let’s get something straight between us, mush. I don’t deal in kids.”

Death gulped. “I-”

“I don’t care whatever smear the bastard tabloids have cooked up. My only interaction with children is the occasional Santa mall gig if I’m short on readies. That’s it. As far as kids are concerned, I don’t fucking exist.”

“If you… could… put me… down,” Death croaked and pawed at Soda Pops’ clenched hands with his free arm. “Have… scythe… not afraid… to use… it.”

The razor-sharp point of Death’s scythe slowly hove into view of Soda Pops’ angry eyes, lighting his face with fizzing, electric blue. He blinked and slowly slid Death back down the wall, his eyes never leaving sight of the blade hovering in front of his face. “Talk.”

Death straightened out his robe and indicated to Soda Pops to take a seat. “I’m not looking for a child. I’m looking for a specific child. A pure soul. She wrote a letter to you, but you didn’t receive it.”

Soda Pops rummaged through the detritus on the table in front of him until he found the butt of a cigar. He wiped it clean and lit it. “Don’t tell me. Santa/Satan?”

Death answered with an expressive shrug.

“I thought they’d fixed that!” Soda Pops settled back into his seat and puffed on his cigar. “For fuck’s sake. What a fucking joke! What happened?”

Death ran through the events that had occurred on the night of 31st October 2020. How the Devil had connived to enact a false flag Armageddon that had resulted in the savage expulsion from existence of Famine, Pestilence and War.

Soda Pops was aghast. “What the fuck! War’s gone?”

“I’m afraid so,” Death advised solemnly. “I took the liberty of googling ‘middle east peace treaties’ and found a number of them have recently been signed. Shortly after Halloween in fact. It’s strange though that there’s not been much of a hullabaloo about them in the press.”

“Fuck!”

“And Pestilence, poor sod.” Death shuddered in horror at his memories of that evening. Poor, sweet Pesto who never had a nasty UGH! to say about anybody. “With Pesto gone, you can bet your life Covid has too. Yet they’re still locking people down. It doesn’t make sense.”

“It does if there’s no more Famine.” Soda Pops banged on the arm of the couch and it lifted up to reveal a refrigerated opening filled with beaded cans of liquid sugar. “Red Bull?” he offered.

“No thank you. How do lockdowns make sense if Famine is gone?”

Soda Pops cracked open a can and chugged the entire contents before answering. “People are stuck in their homes with nothing to do but watch telly, eat and get fat.”

Soda Pops belched loudly. “All people have to look forward to is a weekly food delivery from their supermarket of choice. I tell you, kids aren’t excited for a delivery from Father Christmas this year. Now it’s Amazon. As far as kids are concerned, I don’t exist.” Soda Pops suddenly wailed and broke out into noisy, wet sobs. He wiped the snot and tears that streamed from his face along the headrest of the couch.

Death waited for Soda Pops to calm down. “Can you help me find the child?”

Soda Pops wiped his face again with the front of his grimy vest. “Do you have a name?”

“Molly Darling. Old Scratch told me he received the letter from her last year, but the letter wasn’t dated; I saw it. All I know is that Molly was six when she wrote it.”

“Wait.” Soda Pops sat forward, frowning. “You know Molly’s name, her age and that she’s a pure soul. Why can’t you find her? You’re Death, you find everyone.”

“Eventually,” Death sighed and risked perching on a corner of the couch, “and that’s the problem. The Grim Reaper Service is very much run on a just in time delivery model these days. Only a handful of us are needed to service the entire world. It’s really quite efficient until a major spanner, like 2020, is thrown in the works. It’s been chaos. We’ve been inundated with lonely deaths this year and we just don’t have the resources to transition these souls properly.” Death paused and leaned in closer. “And I’ll tell you something else, the God Lobby is completely empty. I’ve just come from there.”

No?!

Death stood up primly. “Yep. Not a soul there. Something isn’t right.”

“Still, that doesn’t answer my question to you: why don’t you find Molly yourself.”

It was a good question, one that Death had thought deeply on. “Because I don’t want to.”

“Ah.” Soda Pops thumped the arm of couch once more and retrieved two cans of chilled nectar. “Ethics?”

“Ethics.” Death accepted a can from Soda Pops and tucked it into the folds of his robe. “I can only interact with souls the one time. Thank you. I’ll save this for later.”

“Good man!” Soda Pops drew in an almighty breath and released it with great gusto. “Well, there’s only one thing for it.” He reached behind him and pulled on a silver cord. The tinkle of sleigh bells had hardly stopped before a reindeer stepped through the doorway. “Don’t worry, Big D, we’ll sort you out.”

“Er, thank you no, that isn’t necessary.” Death had not had much dealings with reindeer; the only one before had just charged past him in a state of shock at the length of his scythe.

“Vixi darling, can you get me some paper and a pen?” Soda Pops asked the reindeer as it nuzzled his neck. “And tell Rudy she can come back once our guest has gone, okay?” he whispered, as he nuzzled the reindeer back. “There’s a good girl.”

After Vixen left, Soda Pops turned his attention back to Death. “You need to make a Christmas wish. Write it down. Pass it to me, which I will accept and grant. Guaranteed.”

“Now wait a moment.” Death bristled. “Wishes are dangerous. We’re in this disastrous situation precisely because of a wish.”

“True!” Soda Pops laughed. “There’s always an unintended consequence with wishes, but I don’t see that you have much of a choice, chum. Look, make it simple and on point. In English if you must, but be warned, that language has built-in wiggle room, so be careful. Also, your wish can’t be about you; it has to be for Molly.”

Death sat stock still and recalled the childish scrawl of Molly’s handwritten note. She too had made a wish not for herself. “I know.”

When Vixen returned, Death wrote down his wish for Molly on a sheet of paper, folded it and passed it over to Soda Pops. “Please Father Christmas, grant my Christmas wish,” he intoned.

“Yeah, the speech was unnecessary.” Soda Pops opened the folded page and read what Death had written. “Heh. I can see all kinds of potential, but for your purpose, that should do nicely. Wish granted.”

Rudolph re-appeared, shyly edging forward, giving Death a wide berth. “Come here my little Rudy red nose,” Soda Pops cooed. “There’s no need to be scared. Let Pop-Pop kiss it all better.”

Death decided it was high time he left Lapland; he’d had quite enough hind sight in 2020.

*******

The Mists of Time were back and so were the beseechers. A queue of souls snaked endlessly throughout the God Lobby. Death watched its progress, inching from one side of the great expanse to the other; backwards and forwards, guided only by the barrier ropes that directed the queue’s path.

Death approached the reception desk. It was empty, which was unusual. Probably a shift change, Death thought.

No, no. I’m here. Working. Doing my bit.

The empty chair behind the reception desk suddenly spun round of its own volition.

Hello Big D. Have you come to see me?

“I have indeed, Ma’am.”

Oh goody, I’m now one for two, although, I’m afraid I’m having to go incognito. One glimpse of me could cause a stampede.

Death approved. He had seen the aftermath of many a stampede; they were to be avoided. “And you’re not wearing your mask.”

No. Well, I can hardly go unnoticed wearing one of those, dressed like this. Very uncomfortable things, but that’s fashion for you.

Death gazed once more across the great expanse of queuing souls. “I believe the Halloween 2020 situation has been suitably remedied, Ma’am.”

Excellent. What did you wish for?

Death whirled back toward the empty reception desk. “You knew I would make a wish?”

No, but I hoped.

“Yes, well the alternative was too unpalatable. I wished that Molly Darling, aged 6, had been born with the innate ability to spell correctly.” If Death had lips, they would have been tuned in to smug-mode.

So you foresee a career in witchcraft for young Molly? I see.

“Ah…” Death hadn’t thought of that.

Or maybe she’ll be an actress or a singer then. Or writer. They also cast spells. Innate ability, you say?

“Yes.”

Well, whatever passion path you’ve cut for young Molly Darling, she’ll probably be jolly good at it. Well done, Big D. I can always rely on you.

Death felt his rib cage expand with joy at the compliment, and watched in amazement has his pinky phalanx turned from bone ivory to a delicate shade of blush.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Death delved into the depths of his robe and pulled out a still dewy can of Red Bull. He held it aloft. “Merry Christmas, Ma’am.”

The can of soda levitated out of Death’s grasp, flying smoothly through the air until landing perfectly on the surface of the the reception desk, all seemingly unaided.

Wings! No one has ever given me wings before. Thank you, Big D.

Death felt the warm blush explode out of his pulsating pinky and course throughout the rest of his being.

Merry Christmas 😀

*******

*Oh you’re back are ya? I hope you’re in a better mood now, Clicky…*

I will be writing a further follow up story for the Spring 2021 anthology, as well as a new Harry Egg story because… Well, quite unbelievably, I have had a couple of requests for one…

*People seem to like Harry, Clicky… /shrugs and stubs butt…*

… Join us again next time, Dear Reader, and… Have a Song 😉

Missive From ‘Merica: The Eclectic Metric

Cade the Okie Devil in Text US has sent through his first missive of 2018…

*/taps fingertips together with excitement… I think so too, Clicky… I can feel it in my water…*

Catch you bottom, Dear Reader… Enjoy! ❤

*******

This one is gonna be a shade different.

Is that OK with you? Good.

The following was written on last Tuesday…

=======================================================

Hi.

It’s Monday January 2rdst of 2018.

Let’s get to it.

^ATTLAS – Chemical Low Moan^

If the road isn’t serving your needs?

Divide it.

You’ve the right of way…right?

^deadmau5 – Saved^

A certain someone has been picking at my smallish brain about proceedural types of considerations in certain environments. Such as “English” being the “common language” amongst pilots/aviators. I live in a country that speaks English for the most part, so speaking English while flying kinda makes sense to me. I’ve been abroad, so speaking English while flying makes sense to me, but also kinda not.

That said, aviation has its own vernacular. Things borrowed from elsewhere or created out of necessity to represent something specific. No real mystery there because we do that everywhere…but…it’s certainly mysterious.

Or at least, it can be. 

But the objective is communications and communicating. We rely on each other to pull that off. As to whether or not the communications are successful? Let’s wait until we are either safely in the air, or safely on the ground to discuss the particulars…k?

^Matt Lange – You’ll Remember Me (ATTLAS Remix)^

Communications are going to get crossed. Garbled. Misunderstood. To expect 100% is the same as expecting 0% because there are no margins for error. No room for forgiveness. No room to navigate in the moment. That seems to present a domino type of situation where all involved are equally responsible, which means they are potentially equally irresponsible. Or am I being too specific?

^ATTLAS – Burned^

There was a Tweet that caught my eye…

I’ve been thinking about the resonance of metal(s) and stone(s), and other building materials as is pertains to construction. But more than that, I’ve been thinking about transportation of these same things.

Q: Does the Earth/Terra notice when something is moved?

A: !!!

Why wouldn’t our planet know when something is missing? Why wouldn’t our planet notice when something suddenly appears? There seems to be accommodation(s) made in the environment for things to appear and disappear…right? So…all that gold in, say, Kentucky, would you be willing to entertain the possibility that our planet knows where every atom of gold in Kentucky came from?

If so, do you really want to trace that knowing of when and where that gold came from for the entirety of the suspected 13.8 billion year age of our Universe? Might wanna think about carbon and your dating methods before answering. You might get lost in time somewhere.

Just sayin'
^How to Disappear Completely – Radiohead Cover^

This one is gonna be a shade different.

Is that OK with you? Good.

The following was written today, which is today.

j/k

Today, is Sunday January 7th, 2018.

The above is as far as I got last Tuesday. It was a weird week. Having trouble thinking. It’s like another one of those transitional phases where everything is shifting. Or at least, everything is shifting in my head. When this happens, it’s almost like playing catchup with myself in my head. Loads of shit that I’ve not thought about in a while comes crashing in, and I’ve gotta kinda reconcile what falls where as it relates to stuff that I’ve added.

Normally, I would kinda keep this sort of shit “under control” by reading and commenting on blogs elsewhere, along with writing missives/whatevers. But I’ve been avoiding that.

Meh...whatever.
^ATTLAS – Tiff’s Theme^

So yeah…onward…from here…

=======================================================

Q: Is a nuclear weapon fluid?

A: ???

No? The how did it come together? How did something, that is designed specifically to come apart, come together, if it is not fluid?

Oh…and good morning to you.

^Echobelly – Kali Yuga^

Was just watching a documentary on Rocky Flats weapons plant in Colorado…USA. In it, there was a bit where the plant had tried to dispose of waste by mixing it with concrete, then storing it in blocks after the concrete dried. Um…we’re talking about radioactive shit here…right?

Rocky Flats Plant

Rocky Flats Truth Force

Dark Circle (Film)

Unfortunately, the concrete blocks started to leak and/or melt.

Oozey. 

So now, they are oozing radioactive shit everywhere, from a long-term storage area. I wonder if it rains in Colorado?

^Albert Hammond – It never rains in southern California + text^

Got to thinking about this new Counter-Social website that is supposed to be some alternative to Twitter because the latter blocks half the planet from using the website. I thought about it, mainly because I was kinda curious as to how it was working out for those that switched from Twitter to Counter-Social when all that…whatever it was…happened.

Just…how’s it going? Nothing more than that. But as I started to think about asking, something occurred to me, and as I type this, even more is occurring to me. But what first occurred to me is “why jump ship, just because there is suddenly an alternative that seems better?”

Three Sisters (Oregon)

It’s your life, you can do whatever you want with it, and you don’t need me to tell you that. But whitelisting and blacklisting is nothing new to The Internet.

Whitelist

Blacklisting

Greylisting

IUCN Red List

Seems we are big on lists and listings.

Angle Of List

Seems we are REALLY big on lists and listings.

^Al Stewart – Year Of The Cat^

It’s never…the machine.

Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire

March 25th 1911.

It’s never…the machine’s fault.

The reason? Welp, when shit breaks…you can’t get your hands around the throat of the guy who designed the sewing machine. You can’t get your hands around the guy who built the machine. You can’t get your hands around the neck of the guy who designed or built the part within the machine that failed. You can only get your hands around the neck of the guy who bought the machine…and that’s YOU.

You can't choke yourself to death. 

The machine that sits atop the machines must run, and you are the machine that runs the machines. There must be someone else to blame. So…let’s find them, and make them pay.

Fault

Once the fault has been established…

                   all we gotta do now…

is tear them a new one.

^Triangle Fire | PBS American Experience^

There’s only one way to “not”.

Don’t.

Knot that up, remember it, or not, whatevz.

😉
^AL STEWART “Time Passages”^

Dunno where this song came from, and I hate this type of music, but…meh. Someone else might like it.

^Karen Peck & New River – Everybody’s Going Through Something^

Is January too late to keep “The Christmas Spirit” going? I thought of mentioning to whatshername that she might wanna consider taking the Christmas lights down by February. They are still up, still plugged in, still burning every night.

Doesn’t bother me – I love Christmas lights – but the city that I live in starts ticketing people in February if Christmas lights are not taken down. And I mean like they have people drive around during the day to check and see if there are still exterior Christmas lights on your home or in your yard. If so, they ticket you. Maybe that’s why “The Christmas Spirit” hauls ass after New Years.

/me shrugs
^Carol of the Bells – Amazing Piano Solo – David Hicken^

For some people, their business is Christmas 365/366 days a year. Nooooo…I’m not talking about those weirdos at The North Pole.

^Christmas 2013: Inside a Chinese toy factory^

For some people, their business is Christmas 365/366 days a year. Nooooo…I’m not talking about those weirdos at The North Pole.

^Electronic Toy Market – Yiwu China Futian Market^

For some people, their business is Christmas 365/366 days a year. Nooooo…I’m not talking about those weirdos at The North Pole.

^Wholesale toys market in Guangzhou on Yide street^

For some people, their business is Christmas 365/366 days a year. Nooooo…I’m not talking about those weirdos at The North Pole.

^Guangzhou Dream Factory – Trailer^

Ever watch a silent movie? Welp…NOW YOU CAN!!!

^Guangzhou (Canton) China in 1930^

How’d those fucks get up to The North Pole anyway? Don’t those assholes know, that the only way to get from one continent to another is via the land bridge provided by/near The Bering Straight? You can’t walk on ice. That shit melts.

Only humans are smart enough to know this.
^Bering Land Bridge Migration Theory^

If these ancient fucks were smart, they’d build a rocket, walk across the satellites, then parachute back to Earth/Terra. It’s the only way to get to where you are going. Which… where are you going?

Or is it none of my business.
^Why We May Not Be Able to Visit Space in the Future^

Did you know, that if all ice on Earth/Terra melts, we will all be dead. That means, we won’t be able to make and/or watch panic videos anymore.

😦
^How Will Earth Change If All the Ice Melts?^
How accurate were those in 1950 CE at predicting what life would be like in 2000 CE?

How accurate were those in 1968 CE at predicting what life would be like in 2018 CE?

How accurate were those in 2018 CE at predicting what life would be like in 2050 CE?

I guess we’ll find out on that last one…unless we’ve all long since drown.

I wonder if someone or something can drown in garbage?
^These Are the Events That Will Happen Before 2050^

Let’s ask Google a question…

Q: How heavy is CO2?

A: Carbon dioxide has one carbon atom and two oxygen atoms, and a molecular weight of 44 grams per mole. Hence, carbon dioxide has a higher density, or is heavier than air.

Let’s ask Quora a question…

Which is heavier air or carbon dioxide?

Wait…didn’t we get the same answer from both places? Meh…who cares. Anyway…I wonder what “the electrical content” is within air? All that shit floating around up there HAS to create a fuckton of friction. Doesn’t friction create static electricity?

Static

Static Electricity

Welp…if all this shit is moving, what is so “static” about it? Or is that the mystery. How shit moves, without moving at all, all while…moving.

(gulp...weird)

Movement (Clockwork)

Speaking of movements, I need to go take a shit…BRB.

^20 Signs You Are Being Gaslighted! Psychological Abuse by Narcissists & Sociopaths^

AH!!! I feel refreshed!!!

Um…can robots shit? Or do they rely completely, and totally, on you to keep their fluid levels where they need to be and keep their asses wiped for them? There is something to be said about the art of shit…

Poop

Turds
Dookie

Growlers

Scat

Stool

Fecal matter

DOO DOO!!! DOO YOU NOT HAVE ENOUGH WORDS FOR METABOLIC WASTE?!?!?!?

Feces

Anyway, there are quite a few nested processes in place that involve repackaging last night’s dinner for something/someone else. I dunno what you ate last night, but it prolly looked a shade better when you shoved it into your pie hole than it did when it came out.

And yet, were you to shit in your front yard for a few months, you’d have the best looking lawn in the neighborhood in no time. Might not have any neighbors around to see it cause they’ve all moved…but a nice lawn nonetheless. If you are on a septic system, that’s how you can tell if your septic tank is leaking. The grass around it will be growing like mad, and it will be tall and green. Prolly trying to get away from your stinky poo.

But yeah, not much goes into in/out considerations for robots in robotics…it’s all about the brain and smarts. Prolly stings to a robot to not have any way to relate as to what is transpiring and what a person is going through when they take a shit. So with that in mind, and thinking about all the other differences between humans and robots, how well can we ever really relate?

I've no idea.
^Broken Social Scene – Protest Song (Official Audio)^

So…how can something survive supporting it’s own weight?

So…how can something survive supporting it’s own wait?

Roob pointed out Lamb Waves to me the other day. Something I had added to a Missive/Whatever sometime back. That has been thinking about distances more than anything. I’m thinking fluidity and solidity here, but a more progressive type that is contextual based on the observer/participant.

EX: Air is heavy as fuck. But you typically need wind in your face to detect this. That’s why any and all objects that are dropped from altitude, will tumble. The only way around this, is to know this in advance, and accommodate the mechanics of it, depending on what you are dropping.

Such as…

Phoenix Shot Tower

That’s why rifling in the barrel of a firearm helps a bullet to not tumble as it falls.

And yes...a bullet is falling.

Rifling

Dew Point

Dew…Point.

Doo…Point.

Coincidence?

Coincidense is more like it.

I’m kinda dumb, and slow too, so it takes a while for my dumb and stupid to catch up to one another.

😉
^Cocteau Twins – Donimo^

It’s currently 11:03 on Sunday January 7th 2018, and I’ve stumbling around on the above crap for a coupla hours now. But I’ve got some shit to get to. Such as… It was hinted at, that perhaps, I should read my recent short story aloud and record it.

I re-read most of it last night, and thought about how I would read it aloud. The conclusion that I came to, is that I would read it exactly as I heard it in my head as I wrote it. Granted, I’ve re-read the story several times, have noticed some things that I would change in order to better help a reader understand what I am talking about, but there are few of these. I don’t want to be patronizing to the reader. Not trying to be condescending either, but I also want to tell my story.

The only way I can do that, is to actually tell my story. Only I know what I was thinking as I wrote it and, as I wrote it, I found that I was omitting as much, if not more, than I was actually writing. But in thinking about it now, we can’t do everything at once. I mean, the point is getting there…right? Sure, being there is great…but we gotta get there to do that. Lotta twists and turns, and a lotta boring straightaways mixed in there too.

^Soulwax – Do You Want To Get Into Trouble? (Official Video)^

In a few minutes, I’m gonna fire up Audacity, and see if I can record me reading my story using my headphones, which has a microphone.

Audacity (Audio Editor)

I’m gonna do a few quick test recordings, see how the audio sounds, then go from there. If it works, I’m gonna read each section, convert the Audacity MP3 file to MP4, then upload it to YouTube.

Comparison Of Free Software For Audio

I gotta be mindful of the audio file size, because when I recently tried to transfer some of my music from analog to digital, the MP3 to MP4 file converter didn’t handle files around 100MB very well. In fact, it didn’t handle them at all. Not knocking the service, because the service is awesome.

100MB of audio to convert from one format to another is a tall order for a free online service. I’ll just have to be mindful of how big the audio files are, because I’ve no idea how long it will take for me to read it aloud. That’s why breaking it up section by section is prolly gonna be the way to go. Audio files tend to be huge as you work with them, and it takes a fuckton of compression to get the file size down to something more palatable.*

*This is in no way to imply that listening to me talk will be palatable. I’ve a really bad Texas accent, and several speech impediments that I’ve learned to accommodate and/or hide very well. Or at least, sometimes. No telling when they are going to crop up, which they tend to when I lose myself in what I am doing, and I am not being mindful of trying to put on an act for someone else.

^Birdy – Wings (Nu:Logic Remix)^

Could sound assist us in determining age? I got to speaking with Roob the other day about these Lamb Waves, and it got me to thinking about chasing phantoms. Meaning, if science and/or scientists are not studies of history, or at least somewhat of a study of histories, how can they be sure they are not chasing our own shadows?

The resonance of nuclear detonations HAS to still be resonating within our planet. Not to mention all of the drilling, all of the mining, all of the commercial blasting, all of the cars, all of the ships, all of the electricity and electrical gadgetry…that shit adds up.

^Chapterhouse – Pearl^

I am just wondering, at what point, are we discovering shit, that we actually created. We are rushing from discovery to discovery, and the time to actually look at these discoveries and compare them with others…is anyone doing that? Or is that left to “the fringe” idiots of global warming and conspiracy? Because I got news for you…

everything is valid at some point. 

Truth, falsehoods, doesn’t matter. A falsehood needs to be true, in order for it to be false. Get your head wrapped around that concept, and you can prolly see why the need for absolute divisions between the concepts of good and evil are perceived to exist.

^Aircrash Bureau – Time To Die (1990)^

Should we summarize and see where we made it to?

Never done that before.

Let’s skip it.

You’re more than capable of doing your own homework.

I suck at it.

🙂

^The Cure: The Snakepit^

I got a parting query…

Q: Can you be anything you aren’t?

A: ?¿?

Lemme word that differently…

Q: Can you be anything you cannot be?

A: ¿?¿

Yeah…both are valid pretty much. Of course, it depends on who you ask.

May wanna exercise judgement there as to who to ask, and who not to ask.

Might get punched in the nose.

Some angry people out there.

So I’m told anyway.

/me shrugs
^Rocky Flats “Secrets of a Bomb Factory”^

cYacFa

^The Cure – Prayers For Rain^

*******

rcq3o

*/rolls eyes… Yeah, I know you can Clicky…*

Happy New Year you Dear Reader, and a Happy New Year, Cade ❤ …Have a Song…

Missive From ‘Merica: Seasonal Greetings…

…From Cade, the Okie Devil in Text Us…

Dear Reader… Enjoy! ❤

*******

HAPPY VACATION ROOB!!!

HAPPY VACATION KITTY!!!

^Doubting Thomas – Father Don’t Cry^

There was some shit that I just read on Twitter, under a certain hashtag, and there was a something under that certain hashtag’s Twitter results about “useful idiots”. Like, who gets to determine who is an idiot, and when/how they can be useful.

:/

Big on tools are ya?

Use em’ up, get a new one?

Whatever is handy and/or available…

anything and everything is a tool.

^Nine Inch Nails vs. The Beatles – Come “Closer” Together^

Then there’s this bullshit…

OFFERS UNREFUSED: ARCHONOLOGY REDUX

Again with the Archons. Lemme tell you how I read this Archon bullshit…

“Kicked…Out”

Simple. Kicked…the FUCK…out. “But who is kicking who?”…you might ask? Welp, if someone lays the groundwork for a bright and glorious future…

Q: Who is being omitted?

A: Yeah...THE PEOPLE THAT ACTUALLY LIVE THERE...THAT'S WHO!!!

You create all of these rigid walls, and expect the occupants to be happy? Well, I got a question for ya…

Q: Which side of the wall do you live on?

A: Past --->? | ? <--- Future

Still confused as to what I am talking about? The Archons were Greek? All kinds of arches, and arcs, and sparks, and tension(s) and friction(s) and shit flying everywhere out of Greece. But I get the feeling, that these types of infrastructures were meant and/or intended for self-rule. Have we lost that? Or was it taken? The infrastructure will always be there. We do with it whatever we do.

Something about serving two masters?
^Terrible Lie^

The future…kicked out of living their own lives, because of their having to carry around bullshit built by the past.

‘Thou shewest loving kindness unto thousands, and recompensest the iniquity of the fathers into the bosom of their children after them: the Great, the Mighty God, the Lord of hosts, is his name,’

Jeremiah 32:18 (King James Version)

‘You show unfailing love to thousands, but you also bring the consequences of one generation’s sin upon the next. You are the great and powerful God, the Lord of Heaven’s Armies.’

Jeremiah 32:18 (New Living Translation)

‘You show love to thousands but bring the punishment for the parents’ sins into the laps of their children after them. Great and mighty God, whose name is the Lord Almighty,’

Jeremiah 32:18 (New International Version)

‘You show love to thousands but bring the punishment for the parents’ sins into the laps of their children after them. Great and mighty God, whose name is the Lord Almighty,’

Jeremiah 32:18 (New International Version – UK)

Them Limeys love their independence don’t they? 😛

^Moby, Go – 1991^

Dunno bout choo, but requiring someone you don’t even know to face something just because you yourself had to face it? Sounds…erm…short sighted. I don’t always and forever want someone else seeing for me. You’ve no idea what I’m going to face in my life, nor do I know what you will face in yours.

The Founders addressed what they could, and left the rest to us to figure out. People living in 1776 couldn’t relate to “Steam Engine Locomotive Regulations” any more than we can in 2017. I guess if you wanted to get clever, and change that to “Steam Engine Regulations”, or even “Steam Regulations”, we could all of a sudden start relating in all kinds of ways. From water regulations, to stove top cookware regulations, to electrical power generation regulations, to interstate transport regulations, and beyond. Afterall, transporting something, is transporting something…right? Doesn’t matter what it is.

lolz...doesn't "matter" what it is...lolz
^Andy C – Haunting^

How are you being? How has your being been being? Everything been being the goodest best that it can be? Good. Real good. Double-Plus Good.

I have a rash on my brain, but I can’t see it. I know it’s there tho. A drank a coupla tubes of Cortisone rash cream. I should be OK in a day or so. Prolly an STD. Can you get an STD from thinking about sex? What if I am thinking about having sex, and the person that I am thinking about doesn’t actually have an STD? Moreover, what if I don’t think about anyone specific when I jerk off? That line of thinking is getting more and more vague…so Imma go jerk-off real quick. BRB.

I'm back. 

WHEW!!! I feel refreshed.

^Nine Inch Nails – That’s What I Get^

Based on some reading, I get the feeling that another angle that is being played here and there, is this angle of “you spy on me, I’m gonna spy on you.” Perhaps even lines of “you tell on me, I tell on you.” Maybe even lines of “if I go down, I’m not going down alone.”

Any and/or all of those? 

Yeesh. What in the FUCK is going on in your life that not only are you in constant danger of being destroyed, you’ve got to further devise plans to destroy anyone and everyone who tries to destroy you? Lots of destroying being planned and participated in going on in those lines of thinking.

Again…yeesh. Sounds like some envy might be at the base of those lines of thinking, but that’s just me. Yeah, envy. Envy starts you off wanting what others have and how to get it, and you wind up envying your own task. You’ll do anything and everything to ensure it’s completion.

Q: Now what?

A: /me shrugs

Don’t ask me…I just work here.

^The XX – Intro HQ^

Endure it. That’s the only thing I personally know to do. Take it all into The Gingerbread House of Horrors, put it into the storage maze and/or drag it into the workshop, and see if it can be used somehow for something destined the toolbox. It can then sit in the toolbox when/if/until needed.

/me shrugs
^Soulwax – ‘Is It Always Binary’ (Official Video)^

When I was a kid, there was a preacher who once said

“I figure that we’ve all a box of blessings that God has set aside for each of us, and those blessings are gifted to us throughout our lives when we do what we are supposed to, when we are supposed to, how we are supposed to. When I get to Heaven, I want that box of blessings to be empty.”

Welp, that’s quite a charming notion. However, I figure irrespective of the existence/non-existence of God/gods, every breath that I take is a blessing. I don’t give a fuck if God/gods exist or not. I figure if the motherfuckers want me to know they exist, they’ll let me know. Not sure what good that is going to do me, nor anyone else, but maybe they’d fill me in with that information too.

No idea. 

Anyway, thinking about what that preacher said, I understand the analogy, and the example(s) the preacher related make sense to me. It’s a nice thought. But it also seems to burden one of us more than the other, and I don’t mean me. I pretty happy with having a life. I’ve no idea where it came from, but I’ve got it. Everything else is gravy.

^Alison – Slowdive cover^

!!!!!!! IT’S CHRISTMAS EVE MOTHERFUCKERS !!!!!!!

Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays
^NONONO – Pumpin Blood (Official Video)^

If I “fit in” somewhere…doesn’t that mean that I also now “fit out” of where I am currently? Or are we accumulating and amassing here? I’m told that I don’t need to know the specifics of how an intercontinental ballistic missile works, but how they work interests me. Nevermind that I’m surrounded by the motherfuckers. Doesn’t matter how close they are to me currently, because they can be a helluva lot closer in about 30 minutes.

That said, is it really any wonder that North Korea wants their own nuclear weapons? That they want to be able to guide and determine their own futures? Isn’t that what everyone else wants? I see a lot of bitching about North Korea getting their own nukes, but I sure as shit don’t see any of the currently nuclear armed nations reducing their own stockpiles. Not only that, they are increasing them. North Korea is a fucking BOON for the arms industry, which means they are a boon for government(s) and business(es) worldwide.

Something about serving(s). Something about master(s). Two of them. Or more?

I dunno.

I’m illiterate and/or functionally illiterate.

^Front 242 – Matrix Megahertz^

US Presidents are famous for talking about strength and power, but so is every other “world leader” and so do “world leaders” of all kinds. You really think that the CEO of some huge corporation is going to give press releases about “how weak and vulnerable” their company is? Do you walk around your life letting everyone know how weak and vulnerable you are? Or are you armed to the teeth with weapons and training, wound like a coil-spring just looking for a place to go off?

*******

*/cough… Ratner… /cough… Water, Clicky…*

*Thank you…*

*******

There was a documentary I watched sometime back about the history of The UK and it’s efforts to obtain nuclear weapons back in the 1940’s and 1950’s, and the narrator made one of the most curious observations/statements that I’ve ever heard in a documentary. The narrator was talking about the politics involved in the decision making in a post-WWII Britain that decided to create and fund the programs to obtain their own nuclear arsenal, and the narrator commented something to the effect of

“these decisions to go forward and create Britain’s own independent nuclear weapons program secured Britain’s place at the top table on the world stage”

…or something like that. “Top Table” is what really stuck out in my mind. Top…table.

Top Table

Tabletop

Tic Tac
Tactic
^Run The Jewels – Call Ticketron (Official Music Video)^

I guess that whoever wrote that narration is quite confident that people aren’t fond of scraps. When you do get fond of and/or used to scraps, and someone cuts that off?

I guess that results in things like…oh say…December 7th, 1941.

That's just a guess tho.

Isn’t that where we live tho? A world of scraps? I mean…you found that Uranium…right? The place where you build your labs and construction facilities…you found those places…right? All the people involved…you found them too?

Q: What found you?

A: ... !!! ...

Is that what destiny is? Are you scraps to be found by destiny? Maybe that’s how we find our destiny/destinies…by destiny finding us first.

^SWIMM – Man’s Man (Official Video)^

I’m not running out of things to say…I’m running into things to say.

Now all I gotta do...is say them.

I wonder if I’ll ponder what I should say, and what I shouldn’t?

I wonder if I’ll ponder how to say it, or how not to say it?

When?
^Pink Floyd – Time (one man cover)^

If we lose our ability to communicate, I wonder if anyone will be willing to communicate for us?

What will we say now that we wouldn’t say when we had the ability to say it ourselves, but cannot say now?

You want someone else to speak/communicate for you? It appears that there is no shortage of others willing to do just that. I guess they themselves have nothing to say, and loads of people to not say it to.

I dunno…

maybe I’m wrong.

Lot’s to think about there.

Happy Holidays

Travel Well

Be Safe

^There Is A Light That Never Goes Out – The Smiths cover^


cYacFa

^InsideInfo & Mefjus – Pulsation^

*******

Merry Christmas, Cade ❤