Lashed To River Rocks

LAST TIME 1

Dear Reader, after being blown away by Jordan Peterson’s psychoanalysis of the animated movie Pinocchio last weekend, I persuaded Text US buddy, Cade, to remote viewing the good Doctor’s biblical stories lectures with me this week. It’s quite an undertaking as each of the talks we’ve listen to so far have been quite lengthy and thought provoking…

Frasier intense

*And completely fucking intense, yes! …/lights up… Although you know, Clicky… /drags…Frasier Crane was more Freudian… /streams smoke… Peterson is more Jungian like his brother Niles…* 

*Jung, hung and de Niles? …/smokes… Huh…*

… Then on Friday, I saw that LoL fav, John Lamb Lash, had a new talk out. Lashy has a completely different take on the origins of humanity, to the Bible’s, but cites many of the same influences on this thinking as Jordan Peterson does in his lectures…

‘The case for awe is also a case for humility. “Remain true to the earth,” Zarathustra implored. To stand in naked awareness in the presence of the earth, in silent knowing – this is awesome. Intimacy with the planet keeps us wild, undomesticated, unwilling to submit to social conditioning. In “On Reading and Writing,” Nietzsche wrote: “Untroubled, scornful, outrageous – that is how wisdom wants us to be.” Sophia (wisdom) loves those who preserve and protect her ways, women and men alike, warriors in the line of beauty. It could be objected that my obvious Nietzschean scorn for certain religious ideas compromises my judgment. But I am not the first to assert that religion (i.e., doctrine, rite, institution) is the enemy of genuine religious experience. C. G. Jung, Aldous Huxley, H. L. Mencken, Barbara Walker, and many others have made this observation, but no one has carried it through and backed up the argument in the way I do here.

‘It could also be objected that any expression of hatred is unacceptable in a book that purports to present spiritual values. I would reply that there is plenty of hatred circulating on this planet, and most of it seems to be coming from people who are devoutly religious. If humanity is filled with hatred, my personal share might act like a homeopathic dose against the general infection. I do not categorically reject hatred, or deny it a humane value. I hate a good many things: the rape of the earth, child abuse, sexual apartheid, the exploitation of youth, lies and hypocrisy, bad
literature, the consumer trance. This is my shortlist. But most of all I hate the enslavement and manipulation of the human spirit by false and perverted beliefs disguised in religious ideals and ethics. Hatred is an inevitable part of the human horror on this planet, but it can also be part of the cure. As Paracelsus said, the cure is in the dose.’

Sophia speaks

*To be fair, Clicky, humans are incredibly complex creatures… /taps ash… It takes a degree of sophistication to appreciate them…*

… So I listened to Lashy’s talk…

… Which was immediately followed by a most incredible ‘sync’ – news of humanity’s place of origin, according to Lashy, had broken in the media…

‘So far, there are several theories.

‘”Maybe more gas is falling into the black hole and that leads to higher amounts of accretion, which leads to it being brighter,” Do told a science publication.

‘There’s also the possibility that the black hole consumed a nearby gas cloud that had been documented nearby in 2014.’

*Whoa! That film is 75 years old?*

sophia explains

*/pmsl…*

… So it’s been a weirdly intense week, and no doubt next week will be equally as intense as I’ll be on hols, writing a tale of horror for Underdog Anthology IX. I have the title and a story idea, now all I have to do is write the bloody thing…

sophia speaks again

*Okay, Clicky… /stubs butt…*

Doo enjoy what’s left of your we-kenned, Dear Reader, and, as always, have a Song… 😉

 

River Rocks Friday

up there

*Hey! Don’t dust dump dose dere, Kicky… /sigh… Nevermind…*

Yesterday, Dear Reader, full of snotty summer cold and limply languishing on my Library sofa, I decided to invest my sick-note time in listening to the above lecture by Dr Jordan Peterson. It was based around the animated classic ‘Pinocchio’. And it was all Cade’s fault…

*/coughs… True, Kicky… /clears throat… Der Doc referenced Pinocchio in der stuff we lissend to earlier in da week. Snot all Cade’s fault, granted, but ‘e did start it yesderday with dose overnight DMs ‘e sent me…*

Cade DMs Roob Corsair Crisis Overnight

*/sniffs… Give a little whistle, yeah… /blows dose…*

*/thinks… Dat was one of der uvver little talk we lissend to, Kicky… /rolls eyes… Syncs…*

… Well, nearly all Cade’s fault, Dear Reader. MEROVEE Frank in the Red universe contributed as well…

Merovee Frank Shes Gone Nora and Natalie

*/sips cherry-Coke… Child lost in the Jung… /cough… jungal, and the body of a missing asdrofidisis found on a Greek Island, which was named for a famous fool… /gnaws lips…*

*/smiles… Dat was mum’s favwrit Beadles toon, Kicky…*

Roob asks Merovee Frank Cades Question

After replying to Frank, I decided to search for anything else the good Doctor might have said about the story of ‘Pinocchio’…

Mitchell Motherlode

… And he has…

7 hours later

*Ah… ah… ah…*

Monstro Sneeze

*Gesundheit! Yeah, a bid of a monster, Kicky…*

So, Dear Reader, if you fancy listening to the breakdown of a Gnostic story, with a Christianity overlay, and you have seven hours to spare, then I highly recommend you partake in the stack of videos that appear at the top of this post. Have a Song…

 

On The Lash: Missus Flair

Six

‘As the scaffolding of the planetary system arises, a newborn star emerges from the nebula where the Anthropos is embedded. Owing to its superior mass, the star causes the emergent planetary system to cohere around it. It becomes the central sun of the Archontic heaven, a realm of celestial mechanics dominated by blind, inorganic forces.

‘Sophia shames the Demiurge by declaring to him that the Anthropos, though yet unborn, surpasses the Archons in intelligence, for humanity is an emanation of the Pleroma, whereas the Archons arise outside the cosmic core, without an act of emanation. Witnessing this reprimand, and shocked by the arrogance of the Demiurge, the newborn star undergoes a conversion: it chooses to align with Sophia against the realm of Archontic forces, i.e., the inorganic planetary field.

‘The fallen goddess recognizes this choice and produces from herself a daughter in her own likeness, the life force Zoe, who unites with the sun, the mother star of the planetary system.’

Not In His Image – John Lamb Lash

*Ha! …/lights up… Thoughtful Man …/drags… took me to see that on our first date, Clicky… /stream smoke… ‘is mate at work told ‘im it was a sure fire guarantee to get ‘im laid…*

oprah

*Wot? Nah, it’s a musical based on an opera… /smokes…*

Apparently, Dear Reader, solar and lunar events are imminent…

…Firstly, there will be a Black Supermoon tomorrow…

*/flicks ash…*

… And secondly, a rather particular storm is coming…

‘An absolutely massive hole has formed in the upper atmosphere of the Sun, and our planet will align with that hole later this week.  Once the alignment happens, Earth will be bombarded by a “solar storm”, and nobody is quite sure yet how bad it will be.  If the storm is relatively minor, we could just experience a few disruptions to satellite communications and see some pretty lights in the sky.

‘But if the storm is really severe, our electrical grid could be fried and we could experience widespread power outages.  According to the Express, “the solar storm will hit Earth on July 31 or August 1″…’

express

*/stubs butt… No, it’s a newspaper, Clicky… /rolls eyes… Mind you, if a solar flare does deep fry our electrics…*

*’Xactly… /scratches nose… I wonder if the eco-loonies ‘ave properly fought about wot they wish for…*

*That’s right, Clicky, winter is coming…*

… So, solar flares and spring tides notwithstanding, Dear Reader, we hope to see you back at the LoL soon…Have a Song… 😉

 

Missive From ‘Merica: The Man In High Dudgeon

*Hang on, Clicky… /lights up… Bladerunner? …/drags… The Man In The High Castle? …/streams smoke… We’re talking Dick…*

Roob show Cade Dick

*What happened to my avatar, Clicky? …/squints…*

screenshot-of-talking-dick-stats.png

*/smokes…*

Dear Reader, Rutger Hauer has died and fucking Twitter has fucked my ‘selfies’ by ‘improving’ its layout. But it’s not all bad news: the LoL has received a new missive from Cade, the Okie Devil of Text US. A mid-week treat for us all to enjoy. So Doo! ❤

*******

WHAT AM I DOING HERE?

We seem to spend a good portion of our lives trying to be found.

WHERE IS EVERYONE?

We also seem to spend a good portion of our lives telling others to go away.

WHAT ARE THEY DOING HERE?

Very strange indeed, eh?

Now that you’ve read that, I need you to stop reading this, go read the rest of this, then fuck off.

🙂

^Slow Motion! Hot Light – Dynamite (Original Mix)^

Howdy. I have nothing clever or earth-shattering to say for an opening, so lets us jump right in.

What is hallucinogen-persisting perception disorder?

That begs questions as to the nature of any and all experiences that we as humans can have. Especially the extraordinary experiences that are not drug induced/drug related. Those experiences which are traumatic or exhilarating could leave some lasting marks, yeah? Perhaps even more so seeing as how the sensory input is not going to be just/only visual stimulus.

Q: Can blind people drop acid and see weird shit?

A: OK, OK, not just LSD, but any kind of hallucinogen

Surely some completely mad and totally twisted government somewhere in the world has tried this out on blind and/or visually impaired people. Maybe even deaf people too. And what I’m thinking here is primarily the nature of perception during “a trip”, maybe why people see what they see whilst they are tripping, what sensory input(s) are driving these visions, and most importantly of all…when.

Yeah like, if I saw something 4 years ago, heard something 11 years ago, and felt something 45 years ago, then take a hallucinogenic drug, are all of those things going to aggregate somehow and affect my current trip? The funny part about all this nonsense is that the article, above, is not really what inspired me to sit down and start writing this morning. It was a few of the articles listed in ‘Related Coverage’ at the bottom of the article page, above. I’m not gonna link them here, but the articles listed were on the subjects of ‘psychosis’, ‘PTSD’, and ‘tactile hallucinations’.

^So Inagawa – Selfless State^

Ya see, me and Roob are watching a TV show called ‘The Man In The High Castle’. The show seems to be centered around trauma(s), as well as the decision making processes before, during and after these traumas.

!!!ACHTUNG!!!

!!! 危険 !!!

!!!SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

!!! JUST SAYIN'!!!

There’s not much happy going on in this show. In fact there is virtually nothing happy going on in this show. Everyone seems to be in a big hurry to get away from the current traumatic experience in order to get to their next traumatic experience. So much so, that the characters seem to actually be driving this and these traumatic flows. No one has any moments of clarity and stops what they are doing…

oh no they don't

…they gotta undo and/or rectify the previous trauma by creating a new one. Hrm…sounds a bit like those “resets” I hear mentioned here and there.

Digress

Anyway, they had some people doing some LSD in this series, and it was just prior to the big reveal that there are people bouncing around alternate universes, where the outcomes to World War II are different than the ones in our own history books here. In episode 1 of season 3, they get around to addressing the trauma(s) of travel of this nature. Basically, the idea of distinguishing what is real, where and how. You saw your mom die in the fires of Hiroshima, then suddenly, you are whisked away to a universe where she is fine and dandy.

So which one is real? 

You know both of the experiences, appear to have been real, but one experience is happening now because you are present, and the other…well…you aren’t there anymore…so…yeah…it did happen, but it isn’t happening now only because you aren’t there to experience it…even tho it did indeed happen, so you are always kinda experiencing it.

Make sense? No? Yeah? Both? Yeah...

I think that is some of these characters’ issue(s)…their not really sure what to do except keep going forward from where they are. BUT!!! There’s a twist.

^Gregory Porter – Liquid Spirit (Claptone Remix)^

Most people in this show have no clue that the outcome(s) were different elsewhere. As a result, they just keep doing what they’ve been doing, and they do so with absolutely no regard for “what might have been were the outcome(s) different”. So with respect to drugs, reading that article above got me to wondering about the decision-making processes that lead to unexpected outcomes. We wanted to expand our mind, we drank our Ayahuasca, we had our experience. Then years later something unexpected starts happening…we start having flashbacks of that experience and/or similar experiences in the now, even tho we’ve not taken any more Ayahuasca.

WTF?!?!?
^Unders – Syria^

I’ve never knowingly nor willingly taken LSD or any other hallucinogen.

Does reading that sentence above plant a seed of questioning in your mind? If not, it should.

I intentionally put it there
^deadmau5 feat. Chris James – The Veldt^

From a writing standpoint…

Q: Does the complete absence of humor make potentially sappy or corny stuff seem more serious?

A: ¿??

The thought of Americans wandering around in Nazi uniforms and/or Americans subscribing to Nazi principles on American soil is prolly a stretch for most. So, I can see this series potentially coming off to some as being totally preposterous and just downright silly. Americans bleed red, white and blue, forever and ever, amen. It’s our birthright. Even without all the time-travel bullshit, no fucking way any of this is even remotely possible. So, is that why humor is sometimes totally absent from a creative work? So it’ll be taken seriously? Let’s add a quick joke here…

Q: Why was the sand wet?

A: Because the sea weed.

zing

^Shazam! Pitch Meeting^

NEWS FLASH!!! Just saw a Tweet from President Trump congratulating Boris Johnson on his being elected PM of Great Britain!!! I guess he won the election.

Wait...was he elected? 

Like, registered voters dropped their ballots in a box, those votes were counted, and he got more votes than the other candidate(s)? You folks over there are a democracy…right? Winner wins, loser loses, everyone is happy with the outcome because win or lose, you got to participate in the process instead of being dictated to by some evil sacks of shit telling you that your opinion doesn’t count?

Man-o-man...democracy sure is great, yeah? 

You have a say, you are totally stoked that you do, and you’re happy for your fellow citizens and respect their rights to be heard too. Life is grand, and you’d never, EVAR, want to subvert your fellow citizens’ rights…right?

^No Mana & i_o – Bad Things (feat. Fay) [Original Mix]^

I wonder if The Founders may have been a little to clever when they framed The US Constitution. Like, I know that they provided for change to happen, but at the same time, they didn’t exactly make it easy. I guess I wonder sometimes if they realize that they were locking many of us in to a system of government that can indeed be exploited quite easily, even tho they specifically designed our system to be difficult to exploit. Maybe that’s the problem? Building an unbreakable something almost guarantees that forces will coalesce to try and break this unbreakable something, if for no other reason than this something is being sold as something unbreakable.

^Billie Eilish – bad guy^

This guy in the vid, below, sure does jump to some sketchy conclusions pretty quickly.

The background music in the whole thing is…obvious.

:/

I mean, if you guys want defenses around your airports, just fucking get them.

Loads of your voters seem to be swinging toward ignoring any democratic processes, so I’m sure you’ll have plenty of support for your actions without requiring something so trivial as drones, to justify these actions of yours.

You want support if you can get it, but you’re gonna do what you want irrespective of support or resistance. That’s your job after all…think for others.

I get it, I really do. You got companies building things, and someone needs to step up and buy it.

Oh…and…lolz…sniping drones? Shooting them down? Fucking rofl. Great idea. I’m sure those unfortunate souls downrange in your line of fire will appreciate you killing them with stray rounds in order to save other more important lives.

(cough...and infrastructure...cough)

Again, you want AA emplacements, just fucking install them.

Problem(s) solved

Shoutout to Southend Airport since they get some coverage in this doc.

Sup y0!

Hope you can grow.

^ Britains Next Air Disaster Drones (2019) Horizon S58E04 Documentary ^

Just a thought, but, do you think that maybe UAV aircraft/technology might wind up producing an ethics shift that is not being taken into account? I recall that when offensive UAV aircraft first appeared, there were LOADS of ethical questions raised. Did all those questions get answered? Did people get starry-eyed and stop asking ethics questions? Have others been born into this non-questioning world and they have no idea what questions to even ask? Maybe look to the shifts that things rocketry/missiles and the Kamikaze caused. Offensive and defensive lines have blurred, all in the name of…stability?

Weird
^Khåen – Daphne^

Think of it like this…when a religion becomes militant and starts arming themselves, are they still considered a religion? More than that, are the people within these groups still considered religious? We seem to be following some patterns that have little if anything to do with the original designs. So why are we still clinging to the original designers and/or their plans? They got to do what they wanted in their own times, so why can’t we do the same here and now? These fuckers are long gone, right? Why do they get to keep telling us what to do? Wait…is this treasonous talk? Discussion of discretionary thinking leads to treason…

whodathunkit
^Deadmau5 – Ghosts ‘n’ Stuff (feat. Rob Swire) [Extended Version]^

What are the odds that someone with certain roots, will unknowingly hook up with someone who has similar roots? You as a reader need to keep in mind that I’m coming at this as an American Mutt, and my lineage is fuzzy as fuck. I know people, and I know names, but their origins never really was that big of a deal. OK, well, sometimes their origins was a very big deal in that certain factions of “the family” seemed to have a vested interest in keeping those origins concealed.

Don't ask me why, I have no idea

They kept it hidden from me, still keep it hidden from me, and I’ll likely never know. I only know that I’m not supposed to know. Guess I better get on with living my life, eh? Anyway, was just wondering if I’m supposed to hook up with the people that I hook up with, and how I’m supposed to treat them when and if we do indeed hook up.

^Janelle Monáe – Make Me Feel (EDX Dubai Skyline Remix) (Official Video)^

HA! Roob just messaged me and said it was really hot there today. I grabbed my phone, checked the weather, and it looks like it is 90°F/32°C there. It’s only 68°/20°C here.

lolz

Granted it’s only 8:33 in the morning here, it’s 14:33 in the afternoon there, but it’s also July 24th. Very unusual for the temperature to ever drop below 70°F/21°C in July. And yes, even at night. It has been VERY cool here the past coupla days. More easterly winds bringing in a lot of moisture over the past two days, and highly unusual weather happening here. Just yesterday I was outside and was thinking that it felt more like early September than it felt like late July. Yeah, I realize that I go on and on about these winds coming in from the East, but I cannot stress how unusual that is here in Northeast Texas. I even saw an aircraft contrail in the sky the other day. Very unusual to see contrails in summer here. Something is definitely going on with the jet stream.

Not that I'd know what
^Deadmau5 – Brazil (2nd Edit) (1080p) || HD^

Watched some vids on this whole Iran business the other day. Wait…lemme start over. The other day, I attempted to watch some vids on this Iran business. As soon as Trump started talking, I had to turn the video off.

“They will pay a price like nobody’s ever paid a price.”

???

What does that even mean? After you go after them, you’re gonna go after all their relatives and friends and neighbors? Go after anyone that looks like them, sounds like them, as well as go after anyone that even reminds you of them? What in the hell kind of nightmare(s) are you committing us Americans to, and what if some of us want no part of it? You gonna come after me too? Call me un-American and accuse me of all kinds of other vile crap just because I don’t support your blather and/or bullshit?

Sounds fair

I think there was something about “Iran’s economy heading for a crash”, but I have no idea what that means either. Maybe someone can bring me up to speed on what I’m supposed to think about it.

^Error in my Head^

I had a ray of sunshine drop into my life yesterday. Instead of some expert someone telling me what “ascension” is, they asked a question…

What in the heck is “ascension” anyway?

Someone apparently trying to see “ascension” through the noob’s eyes, instead of looking at the concept through the master’s eyes. Not saying that I agree with everything in the article, nor that I understand everything in the article seeing as how I, myself, am a noob, and an outsider noob at that. But I’ll not qualify nor comment on the article further, and you can go read it for yourself if you want.

^Sunlounger – Lumumba (Chill Mix)^

So what is it like to not only know things that you have no idea how you know them, but to also experience things in real-time that you also know that you already know them/have already experienced them? I dunno. It’s not a problem that I have. Even if I did have such problems, I wouldn’t tell anyone.

;-P

Seriously…who the fuck am I going to tell, and why in the fuck would I be telling them? The best that I can come up with, is that maybe that and those decisions are discretionary. If my knowing this shit is not a problem for me, why should I talk about it? Out of the goodness of my heart? Yeah right…I have no heart, and even if I did have a heart, there’d be no goodness in it.

^No Mana & i_o – Bad Things (feat. Fay) [Original Mix]^

Speaking of discretion and/or being discretionary, I was reading an old post of mine, and again got thinking about a reader perhaps reading my bullshit, and wondering why I speak/write the way I do. Welp, you’d really have to had walked in my shoes to understand that, but mostly, it revolves around being told what to do. More than that, being told what to believe and/or how to behave. Who I can and cannot commingle with, and the reasons/justifications for these barriers.

These things I’ve been taught/told echo in my head. As such, when I’m writing, I sometimes think about what others have told me, I try and assume that line of thinking for the purposes of discussion, and it just comes out. Sure, I could go a different direction, but wouldn’t that also be because I’m thinking like someone else thinks I should think? ‘Tis quite difficult to speak your own mind, especially when you are trying to be considerate to others, with them showing little to no consideration for you.

EX: I had someone call me stupid the other day.

I admit that I laughed when they did, but it appeared that they were actually quite angry with me/were not laughing themselves. So I got to thinking…wait, what in the hell makes them think they can talk to me like that? Do I have a “kick me” sign on my back or something? I just asked them a question, and the response was rapid and vitriolic. We here in the US know quite well that the Social Security pot is empty, the whole thing is a Ponzi Scheme to begin with, and most of us will never get out what we paid in. A broken promise that continues to perpetuate itself.

Am I misinformed?

US Debt Clock

Those Global Hawk thingies are expensive. There appears to be some disparity in the press as to exactly how much these things cost, but there is little doubt that they are very expensive. What does that have to do with Social Security and/or the level of my intelligence? No idea. I’d be too stupid to know anyway.

^Eagea – Billy Esteban^

So yeah, I speak harshly sometimes, and the fact that I do it tongue-in-cheek, within a certain scope, prolly doesn’t matter to most people. Fair enough.

Flame on
^deadmau5 – Drama Free (feat. Lights) [Official Video]^

cYacFa

^Ilkay Sencan – DO IT^

*******

*Yes he was, Clicky… /stubs butt..*

Dear Reader, have a Song…

Story Time: The Imagination Virus

LAST TIME AT THE LOL

*Apt image, Clicky, considering this is my second Stranger Things post… /pats snout… well done…*

As promised, Dear Reader, a second post about the hit TV show ‘Stranger Things’, but this time in regards to a short story by my friend Leggy. H.K Hillman has a rare talent for writing tales that linger long after you’ve finished reading them. His tale ‘The Imagination Virus’ also ‘synced’ with an experience I had in 1985 when I was 17. I mentioned it to him when we first became friends in 2014…

Roob emails Legs of her experience

… So it was weird to see something similar played out on ‘Stranger Things’. Another ‘sync’…

Will Sync Stranger Things

*Yeah, it was like that, except purple, Clicky…/lights up…*

… Another ‘reality’ appears…

Will Sync Stranger Things Upside Down Reality

*/drags… Yeah, I could smell the difference, butt couldn’t see it… /stream smoke… And it was strange when JLL decoded ‘tonsils’ in his Mandela Effect investigation…*

tonsil terror.gif

… So I asked Leggy if we could reproduce his story here at the LoL. He agreed, so settle back, Dear Reader, and enjoy ‘The Imagination Virus’. Meet you for a Song at the bottom 😉

*******

The Imagination Virus

by H.K. Hillman

As Dale walked beside Julie, his nurse, he saw the other world again. The crisp, white hospital walls faded into the damp, mould-encrusted bricks he had come to know well. The flicker of tallow candles replaced the bright fluorescent lighting, their odour wiping out the smell of disinfectant. He didn’t want to look at Julie. He knew what he’d see; he knew how she would look to him now.

“Dale, are you all right?”

He stopped walking, the muscles in his face twisted in disgust. Julie put her hand on his shoulder.

“Dale,” she said. “What is it? Are you seeing it again?”

“Yes. It’s awful.” He couldn’t help looking at her. He shuddered at the patchy grey hair, the hunched shoulders, the sore-ridden, wasted body clad in soiled brown cloth.

She smiled, showing her few remaining teeth, black and rotting, and he could smell her graveyard breath, the breath of something that had feasted on decay. He closed his eyes, tight. “I don’t want to see this anymore,” he said. “I want to see the real world, the clean world. Not this – this monstrosity!”

Julie took his arm. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll guide you the rest of the way to the doctor’s office. It’s just a little further. The doctor will know what to do.” She led him as if he was blind, slowly moving forward until she stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Dale,” she said, “open your eyes. What do you see now?”

“I don’t need to look,” he said. “I can smell the candles, feel the damp. I know I’m still hallucinating.”

“Look anyway. For me.”

Dale opened his eyes. “I can see a doorway, in a wall of cracked plaster, showing bare bricks. A battered door is hanging in the frame and I can see light through the gaps in the boards. There’s a symbol, a cross, drawn in red on the centre of the door and some markings below it, which I can’t quite see…”

Then, abruptly, everything changed. He was facing a white-painted door with a frosted glass panel. The light showing through the panel wasn’t flickering, it was the focused light of a reading lamp. The tallow-smell had gone, replaced with the ubiquitous disinfectant smell of the hospital. He looked at Julie and smiled. “You can see the hospital now?” she said. He paused before replying, savouring her long black hair and perfect smile, the crisp white uniform that showed off her shape so well.

“Yes,” he said. “Everything is fine now. I see the door as it really is, clean and white with a frosted window.” He drew a long breath as Julie knocked, then released it slowly as she opened the door.

The doctor stood, smiling, then walked across to Dale, his hand outstretched. “Dale,” he said. “How are you today? How’s that other world of yours?”

Dale winced. These attempts at humour always sounded flippant to him, as though his condition were some kind of joke. He knew the doctor meant well, but sometimes Dale wondered if the doctor believed a word he said.

“The other world is Hell,” he said, not accepting the doctor’s handshake.

The doctor’s brow creased into a frown. “Had another visit recently?”

Dale nodded.

“Just a moment ago,” Julie said. “His hallucination is consistent, he always sees the same things in the same places. Where there’s a door, Dale sees a door, but it looks very different to him.”

The doctor looked at Dale. “And it’s always the same?” he said.

“It depends where I am,” Dale said. “It’s always the same for a particular place. It’s as if the hallucination is overlaid on reality, permanently, and sometimes I can see it.”

He thought for a moment. “You know,” he said, “I’ve been trying to remember what things were like outside. Before I came to the hospital. I can’t. I can’t even remember what I used to do or where I used to live. It’s as if I never existed outside here.” He buried his face in his hands.

“Relax, Dale,” the doctor said. “You did have a life, you know. You lived over on the West Side, alone, and you had a job. I’m afraid it wasn’t glamorous. You were a cook in a small cafe. It’s the virus. It’s affecting your brain, causing these hallucinations and amnesia about your previous life.”

“Can it be cured?”

The doctor smiled an indulgent smile. “We’re doing everything we can.”

“But can it be cured, or not? How long will I be here?”

“When you see the hospital all the time, and don’t see your Hell at all, then you’ll be ready to leave,” the doctor said. “You’re already seeing it less often. Only once today.”

“So far,” Dale said, curling his lip.

“That’s good enough,” Julie said. “The day’s nearly over.”

“That’s right,” the doctor said. “Time for Nurse Davis to take you off to bed. We’ll meet again tomorrow.”

Dale started to rise, but stopped halfway. He looked at the doctor. “Is it contagious?” he said. “It’s just that Julie – I mean Nurse Davis – and the other nurses spend a lot of time around me. Are they at risk?”

“Not at all,” the doctor said. “The virus is very hard to catch. The nurses are safe with you. Now, off to sleep with you.”

Julie led Dale back to his room. He climbed into bed, and she handed him his sleeping tablets and water. He had taken them every night without question, but tonight he felt like a change. He wanted to think, not to sleep. Dale didn’t want to offend the nurse so he put the tablets into his mouth and took the water. Instead of swallowing, he trapped both tablets between his cheek and gum, throwing the mouthful of water back as usual.

“Well done, Dale,” Julie said. After her routine of fussing with his bedclothes, she left the room, turning down the light.

Dale picked out the tablets with a finger and put them under his pillow. Sure, the staff would find them in the morning and they’d be annoyed with him, but so what? He was a patient, not a prisoner, after all. He lay back, enjoying the warm, clean sheets of the bed, and tried to remember his life before the hospital. He had been a cook, so if he could think of something, a recipe perhaps, maybe something would come back. Still trying to think, he drifted into sleep.

***

He was woken by the creak of a door opening. His bed was uncomfortable and his sheets felt rough and dirty. He could hear voices, talking quietly as if to avoid waking him. He opened one eye, just a little, and saw the doctor and another man. Both were wearing rough sheets of brown cloth which were draped around them like cerements.

Both were hunched and looked malnourished, both were covered in sores and stinking of decay. Oh great, he thought, another hallucination. He closed his eye and pretended to be asleep.

The doctor was speaking. “He’s making good progress. He sees the clean world most of the time now, he only sees the decaying world intermittently.”

“Good,” the other man said. “When will he be ready?”

“A matter of days.”

“The fundamentalists haven’t found out?”

“No. As far as I know, they don’t even know about our work.”

The unknown man grunted. “We have to be careful. They have spies everywhere. They won’t approve of what we’re trying to do here, they would consider our work blasphemy. Interference with God’s punishment, or something like that.”

“I know,” the doctor said. “Our staff are carefully checked, and no visitors are allowed.”

“Very good. What about the others, are they seeing the same things?”

“Yes,” the doctor said. “The other patients all show the same hallucinations as Dale here. We’ve kept them separate so we can be sure they’re not comparing notes. They all report exactly the same visions. The virus, it seems, works the same way on everyone.”

There are others, Dale thought. Others like me, with the same virus, the same hallucinations. Dale squirmed on his bed. It felt as though he was lying on a coarse sheet laid directly on the bedframe.

“Careful,” the doctor said. “Best not wake him.” The two men left, closing the door quietly.

Dale opened one eye. All clear. He opened the other. Bare-brick walls surrounded him, lit by a single guttering candle on the far side of the room. He put a hand onto the mattress – there was no mattress! He sat up, examined the bed, and found that it was no more than a few planks of wood with a coarse blanket thrown over it. A similar blanket covered him. His pillow was a sack stuffed with straw. On an impulse, he lifted it, and saw the two sleeping tablets he had put there earlier. So they were still

there, even in his hallucination. He hoped that was a sign he was getting better, that small pieces of reality were filtering through his nightmares.

As he held the pillow, Dale noticed his arms, bare in his filthy, coarse night-shirt. His skin was grey, his muscles wasted, and red sores oozed pus that dripped onto the bed. His left hand was missing two fingers, their stumps black with infection. Feeling an itch on his right forearm, he turned his arm to look at it and screamed. A large sore had burst, purple flesh was exposed and maggots wriggled in the wound. Still screaming, he beat his arm against the bed.

The door opened and the hag he knew was really Julie came into the room, followed by the doctor. Pushing him back on the bed, the doctor held him still while Julie tried to calm him. “Think, Dale,” she said. “Think of the hospital. Try to see it.”

“Why is he awake?” the doctor said. “Didn’t he take his pills?”

“Yes. I saw him take them. Dale, come on, concentrate.”

“Maggots,” Dale said, his voice a childish whine. “In my arm. Maggots eating me.”

“No,” Julie said “Don’t see them. Look at me, Dale. You can do it.”

“Yes,” Dale said. “Hallucination. Virus. Not real.” He stopped struggling, closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. He waited until he could smell disinfectant, then opened them. Julie smiled down at him, long black hair covering part of her face. The doctor released him and stood up.

“Feeling better now?” the doctor said.

“Yes,” Dale said. “It’s gone.”

Julie was looking at him, her brow furrowed. “What happened to your pills?”

With a sheepish expression, Dale lifted his pillow and brought out the two white pills. Saying nothing, he handed them to Julie.

“I thought as much,” she said. “I’ll get you some more.” She left the room.

“You really should take the pills,” the doctor said. “We can’t have you screaming all night, you know. You have to get some rest, and so do the staff.”

“I know,” Dale said. “I haven’t done this before. I don’t think I’ll do it again.”

The doctor smiled. “With luck, you shouldn’t need to for much longer. We think you should be okay within a week.”

Dale looked up, hopeful.

“There are other patients with your virus. Some of them haven’t seen the terrible world in days. If you follow the same pattern, one more week should do it.”

“That’s great news. So I just have to hold on for a week?”

“No guarantees, but I hope so.”

Dale lay back on the bed, grinning, just as Julie returned with a plastic cup and a glass of water. “Here you are,” she said, holding out the rusted tin mug. No! Plastic cup, plastic cup, concentrate! The mug wavered, became the cup again. Dale took it and swallowed the pills even before Julie handed him the wooden goblet. Glass! Glass of water!

“It’s starting again,” Dale said.

“Don’t worry,” Julie said. “The pills will take effect in a moment.”

Dale looked into her clouded red eyes and fell asleep.

When he woke, Doreen sat beside his bed. With her red hair in a tight bun, her lips in a tight smile, she was pretty, but nowhere near as pretty as Julie. Still, at least he could see her, at least he wasn’t seeing some rag-clad monstrosity.

“Good morning, Doreen,” he said.

“So you’re awake. I’ll get your breakfast sent in,” she said, standing and walking to the door. She paused as she opened it. “I hear you refused your medication last night. I hope there’ll be no such nonsense on my shift.”

As if he would dare. “No,” he said. “I’ve learned my lesson.” He had a fleeting vision of her as a twisted, infected horror as she left. Damn, he thought, the hallucinations are strange today, flashing in and out. That hasn’t happened before. He would have to ask the doctor about that, ask if it had happened to the other patients, the ones who had recovered. An orderly brought his breakfast and he sat up to eat.

Doreen returned just as he finished. “Up you get,” she said. “The doctor wants to see you.”

Dale’s eyebrows rose. “So early? He doesn’t usually see me until the afternoon or evening.”

Doreen pulled the sheets back. “Well, today it’s the morning,” she said. “Don’t ask me, I just do what I’m told.”

Dale slipped his legs off the wooden bed and climbed into the sackcloth garment. He clutched his head. Mattress. There is a mattress. I’m wearing jeans and a shirt. He took a deep breath and followed Doreen out of the room, along the white bare brick corridor. Gloss-white paint overlaid damp, mildew-covered stone. Fluorescent lights fought tallow candles for illumination. Dale shook his head.

“What is it?” Doreen said. “More hallucinations?”

“Worse. I’m seeing both now, one on top of the other, like a double exposure.”

“We’d better hurry along to the doctor.”

Doreen propelled him along the corridor, past white-uniformed staff with faces ravaged by infection, past roughly-made wooden doors with frosted glass panels, into the doctor’s room. She hadn’t knocked. The doctor looked up, surprised.

“He’s seeing both at once,” Doreen said, guiding Dale to a chair and pressing him into it.

“Oh dear,” the doctor said. “This could be serious. You’d better get a sedative ready.” Doreen nodded and left the room.

“What?” said Dale. “What’s serious? What’s happening to me?”

The doctor frowned. “Stay calm,” he said. “It’s the virus. Your body is rejecting it, cleaning itself. How are you feeling?”

“Scared. And confused. You said I used to be a cook. I wasn’t. I remember – something. I remember a laboratory. I was a scientist, wasn’t I?”

The doctor played with a pencil then put it down abruptly. “Yes, Dale, you were.”

“I worked with viruses. This virus. I was infected. What was it, an accident?”

The doctor stood, his crisply-ironed sackcloth flashing white, then brown, his strong, wasted frame striding, limping, to the window. “It wasn’t an accident.”

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t an accident, Dale. You infected yourself deliberately.” The doctor turned to face him. “You infected the others first, then yourself.”

“No!” Dale stood, knocking over the wooden box he had been sitting on. “No. You’re lying.” His hands bunched into fists as he faced the doctor, then he felt a sharp pain in his back. Turning, he saw Doreen holding a syringe, her red hair becoming a mottled grey as his consciousness fled.

He could smell iodine. Forcing his eyes open, he saw that he was lying on straw, damp and foetid, in a bare room. With a groan, he stood and walked to the door. It was barred from the outside. “Hey,” Dale shouted, banging on the door. “Let me out.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” The doctor’s voice came through the door.

“Doctor? Is that you?” Dale paused. “I remember. You’re Simon.” He spoke slowly, dragging the words from the deepest pits of his memory. “Doctor Simon Morgan.”

“Yes, Dale, it’s me.” The voice wavered.

“You’re my brother.” Dale leaned against the door. “You didn’t tell me.”

“It would have interfered with your treatment. Your memories have to recover on their own.”

“Why am I locked up like this?”

“For your own safety.” The last word was choked off by a sob.

Dale could still smell iodine. He looked at his arms. They were thin and grey, the red welts oozing pus. The wound on his right arm, which had been full of maggots, had been cleaned and was stained yellow. That was where the iodine smell was coming from. Why had they treated it? It wasn’t real. He banged on the door again.

“Let me out, Simon,” he said, “I’m hallucinating again.”

There was a long silence. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am. I’m covered in sores and this room is vile. There’s only stinking straw to sleep on.”

Another long silence. “It’s not an hallucination, Dale. This is the real world.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is the rotten world of my hallucination. The virus—”

“The virus causes illusion and forgetfulness. Those infected don’t see the real world any more, and don’t remember it. They see the world as it was before the war.”

“What war?” There had been a war, he remembered vaguely.

“The final war. The chemical and biological weapons war. You were working on antidotes for the weapons, but you were too late. The war took us all by surprise. So you worked on a new virus. This one.”

“Yes, yes, I know. The hallucinations are all my fault. I need help now, Simon. I’m stuck in my hallucination.”

“No, Dale, you’ve lost your hallucination. Your body has rejected the virus, so you don’t have hallucinations any more. You’ll start remembering more soon.”

“What do you mean?”

There was a deep sigh from the other side of the door. “This is it, Dale. This is reality. The war killed most people and those few of us who survived are dying slowly, hideously deformed by the weapons that were used. Your virus is our only hope. It won’t cure us but it gives the illusion of normality, of cleanliness, of life before the war. The other patients are fine, they believe they’re in a clean, wonderful hospital in a beautiful world. We’ll begin injecting more people with the virus soon.”

“What about me? Why not just inject me again?”

“It won’t work, Dale. You’re immune now. The virus won’t work on you.”

Dale slumped against the door. “So what next?”

“Soon we’ll all be seeing the clean world of your hallucination. Thanks to you, your work, your virus, we’ll all be able to enjoy life again. Oh, life will still be short, but it’ll be better.”

“You mean everyone will see the illusion of a clean reality.”

“Yes. Well, almost everyone.”

“Almost?”

“Everyone but you, Dale. Everyone but you. That’s why I’ve hidden you here, to stop the authorities killing you as they did the others. Those who the virus failed to infect. I can never let you out. You represent too great a risk, the risk of remembrance.”

Dale sank to the floor, sobbing, as his brother’s footsteps echoed among the drips from the damp walls.

*******

fearcover

*That’s a cracking collection of short stories, Clicky… /smokes… sum times I fink the man’s on a nuvver plane…*

Dear Reader… Have a Song ❤

Adventures in Remote Viewing: Stranger Fins

tenor

*/rolls eyes… I agree, Clicky, the first two seasons of Stranga Fings did concern ‘Free Will’,… /lights up… butt that’s Free Willy…*

Dear Reader, after posting Cade’s latest Missive at the LoL on Friday evening, we settled down, in our respective locations – Southend and Texas – to remote view season 3 of the Netflix hit show ‘Stranger Things’. In terms of remote viewing bingeing, it was…

Epic Man Hat on

 

*/drags… Knot sure Cade liked it as much me, Clicky… /streams smoke… I fuckin’ loved it!*

… I’d already started to wonder how exactly I was going to shamble about it. Fortunately, Red universe Frank gave me the perfect opening on MEROVEE

Merovee Spooky Action At A Distance

… And again when Clicky posted news there that the Big Apol! was experiencing a massive blackout, exactly 42 years to the day after the last ‘Great Blackout’…

Frank and Roob and 42 on Merovee

*/smokes…*

… Strangely enough, season 3 of the series started with a blackout…

‘Winona Ryder plays a chain smoking mother, fighting for her children. She is also, or rather the spelling of her name, is a Mandela Effect.’

*Do ya fink that jigsaw image is kinda Shoe On, Clicky? …/flicks ash…*

‘What JLL says in that talk about ‘bio-tropic clues’ should interest anyone who has spent time here on the good ship Merovee, or paying attention to synchronicity in general…

bio (n.)

tropic (n.)

‘“All the clues in the world don’t count if you don’t know what crime has been committed.” – ‘John Lamb Lash – Follow Up on WYN WIN NONA Clustering and Biotropic Clues (25)’

“You have to know what the question is, in order to know what the answer means.” – Deep Thought – ‘Answer To The Ultimate Question – The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy – BBC’

ST Winona Ryder tangled ball of lights.gif

*Aye, Clicky, deep finking ana luminous ball of entanglement…*

… Of course, given that ‘Eleven’ is a character on ‘Stranger Things’ and ‘Day of the Dead’ was the movie playing at the time of the first episode’s opening blackout…

…And that the New York blackout occurred on the 13th July (7), Clicky posted the idea that occurred to me over a morning cup of coffee and a cigarette, way back in 2013…

Clicky on 137 42 and 24

*An’ 24 hours in a day… /deep drag… It’s true, I am pretty much dead until I have a coffee and smoke in the mornings, Clicky…*

… Frank further replied with news of a hovering marvel, seen in Paris on Bastille Day…

Frank Back To The Future Sync

*/plumes smoke…*

… Now, I don’t think Red universe Frank is familiar with ‘Stranger Things’, but the other movie to feature during season 3, was ‘Back To The Future’…

… And then Clicky posted a tweet from ‘Hopper’ from the New York blackout with a definite ‘Go West’ sync to Friday’s LoL Missive From ‘Merica…

*/stubs butt… Oh I see, Clicky! The ‘does ‘opper return?’ cliffhanger to Season 3… Will he?*

0911bc3403648f07-free-willy-gifs-tenor

*Clever… /nods slowly… Okay, Clicky, go choose a Song…*

…Anyhoo, that’s my ‘Stranger Things’ shambles, Dear Reader. I have another in mind to post, that concerns an extremely spooky short story written by Legs. That’s a treat for later this week, so make sure you come back. But for now… Have a Song… ❤

 

 

Three Evenings In July

Dear Reader, I’ve been rather on my own this week. My good friend, LoL regular and remote viewing partner, Cade Fon Apollyon, a.k.a. The Okie Devil of Text US, has been gainfully employed selling fireworks for the past 3 days…

cade and roob tuesday working 1

*He should have gone with the Combo, Clicky… /flicks lighter… *

*/lights up… Defo on the Combo…*

Cade and Roob Tuesday Working 2

*Great Scott! …/drags… And wot wiv enter the dragon… /stream smoke… Sounds like Leggy…*

*/smokes…*

On Wednesday evening I tried writing a post for the LoL…

Cade and Roob Wednesday working

*/flicks ash… Yeah, I decided to post it on Merovee instead… /drags…*

… Butt decided to visit the Red universe instead…

Ben gal u r u.

Been trying to write a post about the front page of the Echo newspaper this morning…

Echo front page 030719

A chap named Ben drowned whilst on holiday in Benalmadena. Knot-eyes his surname is Lloyd

https://www.echo-news.co.uk/news/17744476.kind-hearted-ben-lloyd-dies-while-on-holiday-in-spain/

Spanglish…

https://roobeedoo2.com/2016/09/09/a-little-bit-of-franky-spanky/

See ‘Lloyd’ (Joe Turkel) and Danny Lloyd (‘Danny’)?

https://www.etymonline.com/word/ben#etymonline_v_11031

Back to the front page. Three stories are mentioned:

Page 13 – ‘two arrested as cops target London gangs on trains’. A train crash starts the Franky Spanky shambles. As well as last weekend’s shambles…

https://roobeedoo2.com/2019/06/29/adventures-in-remote-viewing-syncing-beasts/

And again in Monday night’s remote viewing with Cade…

Page 3: A pun 😉 ‘Tyred out: Car stripped for parts.

And page 7: the story of the unfortunately Ben, caught in a riptide, first tribute paid by Levi (Evil) Ripley…

tumblr_on6jdg2x3a1qdhps7o1_500

Cig gone aye Weaver… Back to ‘Wanted’…

So page numbers highlighted on the front page of the Echo are thirteen, three and seven. 1337 appears in comments in the Franky Spanky shamble…

https://roobeedoo2.com/2016/09/09/a-little-bit-of-franky-spanky/#comment-1329

I decided to stop and post these odd synchronicities here instead; orange is the smell of ‘Shining,’ according to Dick Halloran in the book 😉

Oh and the Jim Beam fire occurred in Versailles, Kentucky…

https://www.zerohedge.com/news/2019-07-03/40000-whiskey-barrels-ablaze-fire-rages-through-jim-beams-kentucky-warehouses-0

On Thursday, Legs and Poppy were finally back online after having their internet connection knocked out by a bolt of lightning at the weekend…

Thursday Foursome

*Great Scot! …/smirks… Now that’s a funny fanny…*

… And I was able to catch up with Legs…

Leggy and Roob Catch Up 1

*It’s true, he does… /nods…*

Leggy and Roob catch up 2

*/final drag… I don’t think Tolkien partook of the waccy-baccy, Clicky… /plumes smoke… butt that don’t mean his characters didn’t… /stubs butt…*

Leggy and Roob Catch Up 3

*Oh that’s enough for tonight, Clicky… /pats snout… Kindly go get us a Song…*

Anyhoo, Dear Reader, I’m off now for a spot of remote viewing with Cade. Have a great we kenned and… Have a Song ❤