Missive From ‘Merica: Sumfin For The We Kenned

Happy Friday, Dear Reader 😀

Hot on the heels of yesterday’s missive, we have another from the Okie Devil of Text US…

*Yeah, and it has some wavy wikiwall pools for you to explore, Clicky…*

Enjoy! ❤

*******

WHAZZUP!?!?

It’s Thursday December 3rd of 2020, and…fuck! Can you give me a sec? I promise I’m not ignoring you, just receiving a call, and I really need to take this. Mind if I put you on hold for a sec? Thanks. ❤

X: You’re about to open a can of worms.

Cade: I know.

T: You really think that’s prudent?

Cade: Prudence is a strange topic when you’re in the big middle of a shit-storm.

A: How so?

Cade: It occurs to me that, during extraordinary times, “prudence” would be measured in seconds, or maybe minutes.

X: Not days, weeks, months, years, etc..

Cade: Correct. If you’re in a trench in 1916, each and every thing that you do, whether prudent or imprudent, is gonna vastly affect your continued ability to measure and mark time.

X: Living one second to the next.

Cade: Yes. Do I raise my head up, have a peek, and hope no one puts a bullet in it? Or do I keep my head down and wait for a more opportune time.

0: You ever wonder what “an opportune time” would be in those circumstances?

Cade: Welp, I would think in that situation, one would either have to rely upon one’s own gut feelings as to how best to proceed, or maybe the instincts of a commander who is putting a boot in your butt irrespective of your own internal inclinations.

X: In one set of circumstances you have a choice, and in another, the choice is not yours to make.

Cade: Yes. Just thinking that “prudence” can get lost in situations where the consequences are much more immediate and dire.

Z: Almost opens one’s self to being a scapegoat.

Cade: Or at least a tool or some kind of leverage for another purpose.

X: Care to elaborate?

Cade: Well, just thinking that one could make a thousand “good” decisions…

Z: But it’s the one bad decision that you’ll be remembered for.

Cade: Yes. You’ve been on the line and hugging that berm for ages, peeked over the edge a thousand times, but the one time you look and your brains get dislodged from your cranium?

X: You did a bad thing.

Cade: That’s what I’m thinking. Your “prudence” is suddenly measured by that one event, and not the multiple events that allowed you to arrive there in the first place.

X: And how does this relate to your thoughts on the concept of prayer in the presence of a deity?

Cade: Or deities.

0: We get the point, get on with it already.

Cade: Just occurs to me that “prayer” is an odd concept to entertain when one is in the presence of one or more deities. Seems…oddly self-serving. Fucking hell, I dunno, just a weird thought I’ve danced with for a while.

Z: Can you elaborate a bit? Even I’m lost.

Cade: Let’s say one is given an audience with God and their merry pack of miscreants and hooligans. You’re standing around chatting about the weather and fashion trends, and suddenly, it occurs to you that you have a friend back home who is sick.

X: Your first impulse is to…pray, for that someone?

Cade: Yes. I’m just that dense.

X: Standing in the presence of The Creator & Co., and you have the desire to pray for someone else because you thought of them. Interesting.

T: You think maybe instead of praying, you could…I dunno, ask?

Cade: That’s not as straightforward as it seems.

0: It isn’t?

Cade: Hell no it isn’t. I’m a human being. Being in the presence of all the Universal big-wigs doesn’t mean that I abandon who and what I am. Also doesn’t give me license to clear my own personal wish-list just because I have their ear.

X: Ears.

Cade: I was gonna say that.

A: Protocols…plural.

Cade: That’s…yes…I’m thinking of that.

A: But?

Cade: But I’m also thinking of the fact that “prayer” in this instance could be construed as me trying to secretly communicate a something to the Almighty, even tho I’m in their presence and the fucker is right in front of me.

0: Wait. Wait, wait, wait…wait just a second here. Prayer, whilst in the presence of God, is secret communication?

Cade: Way to put words into my mouth.

X: I think they are just trying to understand.

Cade: That makes two of us.

B: May I interject?

Cade: By all means.

B: You are saying that, just because “God” can hear your prayers, the others cannot?

Cade: I have no idea if that is the case or not. But I have thought that this may be the case, yes.

B: So you are concerned about having a side-conversation on the sly, with God, whilst you are in the presence of not only God, but also all these other higher-ups.

Cade: Correct. But I also don’t want to sperg and verbalize just because a thought popped into my head, and now might be an opportune time to bring up the subject considering where I am.

B: Because you are in the presence of the gods.

Cade: One would figure at least one of the fuckers might be able to do something about it.

B: And if they don’t?

Cade: That’s the rub isn’t it. Since when is any god or deity or some other ethereal entity mine to command?

X: Sounds like a prudent course.

Cade: When I was younger, sure, “the gods” are my own personal ATM machine from which to dispense funds whenever I demand it.

Z: Do you even have an account at that bank?

Cade: Good fucking question. I have no answer for you tho. Christianity sure seems to think that you have to be a member of the guild before blessings will be dispensed.

0: And if you aren’t a member of the guild?

Cade: Luckily, there are two. You get defaulted into the shit-show, and you have to make a conscious effort to join the winning team.

X: You join a team, simply because they are the winning team?

Cade: That’s what it says in The Book. The game is rigged, the fix is in, the match outcome has already been decided, now it’s just a matter of going through the motions. If you want to be a winner, put your money on the Christians.

0: Sounds as if it is prudent to sign up.

Cade: Here on Earth/Terra, it’s very frowned upon to stack teams, simply because you have the money to do so.

B: Moneyball.

Cade: Yes. The deep pockets can afford the primo players, which means they can tip the scales in their favor in order to better increase their odds of winning the big games.

Z: The house always wins.

Cade: In gambling, yes, but I see what you are saying I think.

0: “The house”, is those big-wigs.

Cade: Rumor is, they created it all, they own it all, they can do whatever in the hell they want with it. But now I’m thinking about the “houses” in Astrology, and I’ve completely lost my train of thought.

T: Maybe you should pray.

Cade: Sounds prudent.

0: Is it prudent to keep writing?

Cade: No idea. I have less than two years to get the fuck outta here, and currently, things look quite glum.

0: No, I meant all the stuff you are about to write below.

Cade: No idea, but I’m gonna do it.

X: You see what you see.

Cade: I wrangle over what to write or not write more than most prolly think.

X: You see.

Cade: I see what I see, and share it. Me actually understanding a something is an exception, not the rule.

X: Big game.

Cade: Sure seems that way. I’m not fond of that particular association tho.

X: Blood, sweat and tears.

Cade: Waters.

X: …

Sorry, that call was a bit more lengthy than I expected. You now have my undivided.

😛

^Love and Rockets – Mirror People ’88^

Anyone remember 9/11? Afghanistan? Operation Iraqi Freedom? Guantanamo Bay and all those pictures of “brown people” in orange jumpsuits?

Orange (Colour)
Brown
Syncretism
CREB
Major Depressive Disorder
CREB®
COVID-19 Resources for Calgarians
Calgary
Penal Labour
Krebs, Oklahoma
Citric Acid Cycle
Eustis, Florida
Citrus Production
Triple Sec
Trump lawyer: ex-election security chief Krebs should be ‘taken out and shot’
Fair-Weather Friend
Fair-Weather Friend
Don’t allow ‘foul weather friend’ to abuse good will
The foul-weather friend
Language Of The Birds
Huginn and Muninn
Svadhishthana
Orange Is The New Black
Danbury, Connecticut
13
“Incomplete Pass: Elliott-Marino Motorsports”
Miami Dolphins

Hey…don’t bitch at me. Its a busy planet. Lots going on.

^Butthole Surfers – “Moving to Florida”^

One of the easier ways to acquire real estate, or at least acquire an interest in certain properties, is gonna be via the/a banking system. If your country does not provide for foreign ownership, no problem…use a foreign funds to purchase said property and utilize intermediaries. You can tie up stuff in all kinds of red tape, and leverage the living shit out of it.

Debt = Power. 

Sure there is risk, but the rewards are massive. Question is, how does one “foreclose” on an entire country. Especially if that country has claws.

A: Clause trumps claws.

For some it will anyway. I guess the trick is to position one’s self in a portion of the water column where you remain the apex predator. Sure, there are plenty of much more ferocious creatures in the sea, but they don’t swim in these waters.

^Nategawd, Flo Rida & Lil Jon “Take A Shot And Make A Tik Tok” (Official Video)^

All of this came of a personal sync this morning in learning that someone who I did not know, has died of a heart-attack at the ripe old age of 33. I knew of them, but I did not actually know them. Prolly played a video game with them, and may have even yelled at them a time or two on an Internet forum, but yeah, didn’t really know them.

It appears they may have worked in the mortgage industry, as did I, so we had that in common also. Would also appear that they were from Canada, and Canada has this weird kind of “ground zero” type feeling about it regarding synchromysticism. Dunno if the dude was into this tho, and they may not have been spiritual at all as far as I know.

Personal syncs are typically real easy to work out. They apply to you, and may even be specifically for you, but explaining personal syncs to others?

Dicey. Sketchy. Difficult. 

Hardly anyone on this entire planet gives a flying fuck about me, and most people on this planet don’t even know I exist. So with that in mind, how do I, explain a somewhat mystical synchronistic event to a bunch of strangers? How do I explain to them that “HEY! This weird shit just happened, a bunch of tumblers fell into place, and this means something!”

???

Yeah, I’ve nothing specific, and I’m not gonna assign a bunch of predefined meaning(s) to this/these event(s) just so it will make sense to you, but I’m telling you…this means something.

^deadmau5 – A City In Florida (1080p) II HD^

No idea why I do this. I wrestled with the idea for quite a few years as to whether I should start writing or not. As to why I decided to give it a whirl? Simple…I wanted a return. I wanted some answers. Why is all this weird shit happening, why has it intensified now, and is there anyone out there who is experiencing anything similar? Perhaps if I open up, they will too, and maybe all of us can, together, figure out what in the fucking hell all this nonsense is.

But yeah also, I wanted to help. 

Fuck it…if others are being tight-lipped because they are scared shitless, welp I understand that, but as for me, I’m going for it. Maybe someone out there needs to hear what I have to say. Poor bastard(s). If you are needing to hear anything I have to say, you must be in some deep shit, and I empathize.

^Slap Shot – I’ll be staying in Florida^

I am not a paranormal investigator. Certainly not one with any street cred as to a someone who goes out into the field looking for weird and strange shit in order to better understand it. Due to my personal situation, I’m more of a bookworm type. I sit and wait for the weird and strange shit to come to me, irrespective of the form(s) these entities may assume. And let me tell you, some of the shit that somehow worms its way into my tiny 10′ x 13′ cell can be quite diverse.

^This Is What F-22 Engine Startup Sounds Like^

This is not a challenge, nor is it a test. It’s a demonstration. Put “being right” and “being wrong” on the shelf for a moment, and maybe just be an observer/participant with no agenda for the next few minutes. Below is a video for a band called The Knife, and the song is “We Share Our Mother’s Health”.

Phase One: play the video below, but mute the sound. This time through, we are just going to watch the video and see what we see.

Phase Two: Replay the video, unmute the sound, but do not watch the video. Minimize your browser window if you need, just make sure that you do not watch the video. Listen to the video only.

Phase Three: Replay the video, listen to it, and watch it.

^The Knife – We Share Our Mothers Health^

On #HauntedHour last night, the topic/poll was what kind of paranormal experience one would like to have:

A: Seeing;

B: Hearing;

C: Feeling;

D: NOPE! Fuck this shit, I’m out!

I um…I…ay yi yi…

how do I say this without being dishonest? 

Um…I do not consider myself a paranormal experiencer. Yes, I can safely say that I’ve experienced a lot of weird shit in my life, but as to whether any of it is supernatural or not? No idea. That said, those experiences involving sound tend to be the most reliable as to being accurately indicative that something is amiss. Not only can you hear sound, many times, you can feel it. Sound is also going to carry much more data as to location, distance, intensity, and you can quickly and accurately form a picture in your mind as to your own position in space proximate to the goings on. If the sound repeats, you can zero on it quickly and accurately. I would think that one of the important things, as an investigator, would be to rely on your own internal sample library as to individual sounds, what they are, what they could be, and why these sounds would exist irrespective of whether a location is “haunted” or not.

^The Tucker Zone (A 3D Sound Experience) (Wear Earphones)^

The physical stuff isn’t likely to change just because a location is haunted. There’s likely to be walls, ceilings, floors, paint, pipes, sink or bathtub/shower fixtures, maybe electrical wiring, electrical outlets, carpet, doors, door hinges, door knobs, windows, glass, stone, wood, metal(s)…

you prolly get the point. 

Identify the stuff in your environment, and know the noises they can make. Maybe when first arriving at a new location, wander around banging on shit for a while just so you know how certain things may sound. You are likely in a new environment afterall, and considering the nature of construction and construction materials and how these things can vary, banging on a hotel wall may sound completely different than what it sounds like banging on one of your own walls at home. Same with the springs in a bed, or maybe the water spigot in the bathroom, or that squeaky third drawer in the nightstand.

Now that you’ve acquainted yourself a bit with your new environment, you can better know what certain things may sound like, and you’ll also know whether or not you or someone else with you here in the physical realm is the trigger for a certain sound happening. If the top door hinge on the bathroom door squeaks, its prolly better to know that in advance. Know your environment in order to better interact with it, and to better zero in on and identify stuff that is…out of place.

Phase Four: listen to the below, watch the below, and see if you notice anything different in the video. It’s the same song as above, same band.

^The Knife – We Share Our Mother’s Health (Shaken-Up Version) Live At Terminal 5^

Certain frequencies can cause nausea.

Sonic Weapon

Long Range Acoustic Device

I’ve read stuff about people having disorientation or maybe becoming nauseated when having paranormal types of experiences, and I’m wondering if maybe it could be related to sound(s) being present. These sounds are inaudible, but you sure as shit can feel them/your body detects them. Another thing to consider is that maybe the presence of a visual spectre, with a lack of secondary indications such as sound or touch. This, too, may cause nausea. I know that one of the problems that “virtual reality” has is that the eyes are basically seeing things, but the inner-ear revolts because there’s nothing to substantiate what the eyes are seeing. Just thinking that maybe a visual sighting of a ghost or whatever that has no accompanying secondaries, that maybe any resulting nausea is the secondary indicator/ is indicative that a very real something has indeed been seen.

Graveyard Spiral
Sound in Filmmaking: How to Use Sound to Heighten Emotions in a Film
Schumann Resonances
Bioelectromagnetics
Chemistry (Relationship)
Earthquake Sensitivity
Disturbances in equilibrium function after major earthquake

All kinds of weird shit going on all the time, but we appear to have some filters in place that more or less blind us to some of the intricacies of the Universe. Having the blinders removed is…

eye-opening.
^Klaxons – Gravity’s Rainbow^

A final thought would be that, I assume anyway, that paranormal type stuff is gonna be busting some veils. Or at least maybe making them wobble a bit. And what happens when you wobble a piece of film or a membrane or a diaphragm or whatever?

Seven Trumpets
The Beast (Revelation)
Sometimes, horns and trumpets happen. Perhaps not always Armageddon, but certainly something noisy.
Horn
Trumpet
Moving air...vibrating membranes.
^Klaxons; What makes them sound like that?^

COMIN’ THRU!!!!!

I'd never heard that sound until a coupla years ago.
^TARDIS sounds^

You know how I know if I’m depressed? If all I want to do is sleep, I’m depressed. I fucking hate sleep. Way too full of piss and vinegar to waste time on sleeping. I wanna be on the go, moving, doing something. Past coupla months tho? Sleep.

Sleep sleep sleep. 

It’s all I wanna do. No idea why I’m depressed, but I am.

Catching up on some sleep tho.
^Soulwax – Gravity’s Rainbow^

Air is gonna be a buffer between life and earth.

Water is gonna be more of a negotiator between life and earth.

Fire too will be a negotiator of sorts, but between life and air.

Buffer. Repel. Repel and/or attract.

You’ll need to contextualize with an anecdotal something in order to relate.

A bath. A swim. A flood.

A fire. A fireplace. On fire.

A breath. A breeze. A gale.

A flower. A potato. Quicksand.

^Love and Rockets – Ball Of Confusion^
Hrm...

I’m guessing that the polyethelene glycol is added to allow the vaccine to be frozen while still preventing it from freezing. Maybe, as an added bonus, it’ll give you a case of the shits, post-vaccination.

Polyethylene Glycol
Macromolecular Crowding
Precipitation (Chemistry)

I’ve already got enough autoimmune issues and allergies, and my DNA is almost assuredly a trainwreck. Do I really need to be even more fucked up than I already am?

Q: Can someone who is really messed up and requires all kinds of special considerations just to survive, really be considered “alive”?

A: ó¿ó

Some conspiratorial fodder for you dystopian types to chew on.

Because I cannot participate in a majority of the activities available to humans on this planet, I am…dead. Maybe not dead, but certainly not alive.

Less-alive? 

Incapable of participating in and contributing to the whole in such a way as to justify my continued existence. A burden. A drain. A waste of space that could be better occupied by a productive someone who isn’t me. Seeing as how I’m not alive, it’s kinda open season on me and my ilk, and there are no consequences. Can’t kill/murder something that isn’t alive.

Hrm…now why does this type of thinking ring a bell?

^Devo | Beautiful World | Official Video^

cYacFa

^Vance Joy – Riptide @Live Lollapalooza Brasil 2017^

*******

*/squints… Clausewitz trumps clause?*

*I know ‘vaccine’ comes from ‘cow’, Clicky… /yawns… I fink I’ll go have a snooze..*

Enjoy your we kenned, Dear Reader. Have a Song…

Adventures In Remote Viewing: Gnostaligia

The longing for a distant place also necessarily involves a separation in time.’

*The Galactic Centre is ‘home’ for Aeon Sophia, Clicky… /lights up… according to the Gnostics… /drags… and Lashy… /streams smoke…*

*Connecting Veras? …/winks… Nice syncing, Clicky…*

Last evening, Dear Reader, Cade Fon Apollyon and I remote viewed an old movie from 1972. I hadn’t seen ‘What’s Up Doc?’ since I was a teenager, lying on the front room carpet, surrounded by family, watching it on the telly…

*Igneous rock teaching humans how to sing… /deep drag… And Judy was my mother’s name… /flicks ash… Plus all the 4th wall breaking… /plumes smoke…*

… It got me to thinking about John Lamb Lash’s Fallen Goddess Scenario, an how homesick the Aeon Sophia probably feels…

*Whether she was tripped, jumped or fell from the Galactic Centre, the Gnostics referred to Sophia’s fall as an ‘accident’, Clicky… /clears throat…*

… How many billions of years she would have traveled, and will still have to travel to reach her home…

 

*Oh yeah, Lashy mentioned a dragon… /stubs butt… Cosplay’s the thing…*

… And that she must get lonely sometimes…

*Did he say ‘alright’ or ‘all right’?*

*Pfft… /rolls eyes… That election was rigged as fuck. Blatant…*

*Um… /thinks… I fink you mean censure knot censor… /pats snout… I guess it’s a similar effect for President Trump, Clicky. With a touch of underdog… /winks…*

… Ooh, that reminds me, Dear Reader. A couple of weeks ago, Leg Iron Books published all my Underdog Anthology stories in one volume…

… Currently it’s ranked 32,656 in ‘Erotic Literature & Fiction’ at Amazon…

*Jus’ free pence short. Yikes! My first ever royalties…*

… The Underdog Anthology, numero XIII is due out this weekend. I have a brand new story in there. It’s a follow-up to ‘What Time Do You Finish?’…

*And how! …/smirks…*

And there will be a new Missive From ‘Merica from Cade the Okie Devil of Text US, here tomorrow. Woo Hoo! 😀 We’ll see you then and… Have a Song 😉

Story Time: What Time Do You Finish?

*Ha! I saw your spoiler post in the week, Clicky… /lights up and smokes… You are really enjoying this US election, aren’t you…*

*Eww, that’s what that smell is… /wrinkles nose… Go and have a bath. I’ll take it from here…*

Happy Halloween, Dear Reader 😀 Today we are delighted to present for you my short story from Underdog Anthology XII: Mask-Querade

… called ‘What Time Do You Finish?’. Now, if you like it, Dear Reader, you might want to invest in a copy of the anthology, as it is chocked full with stories far creepier than mine. Enjoy! 😉

*******

What Time Do You Finish?

By Roo B. Doo

It is said that Halloween is the time of year when the veil between dimensions is worn at its thinnest. In the year 2020, when a global viral pandemic, violent rioting and supermarket socially distanced queues dominated everyday life, that boundary thickness could be considered as flimsy as paper medical face mask. Why, an errant finger could easily pierce it.

Shit!

God adjusted the mask across her visage, hoping no one would notice the ragged hole, and also that nothing too nasty had fallen through the breach on her sweet breath.

***

“How the hell am I supposed to know when we are?” Death snapped and glared up from inside the impenetrable blackness of his cowl at the three ominous figures surrounding him. They stood huddled at the junction of Great Russell and Bloomsbury Streets in London’s bustling West End. It was night, it was cold and, save for the motley quartet, the streets were completely deserted.

“Becoz yur Death,” the first figure hissed and bared vampiric fangs. Famine appeared tall and angular, dressed in a tuxedo, silk lined cape, and with a countenance so pale, it could only have been achieved by avoiding sunlight at any and all costs.

“Because you have the contraption,” the second figure added angrily. War appeared to be a smart businesswoman, confident and aggressive, in horn-rimmed glasses, sharp suit and infinitely sharper stiletto heels.

“AAAAAAAGH!” the third figure groaned as a fat, black housefly zig-zagged across a sunken cheek, before disappearing into a filth-caked nostril. Pestilence appeared to be a zombie; slack mouthed, grey decaying flesh and milk white, opaque eyes.

“No, Pesto, I don’t know what happened to the horses,” Death answered his rotting companion. He pulled himself up to his full height of three feet and three inches, retrieved a battered Psion organiser from beneath the folds of his robe, and unsheathed it with a satisfying pop. “I don’t understand it,” he cried, “transport’s always been laid on before.”

War, Famine and Pestilence stood in silence, watching over the diminutive but perfectly formed grim reaper, as he punched the keys of the electronic organiser with a gleaming phalange, and waited.

Click. Click. Click, click, click… click.

“Well?” War said impatiently. “We’re in London, that much is for sure. The British Museum is over there.”

Pestilence’s body did not move a single rotting muscle, but his head turned an unearthly 180° to follow the direction that War’s crimson painted talon was pointing in. “UGH WAAAGH AAAAAAAGH!”

“Ve don’t know if ve are zupposed to go zere.” Famine reached out and clasped either side of Pestilence’s head, twisting it back into a front facing position. “Ve don’t know vy ve are even here. Death, vot iz taking you zo long to find out?”

“Wait…” Death did not look up.

Click. Click, click. Click.

Death peered hard at the tiny screen on the Psion, before shaking it hard. “I dunno. It’s not working. Maybe the Cosmic Consciousness Neural Net is down again,” he said with a shrug.

“Argh!” War howled. She reached down and grabbed Death by the front of his robe and lifted him up to face height. Behind her glasses, War’s eyes blazed with fire. “That’s just brilliant! Ace! Fun-fucking-tastic, Death! What are we meant to do now?”

The dead weight of Pestilence’s arm slapped War on the shoulder. “WAAAGH UGH!”

“Yez, yez, yez, ve should all calm down,” Famine said smoothly, pulling Death from War’s tight grasp and setting him back on the pavement. He plucked Pestilence’s arm from War’s shoulder before she could rip it from its socket. “It does no good for uz to get agitated. Ve need to zink vot haz happened.”

“Exactly right, Famine,” Death injected in agreement. “Let’s look at what we do know.” He pushed himself free of the huddle and turned to face his companions. “We’ve got War, Famine, Pestilence and yours truly.” He began to glide, circling the trio. “The ultimate harbingers of doom and bringers of great tribulation. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse-”

“AAAAAAAGH UGH!”

Sans horses, indeed. Most irregular. Literally dropped, without warning, in the middle of London-”

“Clos to ze British Muzeum,” Famine interrupted.

“Correct. So we know where we are but we don’t know when we are-”

“Late twentieth, early twenty first century, I’d say, from the smell of the air,” War joined in. “Plus it’s night time and it’s bloody freezing.”

“A winter’s night, yes. Probably accounts for the lack of any activity about-”

“UGH!”

Death glided to a stop. “Your right, Pesto; there should be people about, even in winter. A big city like this produces lots of traffic-”

“Yez,” Famine mused, loudly tapping on his fangs in contemplation. “No motor vehicles hav passed by since ve arrived.”

Death nodded slowly, then looked up at the sky. One by one, War, Famine and Pestilence followed Death’s gaze.

“Nope, too much cloud cover and light pollution. I can’t see any stars to work out when we are.”

“I have a very bad feeling about this,” War whispered hoarsely.

“WAAAGH AAAAAAAGH!” Pestilence groaned.

“I agree, Pestilence, my dear friend. It haz to be a mistake,” Famine said solemnly. “An accident.”

“Possibly. We’d better start walking,” Death said and glided away down Bloomsbury Street, in the direction of Covent Garden.

War, Famine and Pestilence looked at each other and muttered darkly.

“Hold it, short-arse,” War barked. “Where exactly are we walking to? I can’t go far in these heels. They’re fucking murder.”

Pestilence dropped a shoulder and lurched awkwardly after Death. “AAAAAAAGH WAAAGH AAAAAAAGH!”

“Seriously? You’re going to follow him?” War shouted after the hunched and shambling figure of Pestilence. “You’ll disintegrate before you reach the end of this street, you noxious pile of pus! ”

Famine took War’s hands between his own, bowed deeply and lightly kissed her clenched fists until they opened. “Don’t vorry, my dear lady. I vill speak to Death.” Gently, he tugged on War so that she tottered forward with unsteady steps. “Please, come. Valk slowly. I vill talk to him.” With that, Famine turned into a giant bat and flew off in the direction of Death.

War roared with frustration but continued to follow the others. “I have Birkenstocks, you know. Why couldn’t I have manifested in my fucking Birkenstocks…”

Death heard wop-wopping wing beats approach from behind, and felt the change in air pressure as Famine flew over his head. He glided slowly until he reached his suave compadre, who stood in the middle of the pavement, arms wide, cape billowing and fangs bared.

“Death, stop please,” Famine pleaded. “Vor and Pestilence are in no fit state to valk far. Look.” He gestured back to the way they’d come. Pestilence jerked along slowly in the middle distance, with War following on behind, daintily sidestepping the trail of fleshy ooze left in Pestilence’s wake.

“Death, Death,” Famine cooed, “You know ve vould valk to the ends of ze vorld vid you, but you must tell us, vere are you taking us?”

Death paused and looked up, appraising his companion – Famine: always hungry, never sated, forever empty; his vampire appearance was more than apt. Pestilence, too, in zombie form was unrelenting, poisoning everything, even the very air. War, however, was a puzzler unless she represented a battle of the sexes. Should War shatter the fabled glass ceiling, Death was certain she would then set about slitting every available throat with the deadly shards.

What about me, though? I’m exactly the same, I haven’t changed, Death wondered. The inside of his skull began to itch. He sighed and shook his head. This whole situation was wrong and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. Something big. Something important.

“Death?” Famine snapped his fingers rapidly. “Vere are ve going?” he demanded.

“To the Embankment, Famine. To Cleopatra’s Needle.”

“Ov course!” Famine slapped the palm of his hand against his widow’s peaked forehead. “Ze ancient Egyptian Obelisks of Time! Ve can return to ze hintervorld by way ov Cleopatra’s Needle! Zat iz super fine zinking, Death. No vonder yur the leader.”

“I-” Death suddenly cocked his head to one side. “Can you hear that?”

There was a low rumble in the distance but it was gradually getting louder, moving nearer. Death and Famine watched as at first, War turned her head to look behind, following the direction of the sound, then Pestilence slowly shuffled round to see what was making the noise. Further back in the distance, Death could just make out a dim rectangle of orange light, floating closer through the darkness, getting brighter. War began to wave her arms and shout.

“AAAAAAAGH!” Pestilence bellowed.

Death and Famine glanced at each other before racing back towards Pestilence and War. “Taxi!” they shouted in unison, tinged of relief.

***

War, Famine and Pestilence sat in abject silence in the back of the taxi; the three separated from Death and the taxi driver in the front by a transparent sheet of plexiglass, with only a narrow slot cut into it for the exchange of money.

Excuse me while I light my spliff…

“Spliff,” the taxi driver sang along to the bassy sound of Bob Marley and the Wailers coming through the speakers.

Oh God I gotta take a lift…

“Lift.” The taxi driver turned toward Death and gave him a beaming smile.

From reality I just can’t drift…

“Drift.”

That’s why I am staying with this riff…

“Riff.” The taxi driver chuckled and tapped his hands on the top of the steering wheel, in time with the music. “Easy Skanking. Hell, I love this song.”

Death looked out of his side window. The feeling that something was wrong had only intensified as the empty London streets rushed by. He cursed the broken Psion organiser tucked inside his robes. Bloody useless technology. Give me an hourglass any day, he thought sourly.

“Good party, was it?” the taxi driver asked.

“Huh?” Death replied, perplexed by the driver’s question.

The taxi driver laughed. “The fancy dress party. Your costumes are sweet. I thought the government had cancelled Halloween because of the Rona.”

Death stiffened and the itching inside his skull increased. “Halloween’s been cancelled?”

“Yeah man, Christmas too if we’re not lucky,” the taxi driver replied.

“What year is… it?” Death asked slowly.

The taxi driver sucked his teeth contemptuously. “What you mean what year is it? It’s 2020, child. Where have you been?”

A burst of realisation exploded through Death’s train of consciousness: It’s 2020: the year anything happened! The year when pandemic waves of Coronavirus and Karenitus swept the globe, resulting in lockdowns, economic disaster and civil unrest. Things are starting to make sense now! Even so, the itch continued to irritate the inside of Death’s skull.

Cigar smoke suddenly filled the front of the taxi. Death coughed and tapped on the sign affixed to the console. “That says ‘No Smoking’.”

The taxi driver grinned at Death, a smoking cigar butt jauntily perched from the corner of his mouth. “2020, child. Donch ya know the saying? ‘A smoke a day keeps the Rona at bay’.” He laughed heartily and bounced up and down in his seat with mirth. “Besides, who’s gonna stop me? Look about you, my small friend. There’s no one around to say shit about it.”

If Death still had eyes, they would have been rolling round his ocular cavities. “Hey guys.” He shouted to the others through the slot in the plexiglass. “Problem solved: it’s 2020.”

“Tventy Tventy! Hellz Bellz!” Famine exclaimed.

Pestilence gave a guttural groan. “WAAAGH UGH AAAAAAAGH!”

“Yes, but what’s the date?” War demanded nervously.

“It’s the 31st October, sugar,” the taxi driver called back. “Happy Halloween.”

The taxi stopped at the end of Temple Place. In front lay the deserted Embankment. Along side it, the river Thames flowed swiftly past, glittering lights shimmered on its rippled surface, as above the clouds began to separate, clear, and finally reveal the celestial occupants of the night sky. The taxi driver nonchalantly flicked a switch on his dashboard, locking all the vehicle doors with a loud clunk.

“Oh no,” War murmured gravely and pressed her hands hard against her stomach. “No, no, no!”

“Vot iz it, Vor?” Famine asked with rising alarm.

A shaft of moonlight hit the taxi as it slowly pulled right out of the junction and onto the empty Embankment, illuminating its interior. The Moon was bright, it was clear and it was very full.

“It’s my monthlies,” War whined, sliding off her seat and onto all fours. Her jaw elongated and wiry tufts of fur sprang from her gnarly brow, knocking War’s horn-rimmed glasses from her face. “I don’t fucking believe this. Why nowOOOO!”

“Now this is a great song. One of the Skipper’s best,” the taxi driver exclaimed, ignoring the howling and growling, and blood-curdling shrieks of panic coming from the back of the cab, as the previously smart and professional War transformed into a ferocious and carnal beast. He turned up the volume on his stereo and began to croon along,

Until the philosophy, which hold one race superior and another. Inferior. Is finally. And permanently. Discredited. And abandoned. Everywhere is war. Me say war.

“Vot? NOOOO! Get avay! Get avay!” Famine screamed and impotently fumbled with the taxi’s doors handles. They were securely locked, however; there would be no escape.

Death sat stock still, strapped in tight and listened in horror to the sound of Famine and Pestilence being ripped apart by the slavering jaws and slashing claws of a werewolf that appeared to be War.

“How’s you seat, child?” the taxi driver asked slyly.

“I’m not a child,” Death tersely replied.

“UGH!” Pestilence’s bloody fingers abruptly thrust through the slot in the plexiglass, twitched once, then lay limp.

“I know, I know, little man. No offence intended.” The taxi driver continued. “That space you’re occupying used to be for luggage, but times are hard and last year it was converted into a child seat,” he explained. “Good thing for you, eh?”

The heavy silence that fell between the driver and his passenger was punctured by the sound of wet chomps and crunching bone emanating from the back of the cab.

The itch in Death skull stopped, but the very fabric of reality now took up its cause.

“Scratch?” Death asked tentatively.

“Yes, child.”

Old Scratch?”

“Who else you expecting?” the Devil, who appeared to be a smirking, smoking taxi driver, replied. The vehicle slowed to a stop next to Cleopatra’s Needle. “Now hurry up and spit it out. It’s time for you to leave.”

Death paused; it felt like eternity. Finally he asked, “Why?”

Why?” Old Scratch puffed on his cigar, the shit-eating grin never leaving his face. “Why, Armageddon, little man. What did you think this is?”

Death was flummoxed. In his long existence, he had never been flummoxed before. It was a new sensation, but not one he’d ever longed for.

Old Scratch patted him on the head, then reached up to retrieve a folded piece of paper from behind the sun visor. “I got a letter last year, see,” he explained. He unfolded the page and glanced down at the childish writing on it. “From a sweet, innocent child. A touch dyslexic, but with the purest soul ever to inhabit a human body. What could I do?” He offered the letter to Death. “My heart just melted.”

Death took the letter from Old Scratch and began to read aloud: “’Dear Satan. My name is Molly and I have everything I will ever need. Can you please help everybody else in the world by ending hunger, pollution and war. This is my Christmas wish. Thank you. Molly Darling, age 6. P.S. I hope you are well.’

“So considerate and polite,” Old Scratch sighed, taking the letter back.

All the stars in the heavens swirled furiously inside Death’s skull. He mentally grappled with the raging storm, searching for a handhold on his sanity. “War ended Pestilence and Famine, but War isn’t dead.”

“You sure? Can’t hear no breathing back there.”

Death swiftly unlocked his seatbelt and stood up on his seat. The plexiglass was no longer transparent, but smeared red with blood and gore. He pushed the dead fingers of Pestilence back through the slot and heard a splash as the severed hand they were attached to thudded to the floor of the taxi. Death peered through the gap and saw War lying naked and smoothly pale in the bloodbath. A chunk of half chewed greenish meat fell free from her lifeless lips.

“WooEE! That Pesto sure was ripe!” Old Scratch said, opening his window and flicking out ash from his cigar. “Bad meat. Never eat it. Always, always, insist on fresh.”

Death pulled away from the sight of the abomination in the back of the taxi and sat back down in his seat. “But how can it be Armageddon if War, Famine and Pestilence are gone?”

Old Scratch punched the numbers on the keyboard of the dashboard fare display. “With no hunger, there will be obesity, so humanity will become slovenly and fat, lazy and satisfied. No war means no competition, no goals to achieve, so mankind will lose its desire to better itself. And the elimination of pollution is a sure fire way of killing any human creativity. I give the species ten years, tops.”

“But there will be death,” Death whispered softly.

“Oh indeed, you’re still needed. You have a busy time ahead of you, little man. That’ll be six six six.”

Death snapped his head back to face the Devil in the driver’s seat. “What?”

Old Scratch laughed and pointed to the fare metre. “Six pounds, sixty six.” He gave a phlegmy cough and waved Death away. “Just kidding. For you, child, no charge,” he said gleefully.

*******

*Ah, that’s much better, Clicky… /stubs butt… Do try to keep clean…*

*/sighs…*

We hope you enjoyed the story, Dear Reader, and that you will consider purchasing a copy of the latest Underdog Anthology…

*”By the book”… /thinks… Who was the 37th President of America, Clicky?*

*/rolls eyes… Elementary, dear Clicky…*

… And may the rest of your Halloween we kenned be spooky. Have a Song… ❤

CLICK5: Gno, Ken, Doo!

CLICK5: Roses & Gnosis

CLICK5: Art? Don’t Banksy On It

Adventures In Remote Viewing: Blue Sky Thinking…

LAST TIME AT THE LOL

*Good thinking, Clicky… /lights up and smokes… I mean, it’s not necessary for Dear Reader to visit your post from yesterday, butt it is related to this one…*

On Tuesday evening, Dear Reader, my good buddy Cade Fon Apollyon and I indulged in a spot of remote viewing, but not at first…

cade and roob blue sky thinking 1

… While he took advantage of the lush Texan weather, I scrolled about in the Yellow smoking universe of Twitter. Suddenly I spotted a fresh deposit had been left by another good friend of mine, TNT, in the Red universe of Merovee…

Shiny Doctor TNT posts a vid on Merovee

*/flicks ash… I see Shiny has removed his mask now, Clicky…*

Intrigued, I watch the video he posted and immediately decided to visit the YTuba’s channel. There were only 8 videos in total uploaded: 2 on demonic emojis and 6 on a strange hacking incident that occurred in Chicago, way back in 1987. I had an idea…

cade and roob blue sky thinking 2

… I persuaded Cade to tear himself away from his cloud watching and remote view the videos with me. Synchronously, and this post is about that. Ready, Dear Reader?

Three,

two,

one…

*******

CADE

Maybe you can feel me here, and maybe not. But when I think of Chicago, several things come to mind. Cuba, Canada, Belgium, Wax Trax, O’Hare, Midway, AA Flight 191, fireworks, Sears Tower, snow, Aurora, public-access television. Lots of other shit too, but we’re talking about looping through 1987 here in this instance, which was 33 years ago, and that means primarily Wax Trax. Lets put some feelers out…

Barbles

Barbel (Anatomy)

Wax Trax! Records

After watching these vids with Roob, I’m not exactly sure what it is that I am supposed to be doing, other than perhaps solving a mystery. Or maybe giving some of my thoughts surrounding the events of 22 November 1987…24 years after President Kennedy’s assassination in Dallas.

My immediate problem is, watching a set of videos that give their own spin(s) to the event(s). I have no real interest in the Max Headroom pirate signal/hijacking thing, but these videos that I watched are telling me that I should. Not only that, these videos are giving specific reasons as to why I should, namely some Illuminati something or another and all of the symbolism that goes along with it.

With that in mind, I’ve already given you a bunch of my own contributions that likely have no meaning to you unless you loop them through my own perspective(s) via Wax Trax! Records. Namely, Cuba, Canada and Belgium with some nods to Flight 191 and Aurora. And with that, I’ll take a breather and let Roob take the controls for a while.

^GREATER THAN ONE – I Don’t Need God [Official Video] HQ^
ROOB

Thank you for the 33, 22, 11 introduction, Cade 😉

Although I was already aware of Chicago network hacking incident in 1987, I was rather taken by the enigmatic Professor Bulwer Symthe character. The words he used, some repeatedly, like ‘Israel’, ‘alien broadcast’ and ‘sophisticated’…

“Who or what?”

*/smokes contentedly… I know what you’re thinking, Clicky…*

*No, tho’ blimey yeah… /deep drag… No, I noticed the Doctor glance at the photo of his granddaughter, Susan, on his desk… /plumes smoke… And the very first episode of Doctor Who, featuring Susan, was broadcast the day after President Kennedy was assassinated. The show very nearly got cancelled ‘cos nobody saw it…* 

“Oh I just made the greatest masterpiece for all the greatest world newspaper nerds!”

As soon as I heard that, my mind went to the smoking Red universe of Merovee and a question frequently explored there by the greatest whirled news mind lines nerds: What Is Real?

Over to Cade…

CADE

JMO, Roob, but “what is real” is quite simple most of the time. You know it. The depth of a particular reality may take time to plumb, may take time to understand or come to grips with it, but yeah…you know it.

The thing most people seem to have difficulty with is explaining a particular reality to someone else. Especially if you and/or the person you are wanting to relate to are in a big fucking hurry. Not to suggest that “real” is always some inherently complex something, but at the same time…yeah…both real and unreal things seem to be pretty fucking complex. Wait, I’m supposed to be talking about signals, signal hijackings and signal hijackings being hijacked.

Our commitments to racial equity

Now, not that I know anything about anything, but a quick read of that makes certain words seem redundantly redundant:

  • 1754 words;
  • “black” is used 46 times;
  • “google” is used 40 times.

Keyword Density

Let us see what the professionals have to say about “keyword density” in this particular writing.

SmallSEOTools-KEYWORD DENSITY CHECKER

If I post the link to the Google CEO blogpost into SmallSEOTools’ keyword density checker, it tells me that my reading of the article may have been correct in detecting certain things being packed into this writing:

  • “black” has a frequency of 43 and a density of 7.76%;
  • “google” has a frequency of 33 and a density of 5.96%;
  • “work” has a frequency of 25 and a density of 4.51%;
  • “product” has a frequency of 18 and a density of 3.25%;
  • “googler” has a frequency of 16 and a density of 2.89%.

What does all that mean? Welp, if you want “real”, you may or may not find it in the Google CEO blogpost. Kinda depends on what you are looking for and maybe why. What you are going to do with the information? Some people may be trying to hijack things for their own purposes, maybe not. Most things are typically quite obvious with the benefit of hindsight, and if ever there was a year to focus on hindsight and what it is, 2020 is likely the year to do that. Me? I love my vision, but prolly a good idea to be aware of your other senses too. And speaking of being aware, I need to toss this back over to Roob.

Smell ya later.

^a split second “arsenic on the rocks”^
ROOB

I saw the Knights Templar cross make a brief appearance in the video, and something similar appeared in a field in Wiltshire, yesterday, but seen today in the smoking Red universe of Merovee…

Clicky posts PA horns on Merovee

*Yes, I know you agree with Cade, Clicky… /stubs butt… Broadcasting is certainly a sync…*

In fact, there is so much to unpack in that second installment, from a puppet lecturing on invisible puppet masters…

… And the whole fly swatting thing…

*Yes, I saw what you did with your Song choice, Clicky. Tho’ I think you’ll find that’s a Monster spatula… /smirks… Still plenty of horns…*

… That syncs with a particular post here at the LoL. Not so much for fly swatting as ‘submit for spanking’, the name of a gif in the post that attracts a disproportionate number of  visitors from the Middle Easter. I can only wonder at how disappointed those Dear Readers are when they land that post, whilst busily swatting at their flies…

submit for spanking

*That’s the one, Clicky… /scrolls through post… Oh look, Canada is in it and Keith Palmer…*

*Does the pattern on the railing look kinda Templar cross shaped to you Clicky? …/rubs eyes… And is it me, or is that memorial Tardis shaped?*

*OMG! …/covers open mouth with hand… I just remembered the Afterword poem I mutilated for Underdog Anthology II…*

I need a drink. Your turn, Cade…

CADE

Wax trax just took on a whole other meaning. A two-pronged attack on the furry fuzz bivouacked in the crux of the back crack . Yeesh. Must be true love to go through all that. Digress.

And “neutrons leaving the nucleus of an atom” really was my first thought when I saw that crop circle. Also thought about ion-channels. No idea what any of that may mean tho’, other than the obvious “people with too much time on their hands” types of associations. Digress further.

A lot of this stuff in the videos we’ve already talked about in private so I’m trying to address anything that maybe we didn’t talk about (which ain’t much), but seeing as how “insidious” is suddenly on the menu…

Here’s Why Radio Stations Always Start With a ‘K’ or ‘W’

When they mentioned in the Max Headroom video that “WGN” means “World’s Greatest Newspaper”, and also that “WTTW” means “Windows To The World”, that’s kindof a misnomer. The “W” really doesn’t mean anything other than it denotes a US broadcast station. The licensee can brand it, but it really doesn’t mean anything outside of it’s original intent, nor should it because 1) it causes confusion, and 2) they are a licensee, not the owner. The owner is the US Government (vis-a-vis…the citizenry). Why is this important? Hijacking. We’re talking hijacking here, and there are some subtleties underlying these romanticisms about institutions that seem to point back to the notion(s) of “too big to fail”. Did I lose you?

Heartstrings may sometimes allow for fudging, flexibility and forgiveness where none should actually be given. Exceptions made, precedents set, new paradigms formed, and applicability only for a select few. Could be creating a managerial and logistical nightmare for regulatory agencies down the road. Someone wanted a monopoly on the letter “W” and its meaning, and someone gave it to them, perhaps without realizing what it was they were doing. Now it comes down to whether or not to honor the “mistake”.

BTW, I went and watched the “raw” videos just to maybe get a more-clear picture of what it is I’m supposed to be seeing. The flyswatter is epically cringeworthy. For me it is anyway. Butt…that’s water under the bridge.

^The Revolting Cocks – Union Carbide^

Lots of seemingly insidious shit floating around. But really, is that anything new?

Maybe there’s more to “woke” than just and only pointing out what’s broke.

Maybe there’s more to “the spiritual path” than just and only clever math.

Maybe there’s more to “ascension” that just and only pretension.

Maybe there’s more to “spiritual awakening” than just and only finding a word that rhymes with awakening.

😛

^TOPPOP: Brian Eno – Seven Deadly Finns^
ROOB

Thanks Cade, I had wondered about the origins of W or K prefixing of US radio station names. So, it goes: commercial, military, military, commercial?
Wank for peace

*Ooh that nipple ring, is similar in shape to the crop circle, Clicky… /lights up… Prince Albert, Public Address… /drags… Personal Assistant… /plumes cloud of smoke… You know, the first story I ever wrote as an adult was for the first Underdog Anthology. Its aboot a PA, on her knees, receiving demonic cumming…*

*True! And social distancing is integral to the plot of the story…*

Cade shows Roob the compass

*Yes! Cade did spot a masonic compass next to the Tardis shaped Palmer memorial and pissing man, just in front of the Templar cross railings… /drags…*

fuzzy pom pom mirror

*In a mirror, left is right and right is left… /streams smoke… I’m still fuzzy as to what’s so bad about being illuminated, Clicky…*

Especially when a pyramid is used to close all the Professor Bulwer Smythe’s vids…*

I’ve not seen the Max Headroom movie and I didn’t watch the TV show back in the day. But for me, ‘max headroom’ reeks of memory storage and increased consciousness, à la David Lynch’s explanation…

*LoL… /smokes…*

I’m spent. Cade’s turn…

CADE 

I’m not Clicky (as far as I know) so I’m not attempting to answer Clicky’s question, but your comment about illumination and what’s wrong with it? ‘Tis an interesting thought. Especially in this vein of “AI” thinking we’re doing.

Illumination isn’t just and only “knowing”, but knowing sure is painful sometimes. Knowing can even be specifically designed to be painful. You were not aware that your father was shooting heroin, you were not aware your wife was banging several of your co-workers, you were not aware your kids was failing in school, you were not aware that strange spot on your left cheek was Merkel cell carcinoma…someone illuminates you to these facts….BOOM! Pain.

What we do with this information from there? More pain could be on the way. Prolly important that we also address “what’s right with illumination”, but even that is going to have a lot of negatives associated with it. Signs? Symbols? Wonders? Magical and mysterious things? Loads of these things are going to be associated with “the devil” and chalked up as evil right out of the gate. These could be pivotal moments in time for us with respect to the current established order of our lives.

Pump Up The Volume (Film)

What I’m mainly thinking about here is how AI obtains and processes information. And especially the information we feed it + what we may tell an AI to do with that information. How we as the masters “control”, and what kind(s) of pain our decision-making may bring this and these AI(s). “We” are the creators, which means “we” are the masters, which means “we” call the shots irrespective of the feelings of those we control. Kindof a weird bunch of thoughts to be having on the 155th anniversary of Juneteenth.

HEY! And whilst we are on the topic of signals, sending signals, and also intercepting/hijacking/pirating signals, did you know that Rush released a new video this week for their song The Spirit Of Radio? Pirate Radio features in the video, lots of radio personalities and/or DJs also feature in the video, which also means lots of detached and faceless voices blasting their way into your life and your lives. What do detached voices have to do with AI, slavery, mysticism, illumination and all kinds of similarly and dissimilarly related things? I dunno…you’re the smart one…you figure it out.

^Finitribe – Monster In The House (1990)^

When I first bumbled into this current “awakening” incarnation back in 2007/2008, one of the big ideas was that we humans were a slave race created by the Illimanunakinaughty.

Actually, the Anunnaki are the alien race that supposedly created us, but the Anunnaki seem to also be related to and/or associated the Illuminati, so I personally concatenated the two, then added my own flair since both parties are typically chalked up as evil. The concept of us being a slave race really isn’t that much of a stretch, and seems to have come into the public consciousness around the time of the film Stargate. Stargate relies heavily upon Ancient Egypt as a plot device, and speaking of films utilizing antiquity as plot devices, a somewhat related tweet awaited me when I woke this morning…

In the film Alien, Ian Holm played Ash, an android, and likely the creepiest AI since HAL 9000 from 2001: A Space Oddessey. But it occurs to me that both Ash and HAL share a common trait in that they were both instructed by “the company” to lie and/or kill, with no clearly defined parameters as to exactly how. Only the mission is important, and once the rules go out the fucking window due to fear of failure, everything goes to shit…nothing goes to plan…lots of people die…lots of residual pain(s)…all because of, illumination.

Anyway, Ian Holm is a great actor, I personally remember him most as Napoleon Bonaparte from Time Bandits, Ash from Alien, Professor Fitz from The Aviator, and the priest Vito Cornelius from The Fifth Element. Vito Cornelius…a priest from an ancient secret order warning of The Great Evil’s return, in a time where a “black” President is in office, and the whole thing centers around a temple in Egypt. And you know what just occurred to me? I don’t think “social distancing” is represented anywhere in the film The Fifth Element. Quite the opposite actually. I think at one point, the President mentions there are 200 billion citizens on Earth.

Ian Holm was also in Brazil tho’. Seems like there was quite a bit of “social distancing” in the film Brazil. There was all kinds of distancing in the film Brazil.

“Come together, and experience safely, from your own designated area.”

We appear to be figuring out “how to do it”, without actually doing much of anything.

Roob…I toss it back over to you and Clicky, and I leave the reader with a video that will maybe provide some insight into the post-modern idealism of the 1980’s, and maybe also how that relates to today and/or today’s world.

And, I’d also like to give a shoutout to my Uncle Richard, Aunt Charlotte, and Big John. I think about ya’ll a lot, you’re never far from my mind, and always in my heart.

^CYBERPUNK DOCUMENTARY (All 5 parts)^
ROOB

sock puppet

*Yeah, the Rush video is cool. Reminds of A-Ha…*

I have to say I am less convinced by the argument made for the first pillar of the Professor’s theory. Shady ethics and corporate marketing? Seriously?

* /rolls eyes… The Professor needs to watch that, Clicky, for the bigger picture of  shady practices used by government, business and scientific entities in order to sell the public on an idea… /final drag… Buy their product…*

“Drink Coca-Cola”

Coca-Cola saw sales rise 57.7% following James Vickery’s subliminal messaging, where as popcorn sales rose only 18.1%…

“Hungry? Buy Popcorn”

Subliminal message buy or try popcorn

*He definitely says ‘buy’… /stubs butt… Hmm…*

Maybe the difference can be accounted for by the simplicity of the first message, whereas the second message is far more complex, being as it is preceded by a question: ‘Hungry?’…

*I saw a ‘DO NOT QUESTION AUTHORITY’ subliminal message in there, Clicky, but nary a question mark in sight…*

There are a ton of answers for a question such as ‘Hungry?’ Asking a question of a viewer through subliminal messaging is not the same as giving them a simple command to act upon. Asking a question prompts thinking and not, mindless action. I’m not saying there isn’t anything to subliminal messaging, just that this particular tranche of the Professor’s argument is weak. I mean, what movie were the subject audience watching?

As for hypnosis? There’s a reason why people respond to hypnosis…

And with that, I’ll now pass you back to Cade.

CADE

Roob, you’re right on track with some of the things that I too thought about with respect to a lot of the ground we are covering, a lot of the ground Professor Blue-Hand covered, and especially the bits regarding subliminal anything.

Pigeonholing

Pigeonhole Principle

Pigeonhole Sort

Blacklisting

Nexting

Nexting

Doxing

Exile

Our bodies seem to disapprove of intruders of all kinds. If a something exists within a certain more or less known framework (our bodies), and that framework cannot figure out what that something is doing there, the framework is likely to start asking questions. Begin an interrogative process to figure out what this something is doing there, and what, if anything, needs to be done about it. Adaptive systems which sometimes know exactly how to react (intruders and foreign objects of known quantities) sometimes don’t know how to react (new organisms or maybe new materials,) and sometimes may even be prohibited from acting due to outside influences.

Nonsteroidal Anti-Inflammatory Drug (NSAID)

Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor (SSRI)

Beta Blocker

Lobotomy

Gastric Bypass Surgery

Mask

Echolocation Jamming

Thought Blocking

Tangential Speech

Asperger Syndrome

Autism

Firewall

Antivirus Software

Dazzle Camouflage

Discworld (Redirected from Stealth philosophy)

Stealth

Identification Friend Or Foe (IFF)

Password

Secret Handshake

Interrogation

Millimeter Wave Shielding

Amulet

Naivety

Safe Space

Sorry Roob, but I’ve run long in thinking of disrupters and shieldings within the context of a body being able to locate and identify “pirate signals”. And in this case, the “pirate signal” being messages received by the body, when the body either doesn’t know or maybe doesn’t understand these messages and their origins…let alone their meaning(s). Just wondering aloud some thoughts I’ve had regarding humans developing immunities to…pirate signals/hijacked communications.

BTW, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that “Safe Space” symbol almost identical to the symbol in the Trump ad Facebook just removed for being “a Nazi hate symbol”?

Yeah, the Trump one has a square around the triangle, the Safe Space has a circle around the triangle, and the colors are different, but they both have colored triangles encapsulated in other shapes, and the triangles are oriented the same. Weird.

^Course of Empire – Cosmic Dancer^

Oh…one last thought when thinking about the peculiarities of an entity being able to encounter and understand new things. You know what AI is never given? What accommodation never seems to be afforded Artificial Intelligence(s)? Leisure time. Time off. Breaks. Respite. Convalescence. If the machine is powered on, it fucking well better be working, and it best be working in top form…or else.

24/7/365 – no deviance from the established, no rests written into the score, and no recitatives for this songbird.

Sing to me songbird…sing to me.

Sounds like hell.

Back to you Roob.

^The Smiths Asleep^
ROOB

Did you catch the wave, above? 😉

Finally, we get to the ’11’ of the 911 hack attack in Chicago in 1987 and Doctor Who… Who else?

*I recognise the Sontarans, Clicky, but what happened to the Rutans? …/lights up and smokes…*

‘The creature then stalks down and kills the others in the lighthouse. Vince dies first, then Adelaide. With its presence now revealed, the alien sheds its disguise: revealing itself to be a Rutan, the hereditary enemies of the Sontarans, a green blob-like amphibious life form, whose scout ship crash landed in the sea and is trying to summon its mother ship. With the Rutans losing the war against the Sontarans, they plan to turn Earth into a base for its strategic position, which will allow them to launch a counterattack. However, once the Sontarans find the planet, it will become subject to a photonic bombardment, taking countless human lives.

‘The Doctor modifies a weapon to destroy the alien. The Doctor and Skinsale retrieve diamonds from Palmerdale’s body belt to use the weapon, but Skinsale is killed by the Rutan in the process. The Doctor uses the diamonds as a focus for the electric lighthouse beam to convert it into a high-energy laser by which he destroys the Rutan mother ship. Disobeying the Doctor, Leela watches the laser destroy the ship and is momentarily blinded, and as a side effect the blinding flash turns Leela’s eyes from brown to blue. The Doctor quotes Wilfrid Wilson Gibson’s poem Flannan Isle as they leave.’

*Of course! Ruth Clayton, a.k.a. The ‘Black’ Doctor, smashed the lighthouse light, its illuminator, in order to ‘wake up’ and inhabit her real identity… /shakes head… I did not see that coming…*

“Though three men dwell on Flannan Isle
To keep the lamp alight,
As we steer’d under the lee, we caught
No glimmer through the night.”

A passing ship at dawn had brought
The news; and quickly we set sail,
To find out what strange thing might ail
The keepers of the deep-sea light.

*Spooky…*

*Pharmers… /grimaces…*

And now for the final video in the Professor Bulwer Smythe’s Max Headroom series… “so far…” 😉 I hand you over to Cade…

CADE

Wait…I’m supposed to be writing about each individual video? Bloops! I’ve been giving my overall impressions on all the videos we watched, and not really a detailed analysis, let alone a detailed analysis of each individual video. Erm…lemme do this, Imma start watching the final part, get to a stopping point, and I’ll give some thoughts on what I see.

PAUSED!!! @ 1:04 into the “Synchro-Vox” episode. Part 6 or whatever.

They start off by talking about personalities and how they develop, mention the book “I Am A Strange Loop” by Douglas Hofstadter, then use an example from the comic-strip Peanuts to make the case for static vs dynamic personality modeling. For those unfamiliar with the comic, one of the running gags is Lucy holding an American football for Charlie Brown to kick, she always convinces him to try to kick the ball, he is always skeptical, she always convinces him that this time will be different, Lucy ALWAYS pulls the ball away just as Charlie Brown is about to kick the ball, and he always goes flying and winds up flat on his back. In the video example, Lucy “swears on her mother’s grave” that she will not pull the ball away, the video goes on to talk about memory being a predictive indicator, but then only uses Charlie Brown as a reference “in one’s own head” as to the outcome.

I find this odd because Charlie Brown is not the only dynamic in this “predictive indicator”, and Charlie Brown is actually only half of the equation.

Q: Why has Lucy been excluded from the equation as a predictive indicator?

A: Is it because shes….*gasp*female?!?!!??

We are one of three parties involved in this dynamic, and really the fourth when you take the author of Peanuts into consideration. We can now reduce the dynamic to only two parties…the reader, and the author. The author is speaking to me, they are using the Lucy/football/Charlie Brown dynamic to communicate with me, and since this is a running gag, yes, we already know the outcome irrespective of the dialogue between Lucy and Chuck in the panes of the comic-strip. The author is talking to the reader, doing so via familiar characters and familiar situations, and the reader is listening. But to further explore “this static dynamic” a bit of Lucy, Charlie Brown and the football…

Q: What about new readers?

A: ??? there’s nothing new…it’s just new to you ¿¿¿

One could argue that everything dynamic is actually a static something that is not yet well understood by an individual or a group of individuals. As a new reader to Peanuts, you are unaware of the ongoing football feud between Lucy and Charlie Brown, and so as you continue reading, you hold out hope that “someday, Charlie Brown will indeed kick that football because Lucy will not pull it away”. So, you read on with starry eyes towards a better day that will never come because the creator has designed it that way. Lucy will always, always, pull that football away. Charlie Brown will never, ever, kick that football. This brings up yet another interesting question…

Q: Is it the end-result that matters, or is the interaction between the two parties of Lucy van Pelt and Charlie Brown what matters?

A: ???

One could argue that maybe we sometimes stress the outcome of a particular situation instead of relishing the events of the journey as we travel. Not to mention, the fact that Lucy can always be counted on to pull the ball away, the fact that Charlie Brown will always try and kick the football…Jesus…talk about stable people in a stable relationship. Lucy and Chuck are godlike in this regard (all thanks to Charles M. Shulz).

PEANUTS FOOTBALL GAG SPOILERS!!!

Thanks for the ride Roob. This was fun. Educational. Mind-altering. Soul-enlightening. A tad rough on the fingers and the carpal-tunnel, but its been well worth it 🙂

^G&S – Sonic 25th Anniversary Medley^
ROOB

Thank you, Cade ❤

*Chicago rhymes with Clutch Cargo… /thinks… I’ll annoy…*

Really, you should see for yourself what the puppet professor with a third eye is dissecting and presenting in this series. There is another, and final episode promised. Maybe Bulwerk Smythe will include his take on:

  • Chuck “Frickin’ Liberal” Swirsky – a Canadian;
  • “Oh, Jesus!” – anagram of ‘use josh’;
  • The dildo he takes off his finger, drops to the floor, then holds in his mouth;
  • “My files!” – anagram of ‘my flies’;
  • Max’s accomplice, the filly presumably moving the tin background behind him when not whacking his buttocks with a fly swatter.

If this incident is as import-…

tv interference
P.S. From Cade – Roob, there’s one thing I thought about through the whole of this adventure, but neglected to get around to it. Primarily, data and data interpretation. One could argue that the numbers on subliminal advertising are wildly erratic due to improper interpretation of the results. Maybe even due to inaccurate reporting of the findings due to…erm…some underlying agenda. Needing the numbers to say something that the research doesn’t actually support. But I would think, that with subliminal messaging, someone is likely to pick up the mantle at some point, point out that the data was not being properly analyzed due to the science not being fully understood, modeling techniques are much better now, computer systems give us new insight, and soon you’ve got a whole wave of new converts with dollar signs in their eyes looking at your old subversive advertising bandwagon made shiny new.

Another thing that appears to be overlooked is that we are cyclical beings who live in a cyclic environment on a cyclical planet that is teaming with rhythms of all kinds and types. Looking for a single steady tone within a symphony of noise and noises that we do not understand seems at times…absurd. But, I guess that’s kinda maybe part of what makes us human. Chase the impossible /shrug

To me, that’s kinda what this whole series of videos was about. Looking at old things with new eyes in order to see something that others in the past likely missed. And not to sound dire or anything, but I see a problem in that. New eyes being hypnotized by an old spell that is still working its magic, yet no one seems to see the spell that is actually being cast. To relate, some thoughts regarding the past and its ability to rear its head when the details surrounding a something become clouded or lost in time.

The Radium Girls

Someday, Radium’s past will possibly be forgotten, and again is likely to be touted as the new big thing as people stare amazed at its glowy properties. Some things, the glowy bits aren’t so immediately obvious. Like lithium. And asbestos. And uranium. And cocaine. And mercury. And lead. And plastic(s). And polytetrafluoroethylene. And polychlorinated biphenyl. And the Atkins diet. And on and on…you get the picture.

Snake oil

Snake…coil

Hrm

-cade

tv interference

*******

And that, Dear Reader, is that for this epic post. Well done. We’re glad you made it to the bottom of the pile on, and hope you enjoyed reading it as much as Cade Fon Apollyon and I enjoyed creating it…

*I’m not Missying you out at all, Clicky… /pats snout… You’re integral…*

*Blue sky thinking, sweetie. Now fetch us a Song to close on. Ta V much…*

… Feel free to stop a while and peruse some the other posts  at the LoL. Or not. Like most things in life, you are in charge of the decisions that you make. You have that power.

Have a Song 😀