Story Time: Fountainhead

Dear Reader, prompted by a convo in Merovee comments about rabbits and bad hair days, I’ve decided to post my story from Underdog Anthology IX: Well Haunted

*Thanks, Clicky… /pats snout… I’ll format the story and you go get a Song for the end…*

… called ‘Fountainhead’. I was saving it to post for Halloween, but I’ll post ‘What Time Do You Finish?’ from Underdog Anthology XII then instead 😀

Enjoy! ❤

*******

Fountainhead

by Roo B. Doo

“Okay, Thom?” Jess placed on her hands on Thom’s shoulders, and gave them a friendly squeeze. “You still want to do this?” she asked him, addressing the brightly lit mirror before them.

Thom studied the reflection of the woman standing behind him. With silver hair, thickly plaited, and intricate henna designs adorning both her arms from wrists to biceps, Jess was an odd mixture of old and young. He nodded slowly before leaning his head back, to look up directly into her wrinkled face and sparkling eyes. “Yes. Let’s do it.”

“Alright then,” Jess said with a smile. She pushed Thom’s head forward playfully, and looked down at the shaved skin she’d created near the crown of his head. She tenderly caressed it’s smoothness with her gloved fingertips before swooping down to lightly kiss it.

“Hey, is that part of the ritual?” Thom asked. “Doesn’t seem very hygienic.”

“Yes and no, it’s not.” Jess took the bottle of Povidone-Iodine from the trolley beside her and quickly swabbed the pale patch on Thom’s head, turning it umber. “But this stuff tastes disgusting.”

Thom’s reflection stared hard at her from the mirror.

“Seriously, Thom. Dis. Gus. Sting.” Jess laughed jovially. “Trust me, I’ve kissed all the ones I’ve done before,” she said with a shrug. “They all turned out okay. Please, grant me a little superstition. It is Halloween.”

“Okay, Jess. I trust you,” Thom replied. He watched her pick up a scalpel, but his eyes lingered on the electric drill that lay passively on top of the trolley.

“Thank you.” Jess placed the scalpel blade against the orange patch of skin beneath her gaze. “Now, this may hurt.”

Thom’s hands tightened their grip on the armrests of his chair, hidden beneath the heavy, flowing cape that Jess had made him wear. “No problem.”

***

Thom Lusher’s headache had been with him for as long as he could remember. It had taken up residence in his skull during childhood, whilst Thom watched his mother die of cancer, and squatted on throughout adolescence, as Thom’s father attempted to drown himself in vodka. The nagging, low throb was a constant in an otherwise unreliable world. It was something Thom could rely on, even consider a friend.

The headache had once come to his rescue, when Thom’s PE teacher had attempted to get handsy down his gym shorts. It had immediately flared into a raging, sparking tempest, forcing the contents of Thom’s stomach out of his mouth and down the front of his fumbling teacher, revealing the damp outline of a sad erection. Yes, the headache hurt Thom, but not nearly as much as the world did.

The only time the headache disappeared completely was when Thom dreamed ‘the floating dream’. He’d be in the thick of a situation, when, suddenly, his feet would leave the ground and he would start to rise. As he looked down, observing the action below, Thom would be acutely aware that he was steadily floating higher, and that his headache was gone. Levitating upward in a world made of sky, Thom felt serene and pain-free. Until he bumped up against the hard, dark arc of space above, at which point Thom would wake to reality and a fierce ache in his head.

The headache was part of Thom’s life and he’d steeled himself to the fact that it always would be. Until he met Jess, that is. She was the hippy, dippy proprietress of ‘Curl Up And Dye’, a hair salon on the edge of town. They’d got talking at a shared smoking table, outside Starbucks on the High Street. Little did Thom know then how Jess would change his life forever.

***

“Go anywhere nice on holiday this year?” Jess asked, as she started to peel back the flaps of skin she’d incised with the scalpel, to expose Thom’s skull.

“What?” Thom asked incredulously.

Jess was concentrating hard on the wound she’d inflicted, but stole a glance at Thom’s reflection. “I’m sorry. Force of habit,” she replied sheepishly. “Day job.”

Thom smiled ruefully at her via the mirror and resisted the temptation to shake his head. “Not this year. You?”

Jess had resumed scraping back the skin. “I like to spend November in Thailand. I leave tomorrow. You’re lucky we met and I could fit you in.”

Thom didn’t know if he should feel lucky or whether he’d gone completely mad. He’d only met Jess by chance earlier that day and now here he was, sitting alone in her dark and empty hair salon, completely at her mercy. The yammering pain in his head reminded him that he’d not exactly been blessed with luck in his life so far, but Jess had given him hope that somehow this could change.

“Have you done many of these?” Thom asked, to cover the sounds of faint scratching that filled the silence.

“More and more this year since Bore-Heading became a thing again. Of course I did mine back in the Seventies.”

“You did it on yourself?”

“Yes, for the purpose of enlightenment, not to follow some silly rock star like the kids do today.”

Thom frowned; that wasn’t why he was there but considered it ill advised to argue given his present situation. “And were you enlightened?”

“Yes. I discovered trepanning others is entirely more lucrative than trepanning myself. Thank goodness for silly rock stars, eh?” Jess flashed Thom a wink in the mirror. “Okay, Thom, I’m down to the bone. Ready for me to open you up?”

Thom stared into the violet eyes of his reflection and took a deep breath. “Go for it.”

Jess returned a solemn nod before turning to pick up the drill.

***

“Do you mind if I sit here?” the old woman asked Thom, as she placed a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of him.

“No, go ahead.” Tom smiled up at the woman before going back to his book. He rubbed his brow and took a drag on the cigarette sat idling in the ashtray on the table.

“Ta,” she said sitting down and placing her shopping by her feet. She pulled her coat tighter and took a sip of her coffee. “Brr, it’s cold today.”

Thom nodded his agreement but he wasn’t in the mood for chitchat; he wanted to finish the chapter he was reading.

“Perfect for Halloween, of course.” The woman continued talking undeterred. She looked up and scanned the sky. “Cold and clear of cloud. Perfect for piercing the veil.”

“I’m sorry, what is?” Thom asked. He wasn’t paying attention but didn’t want to appear rude.

“The veil between worlds, here and beyond,” the woman said. “It’s thinnest at Halloween. We have perfect conditions today for piercing the barrier.”

At her words, Thom immediately pictured himself sailing upward through an ocean of sky before hitting impenetrable nothingness. The dull throb of his constant headache suddenly spiked, causing him to wince.

“Are you okay? You’ve gone quite pale,” the woman asked with concern.

“Yes,” Thom answered abruptly. He squeezed his eyes shut and saw his fists impotently beating against smooth blackness of space; a fragment of his dream from the night before. “Sorry, yes I’m fine. I have a headache.”

“Wait here.” The woman ordered, before rushing off inside the coffee shop. “And watch my bags.”

Thom felt confused; he wanted to leave, but felt obliged to stay until she returned. His headache had started to settle down but his curiosity was piqued. How could this woman, a stranger, have described his floating dream, when he’d never told anybody else about it before?

“Here we are.” The woman returned, placing a mug of hot water in front of him.

“Er, thanks,” Thom replied sceptically, as he watched her rummage through one of her many shopping bags.

“It’s for this,” she said, brandishing a teabag and a wide smile. She dropped it into the steaming mug. “Ginger tea. It’s the most wonderful tension reliever. I always drink it if I have a headache. Please try it. My name is Jess, by the way.”

Thom dunked the teabag, turning the clear liquid amber. “Thom Lusher.” He took a tentative sip of the hot tea. “Thank you.”

Jess sat back and observed Thom contemplatively. “If you don’t mind me saying, Thom, you have the look of someone who knows suffering. Have you had the headache a long time?”

Thom froze mid sip. He felt the hot liquid burn his top lip but his headache had ebbed away. He stared at Jess’s frank and open face, encouraging him to unburden. He put down the tea and lit a fresh cigarette. “All my life,” he said thickly.

Jess sniffed the cold air before glancing skyward. “Well, Thom. I think I can help you.”

***

Rizzz Rizzz

“No, wait!” Thom sprang from the salon chair and turned toward Jess. He backed into the mirror unit, scattering pots of hair product to the floor. “I’m sorry, Jess. Can we just wait a moment?”

Jess placed the silent drill back on the trolley and rushed round to comfort him. “Of course. Oh my goodness, Thom, you’re trembling. Just sit down a moment and I’ll tidy up this mess.”

“I’ll help-” Thom started to bend down but Jess stopped him.

“No, you’ll get blood everywhere. Sit there, I’ll sort this out.” Jess handed him a towel. “And wipe your face, you have blood trickling from your hairline.

Thom perched on the edge of the salon chair, holding the towel to his forehead, while Jess got onto her knees and started gathering the strewn pots.

“I’m sorry but it was when you gunned the drill twice,” Thom explained. “I don’t know, it just set me off.”

“And I’m sorry, too. You’re obviously not ready for this procedure. Oh no, this one’s broken open.”

Jess got to her feet and wiped her hands on spare towel. “I’ll have to get a mop.”

“Jess-”

“No, Thom, it’s okay.” Jess grabbed Thom’s right arm and shoulder, pushing him back into the chair. “I’ll mop first and bandage you up, then tidy up your hair. Nobody will notice the bald spot. Promise.”

Thom let out a noisy sigh of relief. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

“I shouldn’t worry about it,” Jess called back over her shoulder as she made her way the the back room of the salon. “We all shock ourselves from time to time. I’ll make you drink.”

“Ginger tea?”

Jess stopped. “No, I’ve got something special for shock. I’ll be back in a jiff.”

Thom stared at himself in the mirror whilst Jess was gone. He picked up a hand mirror from the trolley and held it at and angle over his head so that he could see the damage. All he could see was a pool of blood that lapped across the shaven skin, soaking into his hair. Thom grimaced at the sight of maroon and black wound with crimson tinges. “Fuck!”

“Here we are.” Jess returned and handed Thom a dark green, steaming brew. She took the hand mirror from him and replaced it on the trolley. “Drink up. This is my own recipe, tell me what you think.”

She left again to collect the mop, leaving Thom to gingerly sipped at the hot concoction. “Hey, this is delicious, Jess” he shouted out. He took a slurp. “What’s in it?”

“Oh a little of this, a little of that.” Jess returned with a mop and bucket and set about cleaning up gloop and splashes of blood from the floor. “Mostly sugar. Sugar’s good for shock.”

Thom drained the cup. “Well, I thought-”

Jess quickly placed her fingertips over Thom’s mouth.”No, sit back and be quiet, Thom. Let the tea work,” she said firmly.

Thom sat back in the chair and watched Jess clean up. She moved the mop from side to side and returned the pots of creams back to the mirror shelf, all in rhythmical, moving silence.

Thom looked at the bloody towel in his hands and thought about his crazy day, and how it wouldn’t be over for a while yet. He felt the tension drain from his body and his eyelids droop. I must tell Jess that her tea is better than the ginger stuff, was the last thing Thom thought before he nodded off to sleep.

***

“Help me, how?”

Thom took a drag from his cigarette and looked over at Jess. She took a gulp of her coffee and stared back at him. “Help me, how?” Thom asked again.

“Thom, there are many ancient rituals and practices that have been mostly forgotten by the modern world. I happen to be a practitioner in a number of them.”

“Like what? Voodoo shit?”

Jess chuckled. “Not exactly, no. What I’m thinking of for you was stolen by the medical profession and renamed something ugly to put people off.”

Thom was perplexed. The conversation he didn’t want to have, then enticed into having was taking a turn for the bizarre. “What are you talking about?”

“Trepanation, Thom. It has been practised for thousands of years. Until quite recently that is. Now it’s called a Craniotomy and only doctors are allowed to perform it.”

“Wait.” Thom could suddenly feel his seat leave his chair and his knees bumped under the cafe table, hard enough to knock the ashtray to the floor with a clatter. He grabbed on to the edge of the table. “You want to drill a hole in my head?!”

Jess plucked up her coffee cup from the table before it flipped over. “Oh, but I’m trepanning you right now,” she said to the departing Thom, who was floating higher and higher, feet first. She pointed an index finger toward him and retracted it twice, like pulling a trigger. “Rizzz Rizzz. No more headache.”

“No, wait!” Thom screamed as at first a laughing Jess, followed by the High Street, the town and then all the land below shrunk from his sight. He zoomed up through the cold, blue, cloudless sky. Thom knew exactly where he was heading but this time he did not know what he would find.

***

Suck Glug Slurp

“Oh shit, he’s a gusher!”

A fountain of blood erupted from the hole Jess had made in Thom’s head and splattered over her face, neck and chest. She hastily grabbed the wadding from the trolley, in order to stem the blood spouting from the top of Thom’s lolling head. Blood streamed from between her fingers, across her hand and flowed down along the henna tattoos on her forearm. It dripped from Jess’s elbow and pooled at her feet.

She placed an arm across Thom’s chest and pulled him upright, all whilst holding his head steady, maintaining pressure on the gaping wound. Jess stayed like that, chanting quietly until she was certain the bleeding had slowed enough for her to remove the sodden wadding and she could take a look. Deep at the centre of the circle of blood and matted hair, Jess could see the pulse of pinkish brain.

She covered the wound with a bandage and removed his bloody cape, before setting about cleaning up. Once Jess was sure the floor was clear of blood, she placed black candles around unconscious Thom’s chair and lit them. Finally she hung a mournful looking goat skull, from the top of the brightly lit mirror, so that it replaced Thom’s head in his reflection.

As she finished, Thom opened a fiery eye. “Daughter?”

“I knew it! I knew he was the one!” Jess howled with glee, before dropping to her knees to kiss Thom’s hand. Tears streamed from her twinkling, eyes. “Oh, Satan, my Lord and Master. You have come at last!”

Thom gently lifted Jess’s blood-flecked face toward him and smiled radiantly down upon her.

*******

Have a Song, Dear Reader…

A Little Writing Update…

Apols! I’ve been away from the LoL, Dear Reader, busy writing a short story for Underdog Anthology XII. Fortunately Clicky has been holding the fort, hopefully keeping you suitable entertained with his CLICK5 posts…

*I know you are, Clicky… /scrolls through list… Wow, and so many of them…*

I can confirm that my short story, ‘What Time Do You Finish?’ has been completed, submitted, accepted and edited…

*Yep, Death from ‘Waste Not, Want Not’ features in it, Clicky… /lights up… and this time ‘e brings ‘is mates…*

… And there is still time for me to write another one…

*That reminds me… /drags… I’ve still gotta mutilate Percy Bysshe Shelley for the Afterword… /smokes contentedly… ‘Aussie Madness’ seems more than fitting…*

*There will indeed by a full, blue moon on ‘alloween, Clicky… /winks…*

If I can get my arse into gear…

*You think I should write an ‘arry story, Clicky? …/flicks ash… About wot?*

*Interesting… /nods… That could work…*

Of course once the submission deadline for UAXII has passed, Dear Reader, I’ll be back with more shamble posts and hopefully some missives from Text US buddie, the Okie Devil himself, Cade Fon Apollyon. If you’ve been wondering what he’s been up to, Cade has a fantastic series of posts at his gaff exploring pareidolia…

*Heh. Workout shapes …/stubs butt…*

… Well worth a look-see. Until then, I will leave you in the capable fins of Library Assistant, Clicky…

… Have a Song ❤

Adventures in Remote Viewing: Moon Day Meanderings…

*/Flicks lighter… That’s a sync, Clicky… /lights up and smokes… In fact that’s a specific sync telling me get my arse in gear and write a Halloween story for UAXII…*

*An’ I’ll tell you wot else… /flicks ash… ‘Trailblazer’ crops up later in this post…*

Last evening, Dear Reader, Text US Okie Devil Cade Fon Apollyon and I indulged in a spot of remote viewing. I mentioned it to Leggy after…

*/drags… What a year, Clicky… /rolls eyes… it just keeps on giving… /streams smoke…*

*Now that I come to fink of it… /deep drag… Pesto’s reporting precipitated the fall of Northern Rock bank in 2007…*

*/plumes smoke… Pesto joined Twitter in March 2008, so ‘e wouldn’t ‘ave broke the story there. ‘E gets more push back now on the narratives ‘E’s peddlin’…*

*Fuckin’ ‘ell, Clicky! …/grimaces… Why’d you leave the ‘igh pitch bit in at the end? My ears are ringing…*

*/final drag… Seriously, rust on the Moon. Whatever next? …/stubs butt… Hey! Did you spot the ‘Trailblazer’ sync, Clicky?*

‘JPL is also building a new version of M3 for an orbiter called Lunar Trailblazer.’

*True man painter… /smirks… Trumania, Trump Mania. There’s a lot of that about…*

Although very different, both movies are really quite wonderful in their own way. Especially seen one after the other, if you have an interest in Sin-Crow-Mist-Eyes-Is-Sum. ‘The Girl With a Pearl Earring’ is understated but high in tension and simply gorgeous to look at…

*Yep, one of the first fings I saw this morning, Clicky… /lights up…*

… And ‘The Truman Show’ is all about experiencing synchronicity in an artificial world…

*/drags… It can sum times feel like that, Clicky, true…*

*What?! …/coughs out smoke… No, I don’t want to remote view ‘Sophie’s Choice’ next. I’ve seen it; it doesn’t end well…*

*Yes, we’ll keep looking. Sophie woz on a ‘iding to nuffin’ in that flick. Mind you, it woz ‘er own fault for promoting Nazi ideals… /puffs angrily… And choosing not to translate… /clears throat

*Stoned or stoning, one of those…

*Far Right and Far Left? So close in ideology that you couldn’t separate ’em with a fuckin’ cigarette paper…*

*It has been a good afternoon, evening and night, Clicky, it has…*

… Now, if you will excuse me, Dear Reader, I have to go and write a story. But thank you for spending your precious time here with us at the LoL, lolling, so to speak. We all lol down here 😉 Have a Song…

Adventures in Remote Viewing: An Invitation For Reflection

Dear Reader, this past week Cade Fon Apollyon and I remote viewed the 3 seasons and movie finale of Deadwood. We’d already seen them together before, but somehow our remote viewing was even better this second time round…

Deadwood EB Farnham Be Brief

*Okay, Clicky, I’ll try… /rolls eyes…*

… As well as the 2007 documentary Up The Yangtze, focusing on some of the people affected by the construction of the Three Gorges Dam across the Yangtze river in Hubei, China…

*Yikes! …/lights up and smokes…*

… And an astrological reading of the Leo New Moon, set to occur on 18th August 2020. As it turns out, Molly McCord’s reading is the inspiration behind this particular post…

*The other one was pretty good as well, Clicky… /flicks ash…*

… Now, at nearly 20 minutes long, we know that you’re probably not gonna watch Molly’s video, Dear Reader, unless you have an interest in astrology. So here’s the takeaway for the purposes of this post: we’re being asked to reflect on what has happened in our lives, and in our relationships, since the last time the Sun and Moon were in the exact same positions in the chart. That was three years ago on 21st August 2017, the date of the solar eclipse across North America…

Deadwood Calamity Jane Be fucked

*No, I shit you not, Clicky… /puffs contentedly… It’s quite auspicious…*

… So that is what we’re going to do here, Dear Reader. Fortunately, to aid Cade and I in our reflections, we have a lovely missive posted at the LoL on that very same eclipse day…

… You might want to take a look.

As Leo is a masculine sign and the energy coming through from the New Moon will be very masculine, especially in the solar plexus area according to Molly, Cade will now open the proceedings…

deadwood Al Huzzah

*******

I guess I can start off by remembering that 2017 was the year that I discovered surgical mesh was likely to blame for the exasperation of some existing physical issues, and it was around the time of the eclipse that this revelation occurred. And yeah, upon reflection it would seem a bit fortuitous that this particular wad of twisted and twisting surgical mesh is indeed in my solar plexus area. Three years later, skin is still coming off by the bucket-load, muscles continue to unwind and cramp, feeling in my extremities continues to come and go, and revelations and discoveries abound. One of the more recent being that my Achilles Tendons both seem to be…absent.

Q: How in the FUCK does one’s Achilles Tendons disappear, yet one does not notice?

A: Something tells me that the massive calloused pads on the heels and balls of my feet hold some answers.

To be fair, my hamstrings also disappeared, but that was something I noticed. In fact, I’m not the only one that noticed. A girl I went to high school with (who just so happened to run track) one day pointed out to me that I had some mighty quads, but no hamstrings. We both looked at/examined my legs further, and I’ll never forget the look on her face as she saw the same weird looking deformity I was seeing in that my hamstrings seemed to have disappeared. They were gone. Not there. Years later, my orthopedic surgeon noticed the same, but he noticed something else going on back there. Story for another time.

Digress

I’ve got a playlist on my YouTube page of 15 short videos I took of the August 21st 2017 eclipse, and they were meant to be a humorous look through inexperienced eyes at a celestial phenomenon. What it means to have one’s eyes opened, what it means to learn, and maybe how one handles the realities of learning some confusing and potentially unpleasant shit.

Whilst I’m not claiming any specific knowledge, I have learned quite a bit over the past decade or so about the potential impact(s) of celestial goings on and how these goings on may affect life in various ways. Fine-tunings of the galactic clockworks and how we as individuals fit it. Still digging, still learning, still failing miserably at virtually anything and everything, but still going. Not a fucking clue how, nor why, but yeah…still going.

Prolly should stop reflecting and talking about myself so goddamn much and pass it back over to that loopy cunt Roob.

^Happy Up Here (Datassette Remix)^

*******

deadwood Trixie

*Cade’s so sweet, Clicky…*

Funnily enough, the thing that’s concerning me most, and has felt like a punch in guts, happens to be the thing Cade first wrote in his missive of 21st August 2017…

sync of sorts

*Yes, a sync of sorts… /drags… You know, Molly does talk about a deep cleansing aspect in her vid, Clicky… /plumes smoke…*

Not the biblical character, Job, that Cade mused over but my actual job, the thing I do to earn money and how I earn my keep. In August 2017, I’d just landed a job locally as a Personal Assistant, having spent the whole of 2016 unemployed. Hooray! But by the New Moon on the 18th August I may no longer have a job, or worse, I’ll have one that I’ll absolutely hate because of a dreadful restructure, deemed necessary by the higher echelon in the organisation. All because they fancy a pool…

*We’ll be a pool of comfort women, Clicky… /cough… ‘Cept, you know, providing administrative relief to all and sundry…*

Deadwood Trixie Tree

… Like a return to the 1950s…

*Thinking about it, Clicky. Thinking about it…*

And on that sour note, I’ll pass you back to Cade.

*******

Its all amalgamation and capital. And down sigh zing/redud dancy. The new New walks upon the dust from the bones of the old Old. Which I find ironic considering that a lot of government entities seem to be so fucking lost that they are returning to old ways. Going “old school”, if you will. And speaking of, sure are a lot of council jobs been advertised in The Echo as of late. Not that I read the Southend paper or am looking for jobs in Southend or anything, but perhaps your local Council is tightening its belt in certain areas so it can achieve bountiful proportions in others?

I digress

One of the very first things I did upon starting this re-watch with you was look up the word “hooplehead”. Wanted to find some definitive meaning for usage in this context of usage in the show. I mean yeah, lots of context clues, and everyone knows what a hoople is, but hooplehead? I always assumed it was some arcane slang pejorative in reference to an individual perceived to possess a child-like understanding. Some naive someone who is still playing the children’s games and is not “in the know” and not part of the grander schemes and bigger plays. Someone who is somewhat…under the protection of…their own ignorance. A sort of halo. or maybe a certain light or aura that an individual exhibits. But ya know what I found? Hooplehead…supposedly didn’t even exist until HBO’s Deadwood created it.

But not so fast. Lets pull back on them reigns a bit cowboys and cowgirls.

Mott The Hoople
Mott The Hoople
Hoop Rolling
Hula Hoop
Embroidery Hoop
Hoop
-le
Agent Noun
Representative
Effigy
Lemniscate
Möbius Strip
Halo (Optical Phenomenon)
Halo (Religious Iconography)
Aura (Paranormal)
Aura
Pregnancy glow: Is it real? – Mayo Clinic
The Beginning of the Birth Pangs – Matthew 24 (NTE)
From Suffering to Glory – Romans 8: 21-23 (NKJV)
Curse And Mark Of Cain
The Magician (Tarot Card)
The Fool

Been chewing on these thoughts for some time as it relates to shapes generated by orbiting bodies, such as the mandala-esque shapes the planets and other bodies generate over time, and what meanings they may have to someone on the outside looking in. Specifically, is it possible that the orbits of planets are indicative of a system’s current level of development. Maybe even indicative of whether or not life exists within a particular system, or maybe even if a particular system is slated for development or even destruction? A stellar clock of sorts which maps out time and times that we are just now learning how to read and understand.

I digress again

Needless to say when Molly McCord mentioned certain entities being under some kind of protection and Richie Rich and all that other jazz in her astrological talk yesterday, it was kinda jarring because it was right in line with some things I was already actively pondering. Of course, she eventually wandered off into some dark realms and seemed to think that evil people are under the protection of evil forces. But I personally am wondering about “good” people. What is protecting them, why, and is there some kind of indication that they are…untouchable, as it were? Afterall, no one wants to known as someone who engages in sport or combat with unworthy opponents. That would be unfair.

^Depeche Mode – Halo [HyperSPD Remix]^

*******

*There was something Al said about Dan’s fight with the Captain, Clicky… /thinks… What was it?*

(Cut to Al’s office as Johnny knocks on the door)

Al: Yeah? (Johnny enters)

Johnny: I wish you’d look in on Dan, boss. Not for being poorly as… down.

Al: Johnny, some shit’s best walked through alone.

Johnny: Dan’s killed people before. You have too. But neither’ve been solitary after.

Al: A fair fight, something Dan and I have always struggled to avoid, is different. You see the light go out of their eyes. It’s just you left and death.

Johnny: So that’s why Dan wants to be alone.

Al: He knows where to find me. (Johnny nods and turns to leave) Sit down. If you want to. (Johnny turns and shuts the door, sitting down in a chair. He sits there looking around for a bit, as Al is leaning in the balcony door. Finally he turns to Al)

Johnny: What’re… ..what are we waiting for?

Al: To see what kind of hell breaks loose.

Whilst I was editing your Wiki wavy wall above, Cade, so that a new window opens upon clicking, Thing 2 or Loopy-Lou, sitting off to my right, was telling somebody online that “This Halo will be the last”…

*/stubs butt… That’s real-time syncing, Clicky. Shame nobody believes you until they experience it for themselves…*

deadwood Al Welcome to Deadwood

*Front Ear…*

*******

Belief is a weird thing. Some, may have no knowledge of the ride nor what any consequences of riding may be, and they may even not be aware they are on the ride. Some, knowing the ride may not suit them, avoid the ride altogether and are content in their choices. Some, knowing the ride may not suit them, ride the ride anyway and may or may not regret having done so. Some, are not sure whether the ride will or will not suit them, and they may or may not ride the ride out of concern for the consequences of either outcome. Some, are aware, but have no choice as to whether or not to ride the ride. Doesn’t matter whether they want to or not, and it doesn’t matter the outcome. They are where they are. Belief is irrelevant. Proof is irrelevant.

All that to say that we’re all of us in various states of development and/or decay. Some are sharp, some are a bit slow on the uptake, some may be wishy-washy as hell and mostly wander around in a non-committal type daze. Maybe being aware of how we react to one “type” or another may help us learn about ourselves and where we actually may be lacking. Like, as far as relating goes. That which brings comfort to ourselves which is borne upon the wings of the discomfort of others, has a null and empty quality to it. Almost a hunger embedded in the satiations and dissatisfactions which necessitates a repeat of the experience. Maybe we get stuck in loops for a reason.

/shrug

Apologies for wandering off the deep end. Just wondering aloud what it may mean for one to be satisfied. We are talking about some quite esoteric bullshit, and many have likely only barely scratched the surface with respect to knowing and understanding what all could potentially be entailed in this and these processes. There’s lots to know. Lots to think about. Sometimes its difficult to condense and share for purposes of relating.

^CHVRCHES – The Mother We Share^

*******

*You think I should go there, Clicky? …/lights up and smokes… Alright then…*

Back to the subject of personal reflection on the period of time since 21st August 2017, it was shortly after the eclipse that my interesting in Lashy’s Gnostic teachings was rekindled with his ‘Decoding the Mandela Effect’ series on YTube…

*Fucked up a ton of posts here though when he took them down to start his school…/flicks ash… Probably for the best though eh, Clicky? … /deep drag… Not in his image afterall…*

… One of the things Molly McCord said about of the New Moon in Leo later this month was that it will bring new narratives, new stories. As a writer and co-editor of the Underdog Anthology series of books, this was of great interest to me: any cosmic help in developing new story ideas, is welcome. Since the 2017 eclipse, 9 separate anthology volumes have been published and another is scheduled for this Halloween. I need to get my thinking cap on…

deadwood Tom Nuttall

*/puffs contentedly… Thanks for the vote of confidence, Clicky… /pats snout…*

I’ll pass back to Cade for some final reflecting…

*******

May your thinking cap for the upcoming book be a fucking fabulous one Roob. 🙂

Me? Imma put my reflecting hat on for a bit longer.

^Imperial March Recorder^

As far as reflecting goes, 2017 was a weird year for me. Difficult in talking about some of it without talking about all of it, as parsing the tale tells nothing. That said, I do recall heading out to the National Cemetery not long after the eclipse to see my pop and older sister. Early September. A bird had shit on dad’s tombstone. Musta been a fucking Pterodactyl based on the size of the splatter. A shitty exclamation point on a shitty year? Maybe. But I didn’t think that then and I don’t think it now, so now I’m gonna have to question why I’m reflecting other than I’ve been instructed to do so by an astrologist who tells me the time is right for doing so.

To be fair, I’ve been in a reflective state pretty much this entire year. Am not writing, can’t think straight, having trouble remembering things, under quite a bit of pressure, few writing ideas, and what few there are I cannot hold onto. It would be easy for me to say that the hope that I lost in early 2017 was regained in late 2017, but that ride from December 2017 to December 2019 has began to crumble under me. However, I don’t really feel like anything is crumbling. Shifting maybe, but not crumbling. Prolly because I’ve got other things going on that fill me with hope whilst everything else simultaneously goes to shit? No idea. Been a damn strange year, and a lot of people seem to be completely filled with some anticipation of total collapse. But not me. Can’t say why I’m not filled with fear and doubt, but I’m not.

This “Lion’s Gate” stuff is strange because August 8th is forevermore gonna be a weird day for me personally. Pop was born on August 8th in 1941, he died 8 days before my older sister’s birthday, and my older sister died on August 8th in 2013. If any of that means anything, I have no idea what it is outside of the obvious. Not anything I can share anyway. Mom is Taurus, dad is Leo, older sis is Sagittarius, younger sister is Gemini, I’m a Scorpio. My older sister was the son my father never had, my younger sister was born on Father’s Day, and I’m just kinda in the way. Hanging out. Chillin’. Dodging the bullets I can dodge. Fairly middling, kinda plain, nothing particularly special about me ‘cept I’m sickly as hell and allergic to every fucking thing on the planet; doing my best to be okay with all that. Not sure what else it is I need to be doing. Although if anyone could fuck up something as seeming simple as reflecting, I prolly can. Still, sometimes just kinda seems like people are being nosy whilst appearing to be discreet. Guess sometimes you just gotta take shit on faith, hope for the best, all whilst preparing yourself for a royal ass-fucking.

^Lightnin’ Hopkins-Business You’re Doin’^

*******

*Can you go find a suitable Song to end on, Clicky?*

*No, the post is far too long to get into all that. Just the Song, Clicky… /stubs butt… And try and find sumfin that evokes reflections on rippled water. If it exists…*

That’s the end of this post, Dear Reader. Thank you for your time and attention. Enjoy the rest of your we kenned and… Have a Song ❤

 

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 😀

Missive From ‘Merica: Izzy Wizzy, Let’s Get Jiggy!

‘Her bottom was much bigger than mine and she wore a blonde wig that was longer than my own hair. It was ridiculous and I was very upset.’

*I forgot Britt Eckland was married to Peter Sellers, Clicky… /lights up… Cade and me remote viewed… /smokes… a few of ‘is movies last week…*

*Really? Did he say ‘Going down the mine shaft later’?*

*Sooty! …/slaps forehead… THAT’S where I got the post title from. It’s been bugging the fuck out of me all afternoon. Cheers, Clicky…*

A new missive has arrived from Cade Fon Apollyon, the Okie Devil of Text US. Have a Song, Dear Reader, to get you going…

… Gopher it! 😉

*******

Let’s get jiggly wiffit!

Poppers

Whipped-Cream Charger

Jiggly, creamy...what's not to like?
^Puscifer – Potions (Video HD) Feat Trent Reznor^

How do you figure ants know when to return to base? They gotta have a time and/or distance limit of some kind, but ants are stupid little automatons of motorized instinct. That is of course unless “intelligence” is perhaps scalar. If it is, that could mean that ants, in relative terms, are potentially as smart as, or maybe even smarter, than humans. That’s not really what I was thinking about tho. What I was thinking about the universal lube which allows gears to turn at all. And when I mean “universal lube”, I am not talking about oil(s). Lemme splain…

Triclosan

A gallon (3.79 liters) of crude oil weighs somewhere in the neighborhood of 7.21 pounds (3.27 kilos). There are 42 gallons (158.99 liters) in a barrel of oil, and…

The level of oil production is currently at an all-time high, with around 94.7 million barrels of oil produced daily in 2018. Feb 13, 2020

-Souce = Goolge (May 9th, 2020)

Using that number as a guide for an estimate of current production, and this being a leap year, that could mean that 34,660,200,000 barrels would be produced in a year. And yes, that’s 34 billion with a B.

34,660,200,000 barrels x 42 gallons per bbl = 1,455,728,400,000 gallons (231,446,258,316,000 liters)

With that in mind…

Q: Is it really any wonder that anything and everything seems to require anti-bacterial agents?

A: ???

I mean, we’re giving bacteria all kinds of room to stretch their legs. Is it really such a surprise that they are doing just that?

All that said, what is it which allows (and perhaps also limits) life’s ability to move. I’ve been hung up on magnetism for a long time, so I kinda wonder what role(s) our magnetosphere plays. Science says it’s too weak to have any measurable effects, but that explanation itself seems kinda weak. All kinds of stuff that we used to not be able to measure, nor even did we know it existed, but we do now.

^deadmau5 – Some Chords^
Gates. Gated, non-gated. Prohibit, allow

With respect to magnetism tho’, there’s gonna be a lot of spin. An open position may in fact remain somewhat prohibitive depending on the direction of travel. If we’re talking gates, that means doorways, and the doorway or gate is unlikely to care which side making distinctions as to “in/out”. In effect, prohibitive from one direction will, potentially, be more facilitative from the opposite direction.

There are likely to be more neutral states as well. I can only wonder if a “closed” position may actually behave in similar fashion(s). For example, a “closed” gate within the magnetosphere may be “closed: subject to conditional” or “closed: not subject to conditional”. Meaning, at certain times, closed gates may only be conditionally closed, and certain gates may be unconditionally closed. Meet the conditions, and the gate can be passed even tho’ it is in the closed state. What is the act of traversing a doorway called anyway? Does this act have a name?

Why Walking through a Doorway Makes You Forget
The Doorway Effect: Why Do We Forget What We Were Supposed To Do After We Enter a Room?
Screen-Door Effect
11:11 (Numerology)
COVID-19 Pandemic Lockdown In India

May not seem like it, but an ancillary something I’m thinking about here, is will. Is it possible that the will of someone might affect the magnetosphere in prohibitive ways? We appear to have a bead on the high-power weaponry, but the low-power stuff is in the pipeline.

May as well start thinking about it now
^Deftones – Be Quiet And Drive (Far Away) (Video)^

Express the oil, shower it with antibacterials.

Almost like squeezing the pus out of an infection under the skin

Is Earth sick?

Is that what's going on with Earth exploration?

Penetrating the skin.

Removing infection.

Sharing the wealth.

“Kin” is 3/4ths of “Skin”.

“In” is half.

Weird considering that halfway is as far as one can ever go in

Anything past halfway is out.

And, yeah, I guess “in” is 2/3rds of “kin”.

Things just got weird
^Santigold – Disparate Youth (Official Music Video)^

Universal lube. A something which has multiple parts to it tho. Provides the ability to move, at the same time hinders movement, maybe provides some simultaneous directional and non-directional information, and keeps movement to within certain parameters.

Of course, you also need to take into consideration the motivation(s) within the moving object itself. Does a gate need to exist within a space if there is no need for transit? What’s really mind blowing about that thought is, that if there is no need for a gate, is there a need for anything within this space? Can’t think “wall” here either. A wall is nothing more than an impassible gate. Wait…wait…just a fucking minute here…

Q: How does one create non-navigable space?

A: Bend the space around the space where you want to prohibit navigation/traffic

You’d have to bend the space in such a way that it could not be unbent, but what’s boggling my mind here is the idea of “solid space”. Imma have to ponder on this a bit.

^AWOLNATION – Sail (Feed Me Remix)^
!WAR N ING!

Some of the videos below likely qualify as “graphic”.

Some may potentially qualify as “graphics”.

You’ll figure it out…I have faith in you.

^CG Realism with Warbles in Blender – Lazy Tutorials^

I wonder how long it takes to reach orgasm with a taser
^Lady accidentally used her taser as her vibrator^
Searching for the clit can land you in some pretty goddamn weird places
^Clitgore – Tales From the Clit (Music Video)^

Um…um…like, I’d um….yeah. I like the clitoris, I like girls, I like pizza. I have notta fucking clue what the hell is going on below.

(pun may/may not be intended)
^Cliterati “Burn” music video^
I AM HAVE THROB IN MA HEED

Not telling you which head is throbbing tho’…

…nor why it is throbbing.

^Cliterati – Trans is Beautiful^

If there is too much of you, have someone chop it off fer ya
^Labiaplasty Delhi Clitoris Unhooding India^

I learned a new term today...”vag-talk”
^Is my v*agina normal Here are the 7 different types of labia | Natural Life^

“Real” women are bald.

Let it be known that hair is evil
^Hairy Women Report Germany 1992 Hirsutismus Deutsch Teil 2^

There are some things in the world that I really just do not know how to feel about.

^Petra Workout Bizeps Waden Hairy Legs Bodybuilding 90er Teil 3^

Red knuckles, white knuckles, and shiny skin

Even without razors and lotions and loofahs and such, shiny skin is a thing
What is systemic sclerosis (scleroderma)?
Systemic Sclerosis
CREST Syndrome
Everything You Need to Know About Raynaud’s Phenomenon
Raynaud Syndrome
Raynaud’s Disease
Scleroderma
Medical Words For Everyday Situations
Anosognosia
Anosognosia
Aging changes in the bones – muscles – joints

That’s actually quite an interesting thought: the thought that understanding and/or acceptance of an illness can actually somewhat alter the diagnosis.

Compound the diagnosis

On the upside, this potentially opens up some new revenue streams of both the light and dark varieties.

^Motorcycle – As The Rush Comes (OFFICIAL VIDEO)^

I love you means goodbye

No one says “I Love You” at hello or when you arrive, it’s always when you leave. At the end of a phone conversation, at the end of an email or letter, before leaving for work, before going to bed, after sex…whenever two are going their separate ways, I love you is locked in there with goodbye. Almost a warning sometimes. It’s no fucking wonder I’ve always hated the “I Love You” protocol, just never could figure out why…until last night.

Was watching a film last night called Backbeat, and at one point in the film, The Beatles get tossed out of Hamburg because George is underage (although I don’t think they were called The Beatles at this point). So anyway, they’re getting deported, they’re being escorted onto a train, Stuart Sutcliffe’s German gal is there, and as the train starts to pull away, Stuart sticks his head out the window of the train and fires “I Love You” her way. Almost in a “you better fucking not forget me” kind of way.

EUREKA!!!

After all this time, I’ve never known why “I Love You” has always rubbed me the wrong way, but now I think I have a bit of insight. Sure, the “I Love You Too” is also a painful-assed statement to have to make when you just do not feel like saying it, but I think it’s clear to me now that “I Love You” is pretty much equal on some level to “goodbye”.

Goodbyes suck. They're so...forever
^Tiësto feat. Tegan And Sara – Feel It In My Bones^

Wonder if it’s also maybe possible that ‘I Love You’ is a reward, which is why it comes with goodbye.

“You’ve pleased me, therefore I love you”

No wonder ‘I Love You’ never comes at the start. That’d be like…unconditional love or something, right?

/me scratches head

I didn’t love you then, I do love you now, goodbye.

Each day is, potentially, full of do-overs.

Till they get sick of your shit anyway.

^Deadmau5 – Animal Rights (4×4=12)^
Right...so...50 Page Plan, eh?

I wonder how many pages the plan was which facilitated the lockdown in the first place. No matter, your government will get you out of this mess, and into the next one, no sweat. On the bright side, this documentation will likely be reflective of what your government has learned from this experience. It may also be reflective of what they already knew, just…needed somewhere special to slip it in. Not trying to be dismal or negative or anything, just seems kinda like an odd way to exit a lockdown. It seems less like liberty and/or freedom, and more like…

parole
^Joe Rogan Reviews Coronavirus Re-Opening Guidelines^

UFO videos are almost always cool. Of course that is assuming the video hasn’t been altered in any way.

Prolly important for any sky-watcher or ufologist to kinda be at least somewhat familiar with how certain types of known aircraft move. You don’t have to put a ridiculous amount of effort into it either. A modicum of effort will likely provide a shitload of insight. To relate, take me for example. When I took the practical portion of my test for my pilot’s license, I admit that loads of stuff still didn’t make sense to me. I honestly have no idea how I passed my practical test on the first try, but somehow I did. As I continued flying over the next coupla years, all that weird shit started to make more sense, and I sometimes wondered how in the fuck that stuff didn’t make sense before. It made so much sense now.

Just trying to say, stay at it.

Clarity will come at its own pace
^Romeo Void – Never Say Never (Official Video)^

Channels under the skin. Within the layers of epidermis itself. Almost like dried riverbeds. Aggregate of dried sweat, salt, oil(s), perhaps even skin that could not be discarded because it was caught up in the fold(s) and other aggregates.

Gotta consider outside aggregates as well. Dirt(s) and dust(s), soaps, soot, chemicals, lotion(s) and creme(s)…the potentials are mind-boggling. Loads and loads of tiny particles collecting over time within the skin, and going for the most part completely unnoticed. Perhaps even somewhat like micro-glaciers within the skin. Channeling and funneling downwards towards the legs, feet, arms, hands.

I can only wonder about the lines that form on the finger and toe nails, and maybe perhaps how not only the motion of the body can affect these, but also the aggregates themselves and how they affect how the skin moves, how this affects connective tissues as well as the underlying fluidic systems and also the musculature(s). When you start thinking more in terms of asymmetrical and less-symmetrical types of movement, and especially when thinking in terms of up/down and in/out, plus spherical and vortical motion(s) of the epidermis, the potentials are damn near infinite. Especially over time and as ergonomics of an individual change.

A patch of skin under the right knee previously may have moved primarily vertically up and down, but due to lifestyle changes, the skin now moves horizontally side-to side. Or perhaps the skin no longer moves at all due to ergonomic or even pathological reasons. A bit at a disadvantage because of some childhood injuries to my own hands/feet/fingers/toes, so my own case may be considerably different than someone else.

I’m sorry but I cannot think that there is a direct connection between the internal and external moisture concentrations which may contribute to, what equates to, basically foreign material which cannot be expunged by the body. We see a “blemish”, we treat the blemish, when the source of/the driving factors contributing to the blemish may be actually elsewhere. Callouses, dark patches, light patches, yellow patches, red patches, warts, moles, freckles, pimples, blackheads, symmetrical, asymmetrical…how do these things contribute to how the epidermis does/does not move?

Most mysterious of all, in my own case, are pores. Why sometimes elevated? Why sometimes concave/depressed? The only thing that I can figure is perhaps because of the pressures and tensions of the surrounding tissue(s).

^Deftones – My Own Summer (Video)^

Fluids are strange. They do strange things under certain circumstances. Just saying that if you read the above, and even remotely understand what I’m chasing, you’ve gotta keep fluids and fluid dynamics in mind. Endocrine, lymphatic, circulatory, nervous, eccrine, respiratory, digestive, autonomic, vagus… We’ve got all kinds of I/O, interrupts, voluntary and involuntary nonsense to consider.

From farts and salivation to ejaculation and sweating to pissing and crying…

Lots of fluids maybe trying to go somewhere

Gotta keep those externals in mind as well. Prolly wanna pay some mind to prohibitive or maybe even reactionary types of things. From Chromium 6 and rubber particulate from automobile tires to pollen and various types of dirt and dust, ain’t much that can be ignored. Adhesives, wood product particulate, commercial dyes and textile particulate (like from clothing and such) are some good things to keep you aimed at oddities you might otherwise not consider.

^Grimes – World Princess Part II [Official Video]^

Quick question quasi-along those same lines…

Q: What do we do with garbage?

A: We bury it

Trash, garbage, waste(s) of all kinds…

we bury it

Someone someday is gonna come along someday and think they’ve stumbled onto a fucking goldmine.

Assuming there are any humans left that is

Q: Why does it matter if there are any humans left in the future?

A: BRB...I get the feeling that only my children can answer this question

I’ll give the answer in a future whatever/missive.

Or you can just…find your own answers.

Whatever.

^Grimes ft. Janelle Monáe – Venus Fly (Official Video)^

Lots of stuff that appears on your radar is going to be … erm … saturated. For example, a tweet starts the backwards nonsense stone to rolling.

You’ll need to keep an eye on the dates.

The REAL reason for the Iraq war? Saddam Hussein ‘had stargate portal to alien world’

And even further back, pretty much the same shit in a different package.

The REAL reason for the Iraq war? Saddam Hussein ‘had stargate portal to alien world’

But this is by no means “new news”. Lots of it is the same shit in a different wrapper.

There Are People Who Think The West Invaded Iraq Over a Stargate

When I saw that tweet today about Iraq War 2 and the Stargate, I was like…wait a fucking minute…this is AFN.

AFN = Ancient Fucking News

I remember hearing about this stargate shit WAY fucking back. Why in the hell is someone digging this shit back up???

Star Gate Found in Iraq The Real Reason We Went to War

There’s nothing new…

Iraqi Revolt Of 1920

…it’s just new to you.

^Iraq’s Secret War Files | Trailer | Available now^
There are problems with your “oneness” model
^Bananas As We Know Them Are Doomed^
LA Woman... … …El Lay Woah Man
^Helicopter View of the LA River | Van Nuys to Long Beach^

I only made it to 3:34 into this next video before having to stop.

So let me get this straight…you developed a process/technology to profile antibodies, then patented it. You’ve gone back and applied your process to other’s work, determined their stuff was wrong, and then tried to get them to adjust their findings to be in line with yours. You now think that everyone should put their published findings into your single global database. Basically, you’re trying to get a monopoly on what is right and wrong with respect to antibodies, and you are the sole determiner as to what is right and what is wrong. But best of all, you and your group gets a piece of every action.

Ballsy
^MUST WATCH: Debunking the Narrative (With Prof. Dolores Cahill)^

Getting a global monopoly on a mutative/mutable something would indeed be something grand to get your claws dug into. It virtually guarantees your business will stay in business, potentially anyway, forever. There is that pesky patent problem tho. She mentioned that the company was setup in 1997, but I have to wonder when the patent was actually issued. She mentions a company called “Protogen”, so let’s start there.

Protogen

Hrm…not off to a very good start, although I admit reading that sounds very close to what Professor Cahill just described. Let’s modify our search a bit.

Protogen Corporation
Protogen | The Expanse Roleplay
ProtoGen, Inc
Protogen : Big Data Solutions, Analysis, Reporting
Why does Mars work with this organisation for secret research?
Leviathan Wakes-Google Books Result
Protogen-Lipoic Acid

Alright wait, wait, wait…wait just a goddamn minute. I need to go back and read the subtitles on the video to see if she’s saying “Protogen”, or something else. Checked the description on the video, but not a single mention of Cahill’s company nor any links to any of Cahill’s stuff. Just a bunch of e-begging for the host and his stuff. And the captions for the video look like they may not help either because it’s saying “protege”? Maybe it’s Protegen instead of Protogen?

Protegen: Protective Antigens
(unsecure link above...fyi...click/browse at your own risk)
Protegen
Protegen: a web-based protective antigen database and analysis system
Protegen: a web-based protective antigen database and analysis system
PROTEGEN® – Pure Whey Protein Isolate – MorphogenNutrition
Protegen – omicX

I’m kinda thinking that maybe I need to just look up the name Dolores Cahill and work backwards from there. I hate doing that tho. Looking up people’s names on a search engine is pretty fucking creepy.

^Beastie Boys – No Sleep Till Brooklyn (Official Music Video)^

K so, instead of starting at a search engine, let’s see if we can find Dolores Cahill on Wikipedia first.

Irish Freedom Party

Hrm…no Wikipedia page for her, but her name does come up in a strange context. Especially considering that this party appears to have been founded in September of 2018, which is not long ago. Let’s keep digging in Wikipedia a bit more before moving on to Google.

South (European Parliament Constituency)
Yehuda Shoenfeld

She’s mentioned there at the bottom in footnote 9, which oddly has no link to a source. Going backwards, it looks like the article she was associated with has been retracted.

While two of Shoenfeld’s scientific articles have been retracted,[8][9] he has published more than 1920 papers.

This is kinda disconcerting for me. In the video, she’d mentioned autoimmune diseases which really made my ears perk up, and there’s mention of Rheumatology in footnote #9, which also has me further interested.

Integrin Alpha 2b
ICln, a Novel Integrin αIIbβ3-Associated Protein, Functionally Regulates Platelet Activation
Searching journal content for Dolores J. Cahill in author

Hrm…she’s only listed as author in 1 paper?

Fuckit...GOO GHOUL TIME!
Search Results Web results Dolores Cahill • BioTech Pharma Summit: Conference Series

Well THAT’s not a good start. Looks like whatever she provided at that conference has been removed. In fact, that whole goddamn website appears to be down.

Weird
Dolores J Cahill – The candidates contesting the EU Elections
Cahill, Dolores J – VIVO
Taking Our Democracy Back from the EU | Prof. Dolores Cahill at Irexit Cork

Those not real interested in Synchronicity might find this image beyond eccentric, but I paused the video at 11 seconds so I could copy the link to the video, and what appeared on that sign on the left was kinda…jarring.

FREED TO PR

Not to mention that 11:11 appears in the counter.

Q: Why would a nation need to be freed in order to control their own PR?

A: Maybe they don't like what “the big” is selling

Certain things which are representative of the whole, may in fact not be representative at all of the individual(s).

Dolores CAHILL | PhD | University College Dublin
Protein arrays: a high-throughput solution for proteomics research?
Dolores Cahill’s Biography – SELECTBIO
Euroscepticism and Ireland
Max Planck Society: Homepage
Max Planck Society
List Of Max Planck Institutes

Don’t want to jump to any conclusions here, but is it possible she’s getting railroaded because of her politics? If she’s really been within those systems, she’s be in a good position to see how they work, and maybe even some insight into what they are up to long term. Maybe she didn’t like what she saw. Those are just speculations on my part tho. I’ve only known she even existed for about 30 minutes now. How much about her could I possibly know?

I will say this tho, the Max Planck Institute has a metric fuckton of institutes. The appear to have their fingers in…

pretty much everything
^The Swine Flu Fraud of ’76 – 60 Minutes^
Painful bruising
Gardner-Diamond Syndrome
Painful Bruising Syndrome
Psychodermatology
Gardner-Diamond Syndrome: A Psychodermatological Condition in the Setting of Immunodeficiency
Mary K Dick, eh? I wonder if she's related to Phil

Q: Why would there not be interaction(s) between mind and skin?

A: ???

We generate all kinds of skin reactions based upon what our mind may be telling us how we personally feel about something. Goose-pimples, hair standing up, hot flashes, cold sweats, tingles, and even anticipatory types of things for certain events which may or may not happen. Like say, if I’m bent over the toilet, and I see my father’s arm start to move to swing a belt which is going to land somewhere between my knees and hips? I may feel some weird stuff in the skin of my upper-thighs, buttocks and lower back prior to the belt actually impacting and making contact with my flesh.

^Nine Inch Nails-Heresy (with lyrics)^

There has to be some anti-syncers out there. Not saying they are floaters, just, people who focus on sinking syncs. Discrediting, devaluing, disproving, debunking, whatthehellevering. They don’t get it, so they sink it.

Q: Is sinking syncs understanding of the same concept from a different angle/perspective?

A: ¿ ¿ ¿

I wonder if understanding the northern hemisphere from the southern hemisphere is the same thing as understanding the northern hemisphere from the northern hemisphere.

^Kinda I Want To^

May be difficult to believe, but all this bullshit started with me waking up and seeing an ant crawling across my keyboard.

^Muse – Knights Of Cydonia (Video)^

cYacFa

^Smack My Bitch Up^

*******

*Okay, Clicky… /exaggerated wink… Gotcha…*

Now that was a missive and a half, Dear Reader. We hope you enjoyed it 😀 There’s just time to let you know that Underdog Anthology XI: Tales from Loch Doon is now available on Kindle for the incredibly low price of 80p…

… Seriously, for such a down and dirty price, no one could blame you for…

*How was that, Clicky?*

dont know where to look

*Oh, bugger off…*

Have a Song, Dear Reader… ❤

Loch Doon Lift Off

*OMG, Clicky! Is it… Is it finally ready?*

UAXI Cover

*Yes! …/lights up and smokes… 80-fuckin’-pence? That’s an incredibly low price for some top quality entertainment, Clicky…*

*Or magick… /winks… Leggy mentions Aleister Crowley’s ‘Magick’ in the Foreword…*

*/drags… The book cover photo is one Leggy took at Loch Ness. Crowley once lived up there… /streams smoke… The place burnt down under mysterious circumstances last year…*

*Nah, pretty sure we’d know if Boleskine House had been hit by a meteorite, Clicky…*

book

*Oh, of course… /blushes… Yes, Mark Ellott’s story ‘The Meteorite’ can be read for free via Amazon’s ‘Look Inside’ function…

*A line from that song inspired his second story, ‘The Trade’, Clicky… /flicks ash… Wow, all Mark’s books are 99p for lockdown as well…*

*Hang on, I know this! Marsha Webb has a story called ‘Stripes’ in the anthology… /final drag… It takes time to understand you, Clicky, but I am getting there… /stubs butt…*

absolutely fantastic

*This just in! …/sticks finger in ear… I see what you did there…*

*Oh tush… /pats snout… Praise Leggy – he’s the one giving all these writers a chance, and everybody else a chance to read them for very little outlay…*

*Yeah, his stories do seem to be taking a life on of their own, Clicky… /lights up and smokes…*

CLICK5: Truth Inside The Lie?

Story Time: The Trouble With Tibbles

Previously at the LoL*Thanks, Clicky… /lights up and smokes… Hope the Police don’t confiscate non-essential chair…*

Dear Reader, I’ll be reviewing Underdog Anthology XI: Tales of Loch Doon, in a post once it has been published, which will be any day now. However, as a taster, here’s my effort from the book. It’s a ‘Harry Egg’ tale, set in the early days of lockdown, if you can remember what life was like back then… 😉

*Err, Mr Tibbles is not a stray, but otherwise, that’s a great Song selection…*

*******

The Trouble With Tibbles

by Roo B. Doo

TTWT text message 1

Harry…”

Josie’s singsong voice called out to me, rousing me from slumber. I cracked open an eye and saw that I was in a hospital room, lying flat out on a bed, with Josie stood over me. The lost love of my life wore a skimpy nurse outfit that didn’t exactly look NHS approved. Not unless Ann Summers was now supplying the National Health Service with uniforms. This has to be a dream, I decided and settled back in anticipation of what was to come.

“Josie?” I croaked and reached out to stroke the back of her smooth, naked thigh. “Have you come to take care of me?”

“Oh yes, Harry, I’m going to take real good care of you.” Josie pulled herself up onto my bed and lithely straddled my prone body. The studs holding the front of her too tight tunic together popped open to reveal a racy lace and flesh tonic for the eyes. “Hold still,” she purred.

She scooched toward me, bouncing herself up my body until I could feel the weight of her curvaceous buttocks on my chest and the hot promise radiating from her groin. Slowly, Josie took the stethoscope from around her neck and delicately inserted the listening ends in her ears. She smiled down at me seductively, lowering her face until it was within inches of my own. Without saying a word, she placed the end of the stethoscope firmly over my lips.

“Err, do you want to try that again?” I asked out of the corners of my squashed mouth.

Josie did but this time found only my cheek. Then my eye, before finally she crushed the listening bell against the tip of my nose.

“Now for your injection,” she whispered breathlessly over me. Claws suddenly sprang out from the end of the stethoscope and dug painfully into the sides of my nose.

“Oww! Stop it,” I cried, wrenching my face from side to side. Above me Josie meowed.

I became aware of the unctuous, amber eyes observing me intently. Nestled within a fountain of fur, the eyes blinked once before a swift jab, with a smoky grey paw, socked me on the mouth.

“Gerroff, Tibbles!”

Mister Tibbles yawned lazily, stood up to stretch and gracefully one-eighty’d on my chest. The morning view of his backside was unparalleled, exactly as it had been for the past three mornings. I was confused; I’d purposely closed my bedroom door the night before, precisely to avoid a repeat of Mister Tibbles’ morning performance of the sun and full moon rising.

Riding out the Coronavirus lockdown with my best friend Lol seemed like such a good idea at the time. Three weeks, tucked away with my best friend forever, in his fully stocked house and an internet connection to die for? Why wouldn’t I jump at his offer to come and spend lockdown with him? True, either one of us might be infected with the 21st century ‘Hack Death’, but on balance, I decided to risk it. Besides, Lol wouldn’t have asked me to stay over unless he was scared, the big wuss.

What I hadn’t taken into consideration was how Mister Tibbles would feel about the new living arrangements. After only a few days of lockdown, I’d begun to suspect that Lol’s pedigree Persian Blue moggy considered me his personal plaything; I was little more than something Lol had dragged home as a gift, to be laid on the altar of the bed in the spare bedroom, all for Mister Tibbles’ enjoyment.

“Tibbles, as gorgeous as you are, I really don’t need to inspect your arse and bollocks every morning,” I said irritably and batted the kitty away. I reached over and grabbed my phone to check the time. “And at six o’fucking clock! Are you serious?”

Mister Tibbles regarded my exasperation from the foot of the bed, with passive swishes of his tail.

Gingerly, I explored the area around my nose with my fingertips. Thankfully Mister Tibbles’ wake up call hadn’t drawn blood as far as I could tell, but my hooter felt tender and sore. “And now you’ve got me touching my face.” I accused the moggy malevolently. “Don’t you know, we’re not supposed to touch our faces in this time of national emergency?”

In reply Mister Tibbles jumped silently to the floor and padded over to the bedroom door, before sauntering around it and out of sight.

“Bloody cat,” I muttered sourly and got out of bed. I needed to inspect the damage. Mister Tibbles was waiting for me just outside my bedroom, presumably to weave himself provocatively about my ankles, to trip me on my way to the bathroom. I thumped a tired fist against Lol’s bedroom door as I stumbled past. “Your bloody cat!”

I washed my hands before examining my face in the bathroom mirror. My eyes looked puffy and dry, no doubt due to the ghastly hour, combined with the two bottles of Merlot that Lol and I had polished off the night before. My nose, on the other hand, was red and scratched, like it had lost a fight to a cheese grater. Argh! Thank god I don’t have to show this in public.

I turned from the mirror to use the toilet and caught sight of Mister Tibbles. He sat serenely on the bath mat, gazing up at me. “No, no. You ruined my lovely dream and disfigured me, you bastard cat. I’m not letting you watch me take a piss. I am not here to entertain you, Tibbles. Get out.”

With an innate sense for impending danger, Mister Tibbles jumped back before my foot could make contact with him. He mewed mournfully at me before running out of the bathroom. I shut the door behind him. Firmly. I don’t know if I can take another two and a half weeks of Tibbles!

“What’s up buttercup?” Lol asked brightly as I entered the kitchen some ten minutes later. He was busy percolating coffee and unloading the dishwasher. He seemed perky, gratingly so.

“We’ve got to talk about Tibbles.”

“That’s Mister Tibbles, Harry,” Lol corrected me, with a mischievous smirk. “Mister T doesn’t like it if you don’t use his proper name.”

I sat down at the kitchen table. “I thought you said his proper name is ‘Prince Pomander the Third?”

“No, that’s his pedigree name,” Lol explained and placed a tiny cup of espresso before me. “He doesn’t like to brag of his royal lineage. That’s why his proper name is Mister Tibbles. What’s happened to your nose?”

Mister Tibbles is what happened,” I told him bluntly, just managing to stop myself from touching my nose by reflex. “Your Prince Pomander thought it quite the jolly idea to use it as a punch ball, to wake me up.” I couldn’t see the fluffy ratbag anywhere. “Where is he by the way?”

“Back garden, stalking squirrels.” Lol handed me two Paracetamol tablets, which I took with a quick drain of my espresso cup. Molten bitterness hit the back of my throat like an express train. I coughed.

“Are you sure you haven’t got the lurg?” Lol asked suspiciously and gave the kitchen table top the once over with a handy disinfectant wipe. Handy packets of wipes were strategically placed in each room of Lol’s house. He’d been following the spread of the virus since the start of the year, via a financial blog he subscribed to. With some foresight, he’d been gradually gathering essentials before stockpiling suddenly became all the rage.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I replied sullenly. “I wouldn’t mind a regular coffee though. One that doesn’t make me cough. You know, with plenty of milk and two sugars.”

“Then help yourself. Mi casa es tu casa, Harry,” Lol told me with a smile. He pulled a fleece jacket on over his lycra cycling garb and downed his espresso.

“You going out?” I asked innocently.

Lol put his cycle helmet on. “Well, seeing as you found it necessary to wake me up so early, H, I thought I’d take advantage of the beautiful morning and clear roads. Would you like to join me on a cycle ride?”

It was a token offer; Lol knew and I knew it; exercise and me are barely nodding acquaintances.

I got up and put the kettle on. “No, I think I’ll go and do a set of stretch and surf in the front room.”

Lol raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“By utilizing your sofa for maximum support,” I explained, whilst loading a coffee cup with heaped teaspoons of instant Columbian and sugar, “I will be stretching out vigorously, with my coffee, to watch breakfast telly, followed by a session of riding the waves of the internet.”

“And no need to change out of your sleep attire. Excellent! Well, make sure you don’t over exert yourself. I shouldn’t be gone longer than an hour.” Lol opened the back door to a stream of early morning sunshine. “Maybe two. Do you want me to leave this open for Mister Tibbles?”

The sun may be shining but the air had a distinctly chilly feel to it. “No, I’ll let the Prince of Pommels back in when he’s finished terrorising the local wildlife.” I shivered and pulled my dressing gown around me tighter. “Go! The draught is freezing.”

Lol made to kiss me on the cheek but stopped himself short. “This corona business is just too weird, Harry,” he whispered sadly, close to my ear.

“I know, Lol,” I whispered back. We stood there for a second, not touching, but feeling the weight of our previously tactile existence fill the space between us. “Go on, go and get your daily permitted exercise.”

Lol left and I finished making my coffee before settling down in front of the gogglebox. I started flicking through the channels: squeaky clean sofa people looking solemn on BBC1; pernickety house buyers searching for their dream home on Two; Piers Morgan indulging in a bout of hissy-fitting on ITV; and on Channel Four, a careworn repeat of ‘Cheers’. Jesus fuck! What a load of crap. No thanks!

I switched the telly off and opened my laptop. Oh, how I missed work. Not the people so much as the busyness and structure of the day. Working from home is all well and good when there’s actual work to do, but since the Fat Kontroller had decided to furlough the business in the short-term, there wasn’t very much for me to do. I felt redundant.

What I needed was a project, something to keep me occupied or I might end up going stark staring mad. A sudden, fearful notion gripped me: what if I started to miss Shazza, F.A. Kontrell’s mouthy receptionist and bane of my working life? I mentally shuddered. Get a grip, I chastised myself. Purge that image, Harry. Time to work up a sweat.

A soft thump on the front room window, diverted my attention away from the ‘Hot Russian Babes Twerking Workout’ YouTube video on my laptop screen. Mister Tibbles, bane of my lockdown life, sat on the outside ledge, peering in. Oh no, I forgot to let the cat in, I mentally whined.

“Go round to the back,” I shouted. Mister Tibbles didn’t move, except for his eyes, which gave a lazy blink.

I contemplated ignoring him; that generally works with Shazza. Lol, however, would never forgive me, though, if anything happened to his beloved and extremely valuable cat. Reluctantly, I put the laptop on the floor, sighed and got up off the sofa.

“Okay, I’m coming,” I called and opened the front door. Apart from a chorus of bird song, there seemed no other sign of life in the street outside.

Mister Tibbles wasn’t sitting on the front window ledge; the annoying furball was nowhere to be seen. I leaned out and scanned the empty road. “Come along Mister Tibbles. Breakfast,” I called sweetly. I expected to feel the soft rush of fur against my bare feet, but all I felt was a chilly, spring gust of wind on my face. “Tibbles?”

Keeping the front door ajar with my left foot, I stepped forward for a better view of the street. I was totally unprepared for the warm squelch I felt under my right heel, nor for the crunch of small bones.

“Argh!”

I lifted my leg with disbelief. A flattened and decidedly dead mouse clung to the bottom of my foot, held in place by its blood and guts. Only its tail moved, which fluttered gently in the breeze.

“ARGHHH!!!”

I hopped outside, toward the patch of lawn at the front of Lol’s house; I had to wipe the foul remains off my being. “Ew, ew, EWWww! Oh My God! That is so disgusting!”

The mouse peeled off easily and lay discarded among the dewy blades, but I continued to scrape my heel and foot through the wet grass, round and around the lawn, determined to remove any rodent residue. My mind shrieked in disgust, Unclean! Unclean!

Miaow.

Mister Tibbles sat on the front step, watching my demented circling with a look of feline bemusement.

“Tibbles!” I rushed toward him but, sensing the murder in my heart, Mister Tibbles quickly scarpered back inside the house. “TIBBLES, NO!”

Too late. In his eagerness to escape, Mister Tibbles bumped the edge of the door with his hightailing. I watched in horror as the front door swung tantalizingly to and fro, before the wind grabbed it and brought it to a close with a click.

“NOOO!!!”

I stopped in my tracks, and for a split second the birds ceased their conversations and the wind dropped. There was only silence, complete silence, and I felt as if the eyes of the Universe were upon me. I stood there, utterly alone, wearing only my pyjamas, a dressing gown and some dead mouse. Then from one of the trees that lined the suburban street I heard the sound of a crow caw. To my ears it sounded like a guffaw.

A flicker of smokey grey movement caught my attention from the corner of my eye. Inside the house, Mister Tibbles had jumped up onto the front room window sill and was prowling along it, beating the glass pane with his tail.

You are so dead! I banged on the window with my fists.

Mister Tibbles didn’t flinch. He meowed and leapt to the floor, before strutting over to the sofa, where he curled up in the comfy spot that until recently I’d been happily occupying. Seemingly ignorant of my impotent knocking, Mister Tibbles then cocked his back leg above his head and set about licking his balls.

“I’m gonna get you,” I growled menacingly at the cat.

For the birds too, it appeared entertainment time was over as they went back to their noisy discussions. Not to be left out, a stream of cold air whistled past, stinging my still tender shnozz and flapping the ends of my dressing gown. I tried the front door but it was shut tight. I inspected the bottom of my foot to make sure it was mouse-free and wondered what the hell I was going to do until Lol returned. I hoped to fuck that he’d thought to take a key with him.

Did he lock the back door when he left? Lol had closed the back door, but had he locked it? I wave of hope surged through me: Maybe I can get in through the back!

As befitting his status of local branch bank manager, Lol’s home was a modest, three bedroom terrace house. The houses either side of his were semi-detached and next to one was a side alley that led to Lol’s back garden. Not wanting to track dirt into his pristine abode, Lol always used the passage to access his house when he went out cycling. I could get to his garden! Even if Lol had locked the back door, at least I could get off the street. I hadn’t seen anybody walk by yet, but that was no guarantee that there wouldn’t be any passersby. I decided to go for it.

Fortified with a plan of action, I belted my dressing gown tight and sprinted out of the front garden and onto the street, passing the neighbour’s house until I reached the entrance to the side alley. Not being a cyclist, I’d never used the entrance before, so my heart sank when I saw the 6ft wood gate blocking the entrance. It rattled and creaked when I pushed at it but the gate wouldn’t open. Locked! Shit! I’ll have to climb over it.

With my right hand grabbing the top of the gate, I climbed up onto the neighbour’s low garden wall adjacent to it. Now, if I can just get my leg over…

“Wot you doin?”

I froze at the sound of the voice coming from behind me.

“Yeah, wot you up to lady? You tryna break in?” a second voice, chimed in.

Oh great! Company!

I turned my head and saw two boys loitering on the street, staring at me. They were dressed in the ubiquitous teenage uniform of the day: hoodies, jeans, trainers, insolence.

“Kind of, yes,” I said climbing off the wall to face them. “I’ve got locked out of my house.”

The two boys looked at each other and then back at me. “Figures,” the taller of the two boys said. “That’s the wrong gear to wear for breakin’ in to ‘ouses.”

“Yeah, no gloves, no shoes. That’s like trailin’ your DNA shit everywhere, innit?” the second boy confirmed.

Oh God. Idiots. I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, quite.”

The boys turned away and conferred for a moment. I waited patiently for them to finish, acutely aware of the ridiculousness of my situation.

Eventually the taller boy spoke. “You wanna boost?”

“Yeah, lady. You wanna boost?”

Oh God. Stereo idiots. Despite my misgivings, I decided to accept their offer. By now all I wanted to do is get inside and have a hot bath. “Yes, please. That would be lovely, thank you.”

The boys approached me and the taller idiot crouched down in front of the gate with his hands held out in front of him, fingers interlocked. “So how come you got locked out then?”

“Yeah, how come?” came his echo.

I placed my left foot on the outcupped hands and grabbed the top of the gate with both hands. “That’s not really any business of yours, is it?”

The fingers under my foot unlaced and it slammed to the floor. “Oww!”

The crouching idiot look up at me from beneath his hood. “Do you want our ‘elp?”

“Yeah, do ya?” the second idiot asked from behind his mobile phone.

“Hold on, are you filming this?”

The first idiot stood up, towering over me. “See it’s like this. We can get stuff from school for doing good works. Like vouchers for stuff. Microsoft points for the X-Box-”

“Yeah, X-Box points.”

“And other things,” the taller idiot continued, “But we have to be able to prove it. We’ve gotta have evidence of our good works, see?”

“Yeah, we gotta provide the evidence.”

I was fuming but not really in a position to argue: I did need their help. I inspected the bottom of my foot and rubbed the gravel and grit embedded in it. “Okay, I’ll tell you. But swap places with me so I can use my other foot.”

I took a deep breath and addressed the phone camera. “Hello. My name is Harry Egg. I’ve been locked out of my friend Lol’s house, where I’m staying for lockdown, by Prince Pomander the Third, and these two lovely chaps are going help me get back in.”

“Wait, who’s Prince Pom… Pom whatever?” the camera idiot asked. Ha! You’re not just an echo, I thought, but you’re still an idiot.

“Prince Pomander. The Third. He’s a cat, also known as Mister Tibbles and he left a dead mouse on the doorstep for me this morning.”

“Nasty!” the taller idiot said, crouching down.

“Yeah, nasty!”

“Very nasty indeed.” I placed my right foot in the crouching idiot’s hands, grabbed the top of the gate and lightly bounced on my standing leg. “You should have seen the blood and guts squirt out everywhere when I trod on it.”

“No way! What foot?” camera idiot asked.

I pushed down hard with my right foot on crouching idiot’s hands and bounced up. With a mighty heave, I pulled myself up onto the top of the gate. “The one he’s holding.”

“WHAA?!” Crouching idiot sprang to his feet forcefully and propelled me up and over the gate. “Nah, nah, nah. Stop filming!”

I lay flat on the ground in a daze. I could hear the boys arguing on the other side of the gate. I didn’t care, I just wanted to get up and back to the house. I raised myself up into a sitting position and fought back tears.

Camera idiot’s head and phone appeared over the gate. “Hey lady, you alright?”

Am I alright? I didn’t think anything was broken except my pride. “Yes, fine thank you,” I replied, getting to my feet and putting on a brave face. “No bones broken.”

“That was wicked! I’ve never seen anyone fly so high!” camera idiot said enthusiastically.

“You’re welcome.” I turned and trailing my hand along the neighbour’s high wooden fence to keep me steady, started to hobble along the alley. “And tell your friend to wash his hands.”

A second gate prevented direct access to Lol’s back garden, but this one wasn’t so high. I would have barged it down if I’d had to, but managed to scramble over it. At last, I was in the safety of the back garden. Whereas the street was bathed in the shadow of the house, the back garden suffered no deficit of sunlight. The grass looked green and lush, sparkling with diamonds as the dew drops amplified the light, and only the gentlest of breezes caused Lol’s saffron headed daffodils to bob as I passed. It’s really nice out here, I thought. I should have just sat out here this morning.

I reached the back door, grabbed the handle and turned. Please God, please God, please God.

The door swung open. Hallelujah!

“Harry.” Lol was opening the back gate and wheeling his bicycle into the garden. He looked athletic and ruddy. The bastard!

“Hello Lol. How was your ride? Busy out there?”

“Yeah, it was great. Hardly any traffic.” Lol leaned his bike up against the wall of the house. “You look dreadful, Harry. Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” I said, stepping over the door threshold and into the kitchen. “I’m going to have a long, hot bath. You can come up and sit with me if you like and I’ll tell you all about it.” I paused. “Mister Tibbles is not invited.”

TTWT text message 2

*******

*Mister Tibbles certainly has the measure of Harry, Clicky…*

Underdog Anthology XI will be available on Kindle from Amazon for the super low price of 99p/99c for the duration of lockdown, as indeed are all the anthologies and novels from Leg Iron Books…

Leg_Iron_Books

*Well done, Leggy! …/stubs butt… That’s seriously good value, Clicky…*

Until next time, Dear Reader, have a Song… 😀

Underdog Anthology XI: Tales From Loch Doon

Good news, Dear Reader! Underdog Anthology XI: Tales From Loch Doon will be published in time for Beltane…

*Me either, Clicky… /lights up… Leggy’s had… /drags… an ‘ell of a year so far… /plumes smoke… Still, we’re nearly there…*

… It features 14 stories from 9 authors and each is a little cracker…

*Nah, we missed the Easter deadline this year, Clicky, wot with one thing or another…*

… And to get us in the mood, the Afterword, with mutilated poem by a dead poet, is reproduced, below…

*******

Afterword

by Roo B. Doo

2019 was generally considered a whacked out, fucked up and completely bonkers year, Dear Reader. Then 2020 arrived with a polite request to ‘Hold my-‘

Corona beer

*Clicky! There’s no gifs in the book… /flicks ash…*

Today is Easter Monday and, as I write, the majority of the global population are locked in their homes, patiently waiting for curves to flatten and Coronavirus cures to be found, so that they get out and get on their normal lives. Currently there is no end in sight.

Hopefully we’ll still be around for ‘Underdog Anthology XII’, due out in October, but in the meantime, Leg Iron Books have generously slashed the price of its Kindle offerings to 99p/99c, so there is no need to be bored. COVID-19 is a novel virus, doncha know 😉

Leg Iron Books

Now for some more butchering…

Beloved children’s author A.A. Milne authored the Winnie-the-Pooh books. The Public school, which his father ran and where little Alan Alexander grew up, employed H.G. Wells as a teacher. Herbert George famously wrote the novel ‘War Of The Worlds’ in which a thriving population was wiped out by a microorganism. If you’re not at all familiar with that story, then apologies for the spoiler.

spoiler

*Cut it out, Clicky… /rolls eyes…*

Fortunately, A.A. Milne was also a poet and now joins the ranks of Shakespeare, Blake, Lazarus et al. on the slab of an Underdog Anthology Dead Poets page, with a mutilation of his children’s verse ‘Now We Are Six’. It lends itself rather well to the current times…

Now We Are Sick

When it was One,
It had just begun.
When it was Two,
It was Wuhan Flu.
When it was Three
People start to flee.
When it was Four,
Italy at death’s door.
When it was Five,
Boris is alive!
But now we are sick,
Locked down and Covid-clever,
So I think we’ll be sick now for ever and ever.

Keep well, Dear Reader, and if you can’t free your body, then free your mind.

*******

Have a Song, Dear Reader… ❤