CLICK5: Doublespeak In The Nanny State…

Extended CLICK5… CLICKB8: Tooting Broad’s Way…

CLICK5: Don’t Have A Bercow, Man!

Missive From ‘Merica: Steamy Fixins…

*Whoa! What you doing, Clicky?*

*Is that? …/rustles pages… It is! It’s a new missive from Cade…*

*Fabuloso! Let’s get down to it, Clicky…*

Hello there, Dear Reader 😀 

I know, I know; it’s been exactly 100 days since our last taste of the Okie Devil of TextUS’ special fixins…

*Yeah, it was on 5th November last year, Clicky… /lights up and smokes…*

And…

… This one’s a bit on the steamy side. Enjoy! 😉

*******

There are many moments in life. One of the more interesting being when you are folding a comforter, having to suspend it way up in the air by holding it up over your head so you can straighten it out, your knuckles come into contact with particleboard paddles moving at speed, and you suddenly remember…”HEY! I have a ceiling fan, and the damn thing is on!”

Don’t fret tho, I’m fine. I really didn’t need those particular layers of epidermis anyway.

^Matt Lange – Morbidly Obese (Redacted Mix)^

I GOT LAID LAST NIGHT!!!

OK, so, calm your sex hormones, I was asleep and it was a dream, but…I GOT LAID LAST NIGHT!!!

 lolz...

About as close to sexual intercourse as am ever to get again, so, close enough. Anyway, she was quite young, probably 35 years old, and quite fit. Yeah, lotta red flags there, and I’ll go ahead and spoil it in that I honestly didn’t wake up feeling great about having an meaningful erotic dream because the whole damn dream was so full of red flags that I’m still torn as to whether I had a good time in the dream or not. We’ll get to that tho.

Anyway, I’m in this huge room in a house that I do not know, the room is painted flat white, plenty of lighting although I would not exactly call the room bright, the dark beige carpets and many assorted rugs everywhere, and the room is rather strange because it had to be at least 30 x 30 feet (9 x 9 metres) but the room contained no vaulted ceilings nor even elevated ceilings. Seemed more like a giant garage that someone had finished out. Another weird thing was that there were all manner of people coming and going. Seemed like every 5 seconds, someone was popping in one door, then exiting another, which brings up another oddity about this room in that it had an excessive amount of doors. Only 4 walls but each wall seemed to have way many more doors than even a room of this size would require, and I started to think maybe this room I found myself in must be a centralized type room rather than some add-on type room.

To make matters even more strange, everyone who popped into the room never loitered, and they always closed the doors. They’d walk into the room from one door, close it, make a beeline for another door, open, ingress, close. And yes, there were also a ridiculous amount of people moving about. So yeah, here I am in this room, reading a book, and this gal pops in and starts chatting me up. Really strange as not a single person has paid me one bit of attention, then all of a sudden this on lady not only notices me, but she makes a beeline for me instead of a door, then starts up a conversation.

(red flag...no one, and I mean NO ONE in my real life ever strikes up a conversation with me, and if they do, I can almost be assured that they want something and they think I have it) 

I cannot recall how it was that this conversation turned into a sexual encounter so rapidly, but I do recall her beginning to strip down to reveal a bikini, immediately removed her bikini top, mentioned that she’d been interested for some time in perhaps becoming friends with me but could never work up the courage to speak with me, and she then said something like, “I’ve also heard you were a great lay and I want to see for myself”.

(yep, another red flag) 

Let me interject at this point to explain that “the feeling” of the dream was as such that none of this felt particularly awkward within the framework of the dream itself. Yes, I recall having a “is this really happening?” type of feeling, but at the same time the environment itself did not emit that “RUN!!!” vibe. Like, somehow, and embedded within the framework of the dream itself, there was nothing within the perceptible realms of sensory and logical data which even hinted at the “something is really fucking wrong here dude! Fucking run! Run for your fucking life!”, which I know for a fact is quite prevalent within my actual life. Which is why I am single, why I do not “chase women” or date or whatever, why I am hesitant about trying to find a relationship, blah blah blah.

Digress. 

So, at this point I’m sitting on the floor with the book I was reading still in hand, this really attractive and shapely woman is standing right in front of me wearing only bikini bottoms, looking at me, and I finally have this strange vibe wash over me. It is not really a warning signal of sorts, more of a “this relationship is unlikely to work out long-term” more than a “this relationship will end very badly” sort of vibe. It is at this exact same moment that she quickly stoops down, begins kissing me quite passionately (or at least, forcefully) and simultaneously begins to unbutton/unzip the shorts I’m wearing. Is it weird to say “the shorts I’m wearing”? Is it really necessary for me to point out that the shorts she is unbuttoning/unzipping are not a pair in my dresser drawer? Should I have said “my shorts” instead of “the shorts I’m wearing”? Not sure how to phrase that as both of those seem odd to me.

Digress. 

Once unbuttoned and unzipped, she grabs the sides of my shorts, then backs away and pulls them off. She’s bent over facing towards me and she pulls my shorts down rather hastily but unevenly/alternates which side she is pulling on, and as a result her breasts, which are not large nor particularly pendulous even due to her posture, rock side to side as a result of her pulling motion on my shorts. Gonna take a moment here to mention that the form of a woman and the motion(s) of her being are fascinating to me. Even when a woman is standing still, and even in/with women who are somewhat less than “the ideal woman shape(s)”, her form is moving always. The curves, the bends, the way in which a woman moves…everything about a woman’s form is an absolute delight. Oh, and again this woman was quite fit, but she had hips for days. Even if she’d had more substantial breasts, and even had she not been wearing French-cut bikini bottoms, I don’t think either would have diminished the majesty of her hips. I’d not seen her ass yet, but I’m about to.

Moving on. 

As soon as my shorts came off, she dropped them to the floor, and without missing a beat she grabbed her bikini bottoms, off they came, and to the floor they also went. She quickly marched right back towards me, straddling my legs and facing me and placing her public mound almost right in my face, again leaned down/bent over, grabbed my shirt at the bottom, which now placed her breasts right in my face, she then stood again taking my shirt off as shit did, dropped it to the floor, then offered me her hand. I put my book down, she pulled me to my feet and then led me to one of the many rugs that were laying about the room. She sat down, never releasing my hand, pulled me to the floor then pushed on me indicating I should lay down and on my side, she then turned opposite me and then laid down in the 69 position for a moment, but then immediately flipped over laying facing away from me putting her ass right in my face and she said “I want you to start by my licking my ass”.

I told her, and rather matter-of-factly I might add, that “we are not well acquainted enough yet for me to do that sort of thing.” She sat up on an elbow, looked at me, then gave a mock frown, she then got a really alluring look in her eye, her face turned from the fake frown to a sultry smirk and said, “well then, that will give me something to look forward to at some future meeting. But as for now…” at which point she flipped back over facing me, and things get a little blurry at this point.

Yes, we engaged in all manner of “freaky sex” encompassing just about every position and configuration you might be able to imagine, but it really was blurry. We were doing these things, but within the framework of the dream and even now that I am outside of the dream, there was all kinds of stuff happening but it all had this strange air that it was not actually happening, even tho it was. Keep in mind that during all of this, people are still coming and going in and out of these doors. Not a single soul is paying us one bit of mind, and we too are generally not paying them any mind other than perhaps I did seem to notice that people were coming and going.

So, with that in mind, we’d been “at it” for some time, when suddenly, a woman walks into the room via a door, and she makes straight for us. This is quite jarring of course since everyone else seems to not know we exist at all. This woman walks over and seems to know this woman I’m having intercourse with. She is what some might call “a bit heavyset” or perhaps “chunky” or “healthy” or some other nonsense nomenclature that we pigeonhole folks with. She’s pretty, with long hair that is kinda frazzled as if she’s been walking outside in the wind, sizeable breasts that do not appear to be restrained by a bra, and through her shirt, I can see that her breasts almost appear to be resting on her belly, even tho she really doesn’t have “a belly”.

I guess I don’t feel bad about somewhat “sizing her up” as I’ve tried since she arrived to make eye contact with her but she is ignoring me completely, and it’s almost as if she can see me attempting to make eye contact but consciously avoid it it. So, here I am sitting on the floor, my legs extended out straight and my hands behind me/holding me up, the woman I am with is atop me in “regular cowgirl”, and this other woman is just standing there and looking at my partner, who is also looking at this woman/they are in eye contact, and this new woman says rather flatly, “Can I have him next?”

lolz...

I didn’t laugh in the dream, but I gotta laugh here because I think at this point my brain has to KNOW, even in slumber, and without a doubt, that this, is a dream. The woman I’m with shoots me a glance, has a smirk on her face, and whilst still looking at me she says “I don’t mind sharing him if he doesn’t mind giving you a turn of your own.” The other woman did an immediate about-face, went straight for the same door she’d entered the room via, and left, all without so much a shooting me a single glance or acknowledging me in any way, other than her request to my partner “for a turn”.

OK, so at this point, the fuzzy sexual encounter with this current partner gets even more fuzzy. I only know that we seemed to have continued our exploits in some way(s), but I honestly have no idea in what way(s) nor the length of time expended. I only know that it seems like a large amount of time was somehow compacted into a small space, and then suddenly, she was gone. The very moment she was gone, her “friend” reappeared, marched right over to me, and said “did you know that she is married?”

Somewhat aghast, I replied that I did not know she was married, and now I’m suddenly thrown into this rapid depression of “fucking hell, now I gotta deal with this shit”. I guess this friend of hers “wanted a turn” only to come back and tell me that her friend I was banging, was married. This had all been some kind of setup I guess. But to make matters even more strange, this revelation did not seem to phase the friend one bit. I guess she could tell that I was distressed at the news she’d just provided me, she’s standing above me staring at me rather blankly, she then reaches down and grabs the bottom of her shirt with both of her hands, removes the shirt in an extremely rapid motion, then bends down and starts to kiss me. Her breasts are indeed quite large, and not only are they pendulous, but they are very pendulous.

^The Judy’s – Milk^

Yeah, that’s where the dream ended. An no, I did not wake up in a puddle of goo. I recalled upon waking that she had a lot of orgasms, but I myself don’t recall having any in the dream. I guess I was having entirely too good of a time to bother with the orgasm. During the entire dream, the first lady had some kind of air about her that made me feel at ease. I’m unlikely to be able to describe it to you in any detail, but there was something about her and something about being in her presence that caused no alarm bells, even tho there were most certainly red flags popping up everywhere.

The only actual alarm bell I got was from the second woman, and that was only because of her telling me that the first woman was married. I got no alarm bells from the second woman either, but there was the one red flag (other than the fact that she wanted to have sex with me) and that was that she told me that the other woman was married.

Yep, a red flag and an alarm bell in one. 

Lemme splain…see, I got no alarm bells from the first woman, so, even tho this second one says the first is married, how do I know that? The second woman may be lying. I got the red flag in the dream, I got the alarm bell in the dream, so why is it that it only occurred to me after waking that the second woman may have been lying?

Fucked if I know either. 

I only know that I felt totally at peace with the first woman and she seemed totally comfortable with herself. Maybe it’s because most of the time she was speaking to me as if I were a person, other times were very matter-of-fact, and there was little in the way of actual seduction or vamping, and I never had the feeling that she was trying to charm me. More like a situation where two people were talking, and it evolved into something else. And for the record, I don’t think that her being considerably younger than I, and also falling within a physical category that I tend not to pay much mind to really played much part. I personally have always had eyes for older women, and “older women” tend to almost never fall into the same physical categories as “younger women” with respect to dimensions and “perfect dimensions” and all that jazz. Got nothing against anyone being younger than me, and at 54 I’m not even sure what “being younger than me” even matters or what part it might play once a woman is deep into her 30’s or 40’s.

Yeah, if some 23 year old woman waltzed up to me and expressed interest? Fucking hell, Jesse Owens time, cause something is wrong with this scene and I’m getting the hell out of there. But someone that is 45 or so? Yeah, that’s weird to contemplate as even tho she’s 9 years younger than I….SHE’S FOURTY-FUCKING-FIVE FOR CHRISSAKES!!! Probably already has an AARP card, owns a burial plot, a vegetable garden, and cares for a minimum of 5 indoor cats and probably at least 10 outdoor cats. Levity aside, she’s been around, and likely loaded with battle scars and baggage.

That, I can relate to. 

Experience. And that’s not to say that younger woman or younger folks cannot have experience, because they absolutely can. I guess I’m just a bit weirded out that this one particular woman appeared to be in her early to mid-30’s, but she moved and behaved like someone that was much older. Well, perhaps not physically moving as an older person because she was quite spry and I guess it’s possible that older women may not have the ability to be all sporty and ambitious sexually, but I really wasn’t thinking of “how she moved” as it pertained to coitus. More her mannerisms, how she carried herself, how she behaved.

And why was my time with the second chick so brief? Why did my brain decide that I’d had enough? Very perplexing the lot of it. No idea what it all means tho.

Dreams are weird.
^Animal Collective – My Girls^

Not a clue why I’m suddenly having a dream about a woman.

Two, no less. 

Yeah, I’ve had eyes for a few ladies (and I do mean few, meaning, I think exactly four to be specific) over the past 5 years, but I’ve never pursued any because I am in no position to do so. Were my position different, yeah there’s a good chance I would have likely prompted them for an immediate rejection long ago, but I’m in no such position. I’ve not much money, no automobile, I’m old, I’m weird, I’m outcast in my family and have few friends, and am unattractive in just about every way imaginable. Question here being, why am I now dreaming about a woman/women? And why so casual? Is this something in my subconscious thinking about finding a partner that accepts me for who/what I am, as I am?

Meh, I’ll shutup about it and figure it out on my own. Maybe I can figure out something that will result in me getting laid. Will keep you posted.

WAIT! 

Actually, I won’t keep you posted. I’m not very gossipy and certainly don’t kiss and tell. Cept maybe that which transpires in my dreams.

/shrug
^Cocteau Twins – Lorelei (Extended Version)^

If you are plumbing the depths of philosophy, and suddenly find yourself thinking that you are smart or wise or learned or have reached enlightenment or you’re a master now or whatever? That feeling of power you are experiencing is actually nature’s alarm bells ringing. You can go ahead and get all high and mighty if you so desire, just know that if you do choose to go that route, an ass-kicking is likely awaiting you somewhere down that path.

Maybe even more than one (assuming you survive the first one and decide to continue on).

Hell, maybe the ass-kickings are worth it. Maybe some special something lay at the end of the path paved by cravings for dominance. And if you think about it, probably the most egotistical path that anyone ever took (or at least so far as I know) was the path taken by God. And yes, that “God” of the Holey Bobble.

I mean, Bible, Holy. 

When dissected, that entire creative act was nothing but ego, and all for ego, resulting in a shitload of ego and egos. Seriously, have you ever stopped to consider that God had to, at some point, stop themselves prior to actually creating things, and contemplate the concept of “what if things go wrong?”

Really...chew on that for a moment. 

The resources of “existence” are, so far as we know, finite. There’s only so much matter and only so much energy available to work with. If you burn up too much, or even burn it all up, what are you left with? What are your options? To me, I read the creation story of Genesis as an entity taking a very big chance. Yes, this entity was totally alone, probably quite lonely, maybe wanted some company, but if this fucker was/is as smart/intelligent as advertised, that means they HAD to know that, if this doesn’t work, I’m (potentially) fucked forever.

Lotta dynamics in that creation story, but it’s been my experience that no one ever wants to plumb these depths. Really break down what God may have been thinking. Too much reliance on the “all powerful” and “all knowing” angles, with no exploration (nor empathy) at all regarding the psychology of the act(s). Not publicly or outwardly anyway. Good fucking way to get your ass ostracized or maybe even tied to a pole and set on fire. THEN who are you gonna have to talk to, eh?

^The Cure – Catch^

Yeah, at the end of that previous section, I suggested that “siding with God” tends to get one’s ass kicked to the curb, or at least sent to the back of the bus. Even by “the godly”. People have their own understanding of things, and that’s good enough for them. Trouble is, they also require it to be good enough for everyone else.

What I also suggested in the end of the previous section, was that maybe God is isolated because we put them there. Cast them out. Push them away. Look, I am totally honest with you when I say I have no fucking clue if God is real or if there are gods or whatever. But I can also say in complete honesty that “there is something”. I don’t believe, I don’t disbelieve, I exist, and I attempt to assimilate and understand the data provided me as best I can. And holy shit is there a fucking mountain of evidence to suggest that “something” exists. “Something” outside of our understanding and beyond it. Not just and only in the myriad of tales coming to us through the ages either, but here, and now. That the unknowable exists, it can be known to exist, and simultaneously remain unknowable. Now, if that doesn’t instill you with some kind of hope, I don’t know what will. To me anyway, it says that not only can the unknowable be known of, it can be incrementally known, which means that at some point the unknowable can be entirely known.

I would imagine that our mortality/our finite amounts of time as we measure it here could put quite the dampener on such thoughts. Make such a quest seem hopeless or maybe even impossible. But let me add this, and that is, if it is impossible, then from whence does this desire to seek it emanate?

Something is feeding this desire. 

If knowing the unknowable was truly impossible, I’d think that the desire to seek the unknowable would also be impossible or incapable of existing. The desire to know the unknowable cannot exist on a plane where the unknowable also exists, yet cannot be known. That says to me that, not only does the unknowable actually exist, but the possibility of knowing the unknowable also exists. I’d also think that the desire to know the unknowable could not exist if the unknowable did not also actually exist.

Wait, did I just repeat myself there kinda? Say something I already said? Meh fuckit…just wondering aloud how I can posses a desire for a something that does not exist. How I can have knowledge of a something that does not have even the tiniest of perceptible indications as to it’s existence.

^Gary Numan – I Dream Of Wires^

Ya know, another thing that seems to be dangerous within philosophy is omission. Suppression. Relegation. Dismissal. Unqualification or even misqualification. These things seem to express themselves for a reason, and to dismiss or otherwise incorrectly qualify them seems to be an invitation for disaster of one kind or another. I know I know, you cannot have distinction without specificity, and specificity requires some level isolation. But this is philosophy we’re talking about. If money ever had competition for attracting gluttonous and/or insatiable persons/entities, I’d think philosophy would be it. Meaning, to “not want it all” with respect to philosophy almost seems like missing the point of philosophical meanderings entirely.

Hey, do you catch the irony in me saying to exclude exclusion? Suppress suppression? Relegate relegation? Dismiss dismissal?

Paradoxical. 

I think maybe more than anything I’m thinking of being mindful of when one is being exclusive or when one has excluded a something. Remember that you have done so. Might provide some insight upon encountering impasses. Just, be sure to remember not to suppress your remembering, lest ye forget.

^Ministry “We Believe”^

The stress finally got to me yesterday. It took a shade over seven days to crush my spirit, and I spent a good portion of the late afternoon and evening feeling absolutely terrible.

Physically. Drained. 

Like some part of me had given up or maybe just collapsed under the strain. So much hope and so many thoughts of a fresh start, plus perhaps some thoughts of maybe just a little time to breathe and reflect and maybe do some soul searching in the midst of a new perspective…

nope. 

An extension of the old. And why not tho? I’m still me, right? Same old person? Seriously, will anyone ever allow you to be anything other than what you are, which is actually an amalgam of what you have been? Nah, people like you the way you are…even if they hate or despise you. People like reliable things. Consistent things. They want others to be reliable, and yes, even if you can only be counted on to be a dirty dish rag. It bolsters their own position. I mean, if you get your shit together and they no longer have complaints about you, they’re out of a job. Suddenly, they become what you were…

an unemployed loser. 

On top of that, they were wrong about you, and no one like being wrong. They gotta figure out how they were so wrong about things. And I’d figure they’d also need to either endeavor to put you in your place, or find a new recruit.

Q: Is this what codependency is?

A: ???

A need to find individuals on which one can project their own world view, and self-reinforce that world view in order to reinforce individual perspectives on how the world is and/or how they think the world should be? I only ask because it sounds like codependency with a healthy portion of gaslighting. But, I admit that I don’t understand a lot of these psychological archetypes, and I also think that I’m too hopeful of a person and too happy a person to always try and paint folks in such lights.

Wait! Hol’up, hol’up…wait just a damn minute here…

Q: Is “being hopeful” and/or “being happy” to be considered a psychological condition and/or psychological conditions?

A: Like, a negative psychological condition?

What is it that we are ever, supposed to be. What, is, “right”? Anyone have any ideas?

^Fiction Reform – “Whites in Their Eyes” Basement Records^

One of the problems with philosophic, psychological and similar or related studies is that you cannot engage in studies of such areas without getting dirty in some way. You must leave who you are behind and become something you are not, or at a minimum get out and dabble a bit. Let’s be fair, one does not really need to obtain 3rd degree burns over 90% of one’s body to know that fire is hot and/or fire burns.

One of the interesting dichotomies about the realms known as Heaven and Hell is that these places and the entities that reside in them are so wrapped up in their own individual archetypes that they lack any empathy for their opposition whatsoever, hence, they cannot step outside of their realms and know anything except their own realms. This includes any preconceived notions they have about their opposites and the inherent need to support/reinforce these notions due to where they are. I mean, if you are a resident of Hell, probably not the best of ideas for you to start making “what’s so bad about Heaven?” types of inquiries.

If the Heaven/Hell example doesn’t work for you, maybe think “Democrat/Republican” or “Tory/Labour” or similar. Anyway, the point is, to truly understand the whys, it would appear that you cannot take these answers from the lore of your peers. To truly know, you’re gonna have to go.

Yourself. 

You’re gonna have to soujourn, and you’re gonna have to do your best to carry some objectivity with you, otherwise, you may as well just save yourself the time and hassle and just stay home. I have sometimes wondered if this is how the plane we currently find ourselves in, first came into existence in the first place. Entities stepping outside of their bounds of light or dark, questing to know otherness, and here is where they wind up. It’s neither, it’s nor, it’s…whatever this is. Some call it a “middleground”, but I personally have a problem with that because it suggests that “purity” can only exist in light/dark or good/evil, and that this plane cannot have a purity of its own. Cannot have its own essence. Cannot have properties of both (or neither) which make it a thing unto itself. Wholly unto itself. It’s not that, and it’s not that, it is this.

When I think in those terms, this “3D” existence that we are said to occupy, in my mind anyway, breaks down entirely and retreats to its base forms of light/dark. Hell, maybe that’s how universes are destroyed. When the dimensions are as such that they can no longer support a thing where it is a thing unto itself, it collapses.

Standard stuff, right? 

Welp, what about the opposite tho? A thing becomes such a distinct and well-defined thing unto itself, that the sources which originally created it are no longer required, and those source universes/dimensions collapse. I have to wonder if it is possible for the ether or perhaps nothingness to collapse. Nothing becomes a something that is not nothing. Would that be a singularity? Or maybe a type of singularity?

/shrug...I'm miles from where this section started.
^Cocteau Twins – Blue Bell Knoll (Dirtyhertz Remix)^

Water is a thing.

Dirt is a thing.

Water + Dirt = a thing called mud.

Mud ain’t an actual thing tho. It’s more of a state of two other things when within a proximity to each other.

What I’m getting at here is how “physical laws” pertain to the abstract concepts known as good and evil or right and wrong or whatever. More than that tho, assuming that pure evil and pure good are tangible things which actually exist, why is there no “pure neither”. When thinking about “states”, there’s a transitional or transient nature to the idea, or at least a finite one. I’d think anything “pure” could be none of these things. It is fixed and yet permeable. Non-reactive. Non-finite. Scale or amount within a wider context is irrelevant. Even if a only single atom of a something exists within the entirety of the known universe, and if it is indeed “pure”, it is non-finite. I guess what I’m pondering here is our own definitions and applications of the term “pure”.

EX: There are those who say “Adolph Hitler was pure evil”. Well, if he was pure evil, why was he so finite? The fucker had been dead for 22 years before I got here, and my entire life, people cannot shut the fuck up about him. Moreover, does chalking up Hitler as “pure evil” give everyone else in history a free pass from evil? Comparatively? Ok yeah, Torquemada was bad, but not as bad as Hitler. This makes no sense as it lessens “the evil” of Torquemada.

What I’m really thinking about tho is how, if Adolph Hitler really was “pure evil”, why did it take so long to manifest in him? An opposite to Hitler is Jesus/Yeshua, and that fucker came out pure pure pure from the get go. Occurs to me that if someone is indeed capable of being “pure”, they’re gonna be pure start to finish whether good or evil. You cannot catch the the good bug or the evil bug for a period of time, ride it for a while, and expect to be “pure” good or evil. It’s more like you’re infected or have had some kind of mental break. Finite. Passing. A phase.

Look, I’m think that it’s impossible for us to know anything “pure” because we’ve developed some really fucked up ideas as to what pure is via our ideas on how purity is obtained. Mainly via absence of impurity, which if you ask me is totally fucking backwards. Like, water cannot be “99%” pure, but it can be “1% impure”. We just flip it on it’s head because it sounds better to focus on the pure bits instead of the impure ones. We basically lie because the truth is too painful.

That's....that's totally fucked up. 

I guess such is life in a world that exist because of, and survives upon, percentages.

^The Naked And Famous – Punching In A Dream (One Temporary Escape)^

Ya know how they say “idle hands are the devil’s workshop”?

So, why is it then, that when some do-gooder who has nothing better to do gets a wild hair up their ass to go out in the world and shake things up, why then, are they operating under the assumption that they are doing good?

Oh, that’s right, they are “good” hence anything they do is also “good”.

Right?

Soooooo…all one really need do is obtain the title of “good”, and everything you do after that can be concealed under the title?

Fucking hell…you never have to be wrong, ever again…if when you are wrong.

Sweet.
^Pixies Hey (Junk DNA remix)^

HEY! That reminds me…you douchebags been participating in the Gloom Dog Book Club? If not, you should be. I’ve gotten so excited over the concept that I’ve been reading and reviewing books that aren’t even on the list. Gotta be honest tho, that trend started because there have been a few books I could not find, so I read and reviewed some random something just to have something to read and review. Will say this tho, this reading adventure that CStM is guiding us through has rekindled my love of reading. I went to the library the other day, got this month’s selection called “The Help”, and I checked out 5 other books too.

lolz...

I’m telling you, I’m getting jazzed over this reading stuff. Anyway, if you were unaware of Gloom Dog, you’re aware of it now. Join us. Or not.

Whatevz.
^Sigur Rós – Ekki múkk^

cYacFa

*******

*I don’t know if that’s a thing or a state, Clicky… /stubs butt… Here, have you got Leggy’s tweet?*

We hope you’ve enjoyed reading Cade’s missive, Dear Reader. Just to let you know that CstM’s other half, Leggy, has opened submissions for the next Underdog Anthology. Short stories of all genres are welcome 😀

Have a Song… ❤

 

CLICK5: The Write Stuff…

CLICK5: Underdog Anthology XVI: Slay Bells In The Snow – Coming Soon!

Story Time: OK Charon!

*Thanks, Clicky… /lights up… We should probably mention… /drags… ‘Christmas Death Wish’ and… /streams smoke… ‘Walk I, With You’ as well…*

*Already done? Excellent…*

Happy Halloween, Dear Reader. Today is in fact Sunday 31st October 2021 and I hope you remembered to put your clocks back last night…

*S’okay, Clicky, I did it… /flicks ash… I made sure after reading Leggy’s story…*

… As promised, the latest installment in my Ronageddon series, ‘OK Charon!’, from Underdog Anthology XV is presented for your enjoyment, below…

*******

OK Charon!

by Roo B. Doo

Death was feeling anxious. Until a year ago the Grim Reaper was incapable of feeling anything, but that was before Halloween 2020 when the Devil had given him a front seat to the start of the attempted apocalypse. Since then, Death had developed, if not exactly feelings and emotions, then certainly intuitions. Right now he was intuiting anxiety and he didn’t like it.

“Where is she?” He demanded, pulling his PsiPad from the folds in his robe. He held it out so that Brian, the haughty goose overseeing the God Lobby, could see the on-screen flashing message. “See that? It’s an emergency audience request from God.”

Death squared his shoulders and gave Brian his most menacing death-stare, but to no avail; Brian was not easily intimidated, least not by a homunculus grim reaper, no taller than himself.

Honk!

“You said that ten minutes ago,” Death fumed, “And ten minutes before that.” He casually extended the retractable scythe from his sleeve so that the feathered receptionist could get a good look at the blade and the sparks of electricity that buzzed along its keen edge. “Some of us have work to do.”

Brian hissed and reluctantly pulled the PA microphone on his desk closer to his beak and switched it on.

HONK!!!…ONK!!…Onk!…

The sound reverberated around the vast God Lobby, bouncing off the walls and ricocheting into silence. The swelling sea of souls beneath the elevated position of the reception area seemed to collectively hold its breath for a moment before continuing its low moan.

“There,” Death said, retracting his scythe, “that wasn’t difficult now, was it?”

Brian gave Death a withering look and flapped his wing, indicating that Death should take a seat.

Honk Honk.

“No thank you. Liquids go straight through me,” Death replied drily and sat down. He placed the PsiPad on the seat next to him and drummed his bony digits against the cover. From his island vantage point at the centre of the vast cavern that stretched far beyond the horizon, he watched the tides of souls ebb and flow with hypnotic sway. All was rhythmic movement and soft murmur, dampened by the rolling Mists of Time.

Death attempted to meditate while he waited, inviting calm to flush out his anxiety, but still the phalanges of his skeletal hand beat out a steady tempo. It wasn’t God’s emergency request or even Brian’s truculence that caused Death such disquiet, although neither were particularly helpful. He suddenly had a flashback to the previous year when he’d sat impotently in the front of a London taxi cab, driven by the Devil, listening to the destruction of Famine and Pestilence as War savaged them in the backseat. He’d experienced his first bout of anxiety then and knew the cause of his anxiety now – it was the date; Death was haunted by Halloween.

A deep shadow loomed over him…

***

“I’m sorry, but times have changed and we have to change with them,” Jocasta Darling’s manager informed her from the safe distancing of a computer screen. “If you don’t agree to get vaccinated, you will not be able to work for us any more.”

Although it had been universally accepted that everybody’s lives had significantly changed with the advent of the Rona, the rogue virus that in less than two years had shuttered businesses, relationships and minds worldwide, Jocasta was precisely aware of when change had come to her. It had been back at the beginning of spring, on a cold, bright morning in April, when a chance encounter with her repugnant Member of Parliament had afforded the usually placid Jocasta the opportunity to serve up a piece of her mind. It turned out to be a generous slice, as a cold fury took possession of her. She had let rip, and the recipient had promptly dropped down dead. The experience had changed Jocasta alright.

“But I had the Rona last year, Suzie, you know I did.”

“Yes-”

“I caught it at work.”

“We know-”

“As a consequence, my natural immunity is far superior to anything a vaccine can provide.”

“It’s company policy-”

There was no stopping Jocasta; she was on a roll. “Then do what you have to do, because I refuse to consent. I don’t agree to having my immune system dumbed down by an experimental drug that’s still being tested. And I’m certainly not going to take it just so you can keep your fat salary job.”

“Now, that’s unfair,” the image of Suzie wailed.

“Well, so’s my backside. Deal with it.” Jocasta terminated the zoom call and snapped the lid down on her laptop. Her hands were shaking but her voice was steady. “For God’s sake!”

Tiny fingers plucked at Jocasta’s sleeve, demanding attention. Molly, her daughter, stood next to her in silence, but her eyes were full of questions.

‘Everything is fine. Do not worry,’ Jocasta signed. She got up from the kitchen table and walked over to the sink.

‘Are you sure?’ Molly signed back. ‘You look angry.’

Jocasta sighed as she let the icy flow from the cold water tap beat down upon her wrists. She was angry and she needed to calm down and cool off. She did not relish having to find a new job, not if vaccination against the Rona was to be a prerequisite for future employment, but right now she felt far worse for the residents of Frampton Lodge, the retirement home where she worked.

Jocasta had gotten to know the old folks there as she cleaned their rooms, listening to them tell their stories of past glories, complain about the food or simply wonder when their families would visit. On weekend shifts, she used to take Molly along and the residents simply adored her, especially Mrs Roundtree. In fact Molly and Mrs Roundtree had struck a deal in which lessons in signing were exchanged for reading aloud. Both thrived in the attention given to each other, but especially Molly, who’s speech had developed to such a level that her profound deafness wasn’t so readily apparent when she spoke.

But that was before the Rona and lockdowns had arrived. Now the residents were more like inmates. Where they were previously starved of visitors at the best of times, now no visitors were allowed at all, and on top of that, a shortage of staff meant basic needs at the home were barely being met. Jocasta shuddered when she thought about what lay in store for the old dears, and all because a stupid virus had managed to scare half of the world batshit crazy.

She turned off the tap and dried her hands on a tea-towel before turning to Molly. ‘A little bit but I am mostly sad. Do not worry, it will pass soon enough. Now, should you not be getting ready? It is getting late.’

Molly didn’t move but continued to stare at her mother. ‘We do not have to go.’

‘Of course we do; it is Halloween. We never miss trick or treating.’

Molly didn’t look convinced. ‘I do not want you to get into any trouble.’

‘Me, get into trouble? Never. Besides, it is all arranged. We are going to have a lovely time tonight.’ Jocasta playfully shooed Molly from the kitchen with a flick of the tea-towel, before following her into the hallway. “And we won’t let the bastards grind us down either,” she said over her daughter’s head.

Jocasta flopped down on the front room sofa and switched on the TV whilst she waited for Molly to change into her Halloween outfit. She immediately regretted it when the jowly, grim faced Prime Minister filled the screen. He had all the appearance and gravitas of an obese Wurzel Gummidge.

“Not another bloody press conference,” Jocasta moaned and stabbed the off button on the TV remote. “Begone, you bloviating baboon. And brush your bloody hair.”

She remembered that day in the park and the stricken look on her ex-MP’s face as she berated him, just before he died. Oh yes, if I ever get the Prime Minister alone, Jocasta thought, I won’t hesitate to tell him a thing or two.

***

“Ey up, Chuck, is this seat taken?”

Death glanced around at the rest of the empty chairs in the deserted reception before looking up at the source of the shadow. “Hello, Marge. Be my guest.” he said, picking up his PsiPad.

Humans once believed that babies were delivered by stork, although Death doubted they had anything quite like Marge Gerana in mind. To be certain, she had the long legs, slender neck and stiletto-sharp beak of the order Ciconiiformes, but the stripy stockings, chiffon scarf and pince-nez she wore are not generally found on specimens in the wild. Neither do they carry oversized carpet bags like the one Marge clutched in front of her body, accessorization not making the list of priorities for storks.

“Did you get the emergency alert too?” Marge asked, sitting down and carefully placing the bag by her partially webbed feet. A muffled wail came from within. “Shush now,” she crooned at the bag. “I was – am – in the middle of a delivery. Have you been waiting long?”

“Yes, I’ve been here for 25…No, 26 minutes,” Death replied tersely. Tardiness is not tolerated in the Grim Reaper Service, he thought to himself.

“Oh well, we in Newborn Deliveries can be a tad more flexible than your lot,” Marge said, reading his mind. “Do you know if we’re waiting for anybody else to turn up?”

“I wasn’t aware that I was waiting for you.”

Marge lifted her beak disdainfully. “I am surprised. Didn’t you read the She-mail that came with the alert?”

Death hadn’t; he rarely ventured into his inbox after the first foray, when he had balked at the sheer quantity of spectral spam he was expected to wade through. He switched on his PsiPad and tapped the winged envelope icon. He scrolled down the list until he found a She-mail entitled ‘DEATHCON ONE’, opened it, and read:

Would you be so kind as to make your way to the God Lobby immediately. The situation with humanity has significantly worsened and a high-level conflab is in order.

Regards

God

p.s. Additionally I will also send an alert direct to all of your PsiPads as I am aware that some – Big D – do not keep up to date on She-mails. G

“She’s got you sussed,” Marge smirked.

Death scrolled back up to the addressee line but the names of the other invitees were missing. “There’s no indication of who else has been summoned,” he sighed. “I hope they turn up soon whoever they are; I have a schedule to maintain.”

Marge adjusted her pince-nez and coquettishly crossed her long, stockinged legs. “Do you think he’ll know?” she asked Death, raising a plucked eye brow as she directed his attention with an obvious glance in a specific direction.

Death followed Marge’s eye-line to the reception desk where Brian stared back, preening himself. “Possibly.”

“Shall I go ask?” she whispered conspiratorially, without taking her eyes off Brian who was now slicking back the feathers on his head.

“Perhaps you will have more duck, I mean luck, than I,” Death replied. “Brian has been less than forth-”

“Okay I will,” Marge cut him off. She stood up and slid her carpet bag in Death’s direction. “Watch this for me.” She puffed out her plumage and sashayed seductively toward the reception desk.

Death was impressed. Mardi Gras Passistas have nothing on you, Marge, he thought.

The carpet bag wailed again. At first Death ignored the cries that came from within, but as he watched Marge and Brian flirt with each other, he grew more and more irritated at the length of time Marge was taking to illicit any pertinent information. Eventually Death had had enough.

“There, there,” Death cooed as he extracted a crying baby from the bag. “I agree – waiting around and being ignored can be very, very annoying.”

Death cradled the babe in the crook of his bony arm and gently rocked the fleshy bundle. Gradually the baby’s cries transformed into whimpers and then a gurgle.

My goodness, Big D, you’re a natural.

Still holding the now yawning baby, Death slid down from his chair and bowed his head. “Ma’am.”

God had finally arrived and she wasn’t alone.

“Well, fuck me. That’s not something you see everyday.” War mocked from behind God. She was dressed in tight, lycra shorts and an even tighter tee-shirt. The name of her earthly side-business ‘Fighting Fit’ was emblazoned across her ample bosom. “That’s a proper Kodak moment, that is.”

Pass the child to me, Big D.

Death handed the now mostly silent baby over to God.

You’re a cutie, aren’t you? Yesh you are, oh yesh you are.

“Hello War,” Death greeted his long-time teammate. “Still doing the keep fit? I thought you would be leading several armies by now.”

Death had last seen War in the spring when he transitioned one of her conscripts, who’d suffered a fatal heart-attack following a punishing workout.

“I do, short-arse. I have a franchise now,” War sneered. “Who knew a politician’s death would prove so popular? Fighting Fit now has a presence across the UK and I have plans to take it global at the start of next year. It’s gonna be brutal.”

Indeed. That’s why I’ve invited War along to this meeting. I apologise for being late, Big D; I know how much you value punctuality, but for some reason War isn’t on the CCNN network, so I had to go and collect her.

“Yeah, I was in the middle of a mega-high intensity workout class and I couldn’t just bail half-way.”

War made me run, Big D.

“But you feel so much better for it, Ma’am,” War said, as she clucked at the baby in God’s arms.

God remained silent.

“Ma’am, are we expecting many more to join us?” Death asked.

No. I take it from the presence of this little one that Marge Gerana has also arrived. Ah, I see she’s somewhat engaged with Brian. Shall we head for the Situation Room?

Death and War exchanged glances. “I didn’t know we had a Situation Room,” Death said slowly.

We didn’t. I created one this morning specifically for this meeting. Come along.

Death collected the carpet bag and PsiPad from the seating area and followed in the wake of God – with babe in arms – and War to the reception desk.

Good to see you Marge.

“Ma’am,” Marge whispered hoarsely and curtsied.

I believe this is one of yours?

“Yes. How ever did you escape, little one?” she asked the baby jovially, whilst shooting Death, who was still lugging the empty carpet bag behind him, an evil stare. “I’d be happy to relieve you of the child now, Ma’am.”

That’s quite alright. I’m enjoying the cuddle.

Death dropped the bag at Marge’s feet. “You’re welcome.”

Could you buzz us through please, Brian?

Brian reached under his desk and pressed a button.

The air behind reception began to coruscate and a set of glowing gates appeared. The gates, inlaid with iridescent nacre, shimmered with a rainbow lustre that only mother of pearl can provide. Brian hit the button again, and the gates slowly opened.

This way.

The baby blinked as if in agreement and blew a spit bubble as it cooed.

One by one, God, War, Death and the Great Birthing Stork Marge Gerana walked into the luminous cloud of aether that lay beyond, and disappeared.

***

The rain was starting to come down harder by the time Jocasta and Molly arrived at their destination. The evening was already dark, and although there was plenty of traffic on the journey over, the pavements were completely deserted. No groups of trick or treaters this year, lockdown having put paid to any of that, and the poor weather was lending an assist in keeping any brave or rebellious souls in their homes. People are still afraid or have simply forgotten, Jocasta thought sadly as she parked up at the rear of Frampton Lodge.

She looked over at her daughter sat in the front passenger seat, who had a look of nervous excitement on her face. She was dressed all in black, with a pointy hat and cape. Jocasta crossed her fingers and held them up for Molly to see. “Ready?”

Molly nodded vigorously, so that the witch’s hat shifted backwards and forwards on her head.

Jocasta couldn’t help but smile. “Go,” she said, punching both index fingers forward.

Molly exited the car, unknowingly slamming the door, then ran towards the back of the building, dodging the raindrops as she went; her mother remained in the car and looking on, smiling ever wider as her daughter progressed. Once Molly had made it to the staff entrance, Jocasta reached over to the back seat and grabbed the straw broom and Halloween goodie bag that were laying there. She drew a deep breath and opened the car door, plunging herself into the downpour. She reached the entrance in a far soggier state than Molly had. Jocasta pressed the intercom button.

“Hello?” a tinny voice replied from the speaker.

“It’s Jocasta and Molly.”

The door made a long buzzing sound before opening. They pushed against it to get inside and out of the rain.

Jocasta’s colleague, Mary, was waiting for them. “Oh my god, look at you two.” She waved at Molly. “How long do you have left, Jo?”

Jocasta flung an arm around Mary’s neck and kissed her cheek. “A month.”

Mary placed her hand on Jocasta’s swollen belly. “I must say, you’re looking very well.”

“I’m doing okay, thanks. Getting the odd twinge now and then but other than that… Is the coast clear?”

“Oh yes,” Mary replied, helping Jocasta out of her wet coat. “It’s Sunday. Skeleton staffing, you know, and management have already pissed off for the night.”

Jocasta was relieved. She positioned herself so that she could speak directly to Mary without Molly being able to read her lips. “Suzie zoom called me today. I’m not going to be allowed back after my maternity leave, not unless I get jabbed.”

Mary frowned. “I’m so sorry. That’s totally fucked up.”

“It’s the way the world is right now,” Jocasta replied.

“But will you get it?”

“No, I’ll still be breastfeeding.”

“I’m thinking of jacking it all in,” Mary confided. “I know I’m double jabbed but it’s all just getting too much.”

Jocasta’s face fell. “That bad?”

“It’s only the residents that keep me going.”

Abrupt silence fell between the two women. Molly looked up from one to the other, before tugging on her mother’s sleeve.

“Oh my goodness, we have some trick or treating to do,” Mary cried. “Molly, your outfit looks fantastic. Very witchy.”

Molly beamed a gap-tooth smile and took the bag from her mother. She held it open for Mary to look inside; it was full of chocolates and sweets and paperback books.

“Thank you,” Mary said, pulling out a chocolate bar. “That’s my favourite. I will have that with a cup of tea later,”she said, placing it in her pocket. “Now, we had better get moving before the residents go to bed.”

Molly gave the bag back to Jocasta and took the straw broom. She slipped her free hand inside Mary’s outstretched hand and the three of them took the stairs to go trick or treating.

***

It is a fact that the vast majority of humanity never have, nor ever will, step foot inside a Situation Room. If asked, a person might describe such a room as having a huge table dominating the space, dozens of chairs around it for generals and other important types to sit in. Moreover, there will be wall to wall computers, all manner of communications equipment, and a large viewing screen at one end, of the highest definition of course. This has been learned from countless films and TV shows that this is exactly what a Situation Rooms looks like. Or perhaps even that this is exactly what a Situation room is supposed to look like.

That was not the kind of Situation Room God had envisioned at all. Hers was a perfect cube six foot by six foot by six, with slate grey walls, ceiling and floor, inside and out. It looked like a block of stone from the outside and a bare prison cell from within. The only fixture in the cube was a light bulb set in the centre of the ceiling, with white pull cord hanging down from it.

“I’ve been in some tight spots but this ain’t like any Situation Room I’ve ever been in before,” War said dubiously, inclining her head to one side so as not to bump it on the ceiling.

“It’s certainly cozy,” Marge agreed, feathers ruffling.

For once Death’s diminutive size proved to be a distinct advantage, so he remained quiet, preferring to keep his own counsel.

God stood at the centre of the compact room, still holding the baby.

I thought the most productive way to discuss a situation would be if we could first see it for ourselves.

She reached up and pulled the cord on the light bulb and the room immediately pitched into solid blackness.

And then it wasn’t.

“Where are we?” War asked. “It looks like some old lady’s bedroom.”

Correct.

The slate grey walls, floor and ceiling of the Situation Room had dissolved into transparency, giving the occupants a 360 degree view of their surroundings.

War spotted an elderly woman sitting in an armchair with a tartan blanket over her legs. She looked contented as she listened to classical music from a transistor radio beside her. The overhead light was switched off so that the room’s shadows were lit from the soft glow of the lamp on the night-stand next to a bed.

War was intrigued. “Can she see us?”

No.

“Hear us?”

No.

“Can we leave the box?”

You mean the Situation Room? Yes, but you definitely shouldn’t.

“Me specifically? Why?”

Because you will be seen and heard.

War thought for a moment. “Because I have an earthly body?”

Correct.

“So the Situation Room is completely invisible? I like it. I mean, it could do with a bit more headroom, but invisibility is a cool feature.”

Thank you.

“Actually, why do I have an earthly body?” War asked. “I’m still confused about that.”

“Because,” Death answered gravely, “you died last Halloween. Pesto poisoned you.”

War’s jaw dropped. “What?!”

Death knew this time would eventually come. “To be fair, you did eat Pestilence first. And Famine. You should have seen the mess…”

War’s jaw took on a sardonic twist.

“Of course, you don’t remember.”

“Whoa there, short-arse.” War stared down at Death, mouth agape. “How?”

Death hesitated. How much of that particular ghost story should I tell? he wondered.

He felt the light touch of God’s hand squeeze his scapula. “The Devil tricked us all, War. All of us.”

There was a sharp knock on the bedroom door. The old lady turned the volume down on the radio and removed the blanket from her legs. She made a couple of attempts to stand up, finally managing to push-pull herself out of the armchair. “I’m coming,” she called out.

Inside the Situation Room, Death could feel his PsiPad gently vibrate. He pulled it from his robes and checked the PsiCalendar – there were two alerts, one of which read ‘Molly’. “Ma’am. I do believe the situation is about to occur.”

***

“Trick o’ trea’!”

“Molly!” Aida Roundtree cried as she opened her bedroom door. “Come in, come in.”

“Trick or treat, Mrs Roundtree,” Jocasta said, grinning.

“Oh, Jocasta. Come in. Quickly. Don’t let the Gestapo catch you in the corridor. You too, Mary.”

Aida ushered her visitors into her room and shut the door. “It’s so lovely to see you both.”

Jocasta and Mary moved further into the room, whilst Molly grabbed Aida’s hand and guided her to her chair.

“Well, don’t you look lovely, Molly? Give me a twirl,” Aida said sitting down. Molly duly obliged.

“And how are you keeping, Jocasta? You look ready to pop.”

“Another month to go.”

“Do you know the sex yet?” Aida beckoned Jocasta closer.

“No, we want a surprise,” Jocasta laughed but allowed Aida to feel her belly.

“Low and heavy. Ripe. Feels like a boy,” Aida pronounced. “Molly, you’re going to be a big sister soon.”

Molly raised her arms in a silent cheer before wrapping them around Aida’s neck and kissing her cheek.

“I’ve missed you too, darling.” Aida hugged Molly back. “Terrible times we live in,” she addressed Jocasta and Mary with solemnity over Molly’s shoulder. “It reminds me of the war.”

“Aida, you were born in 1945,” Mary chided. “How could you remember what the war was like?”

“I grew up in the aftermath, bombed out buildings and rationing. I remember those and I also remember what my parents told me about what went on during the war. Terrible times,” Aida said and hugged Molly tighter.

***

“Great times,” War sighed wistfully, breaking the silence within the cube. “World War Two was brilliant, so much innovation. In fact the whole of the twentieth century was a fucking blast.”

“It was a boom time for us after the war,” Marge reminisced. “There were so many deliveries to make, we were pulling double shifts left, right and centre. So many babies.”

“See? It wasn’t all bad.” War sounded vindicated. “Humans had a fucking good time, too.”

“Hmm.”

What is it Big D?

Death was thinking. “She mentioned rationing, Ma’am. I believe there are reports of food shortages currently in the press.”

Famine?

“Possibly…”

***

Mary moved toward the bedroom window. It was slightly ajar and the net curtain inside was getting soaked from the lashing rain. “Aida, have you been smoking in here again?” she asked accusingly, closing the window.

“So what if I have? What are they going to do? Put me in prison? Ha! I’ve been in one for nearly two years.”

Mary shook her head. “If they find your cigarettes, they will confiscate them.”

“Then I’ll get some more,” Aida replied defiantly.

“Ah, that reminds me…” Jocasta tapped Molly on her back and motioned her to offer the bag to Aida. “Now, Mrs Roundtree, dig deep. I put your treat in at the bottom.”

Aida rummaged inside the goodie bag Molly held out. She pulled out an olive green box with a grotesque image on the outside. “Lovely. Benson and Hedges kingsize. I’d offer you one, but apparently it’ll harm your baby,” she said, holding up the pack for Jocasta to see the image of a sick, intubated baby.

“Aida!” Mary snapped.

“That’s alright, Mary. I saw the picture when I bought the pack. Aida and I know it’s just propaganda.” Jocasta was keen to the calm the situation; Mrs Roundtree was something of a smoking militant and could rant for hours on the subject if given free rein.

“That right, it’s propaganda. Goebbels would be proud.” Aida grabbed at Jocasta’s wrist. “You haven’t had the vaxx, have you? Please don’t get it.”

Jocasta gently removed Aida’s hand and held it in her own. “No, Mrs Roundtree. I will not have the vaxx.”

Molly had been watching the conversation silently. She pulled on Jocasta’s sleeve. ‘Mummy, what is ‘go bells’?’

***

“She’s got a point,” Marge said, stretching her neck. “We’ve never delivered a smoke damaged child. Now Thalidomide, DDT, the Rona vax…”

You are seeing damage from the Rona vax, then?

“Yes, Ma’am, some. Mostly miscarriages though.”

God stroked the soft brow of the sleeping baby in her arms.

Babies poisoned in the womb.

“Pesto,” Death whispered.

***

Mary had had enough of the conversation. She was tired and her head was starting to ache, plus she still had another three hours of her shift to work. At least three hours, and she was beginning to regret agreeing to Jocasta’s request for the secret visit. She tolerated Aida’s smoking rants but she didn’t want to hear her opinion of the Rona vaxx. Not again. And was it really worth getting caught for a chocolate bar, even for a Kit-Kat Chunky?

“Okay, I think that’s enough for tonight.”

“Oh no, Mary, can’t they stay a little longer?” Aida appealed.

“No, it’s okay, Mrs Roundtree. Mary has rounds to do and Molly has school tomorrow.” Jocasta lent down and gave Aida a kiss on both cheeks. “It has been lovely to see you.”

There was a rapid knocking on the room door. “Mary, are you in there?” a voice beyond it asked urgently.

Mary motioned for the others to stay quiet and walked rapidly to the door. She opened the it a crack. “What is it?”

The person outside sounded flustered. “Mr Perkins has collapsed in the lounge. Oh Mary, I think he’s dead.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.” Mary turned away from the door. “I have to go. It was lovely to see you Jo, Molly. Can you see yourselves out?”

“Of course, you go. Thank you,” Jocasta called as Mary left the room. “Oh no, poor Mr Perkins.”

“Double vaxxed,” Aida said smugly. “Had his booster shot two days ago.”

“Mrs Roundtree…”

***

Death checked the alert on his PsiCalendar. “I hate being late. Excuse me.”

***

“Well, he did get his booster shot two days ago.” Aida was adamant. “They’re finally doing it; they’re trying to kill us all off.”

“Who are they?” Jocasta regretted asking as soon as the words left her mouth.

“The new world order, same as the old world order.”

Jocasta looked blank.

Nazis,”Aida hissed.

***

Molly could tell something serious had happened and that it had happened to Mr Perkins. Her eyes widened when the little man she sometimes saw appeared out of thin air from the corner of the room. He was always dressed in black and he sometimes carried a big stick with a knife on the end. She watched as the little man glided across the room.

He paused as he reached her. ‘Hello,’ he signed.

Molly smiled, signing ‘hello’ back.

The little man nodded and made the stick-knife suddenly appear before continuing to glide out of the room, through the door.

Molly looked around nervously, but her mum and Mrs Roundtree were still talking. She didn’t think they’d seen the little man in black. No one ever sees him, except me, Molly thought.

***

“We really should be going.” The last thing Jocasta wanted was to get into a conversation about Nazis. If Mr Perkins had died, then management would be called and it was best that she and Molly weren’t here when they arrived. Plus she really needed to pee. “Mrs Roundtree, can I use your bathroom?”

“Of course, Jocasta, you know where it is. It’s clean but the new girl isn’t nearly as thorough as you.”

“Thank y-OwwW!” Jocasta clutched her stomach. “Ow. Oh no, I hope to god I just peed myself.”

Mrs Roundtree looked at the puddle of fluid forming on the carpet between Jocasta’s legs. “No, dear. Your waters have broken.”

“Oh my god, it’s too soon.”

Aida turned to Molly and looked at her squarely, hands either side of Molly’s face. She spoke slowly and clearly. “Molly, go into my bathroom and fetch the big towel on the rack.”

Molly was scared; her mum was in pain and had wet herself. “Wha’s happnin’?”

“Don’t worry. Mummy is going to have a lay down on my bed.”

“Is it the beby?”

Mrs Roundtree nodded. “Yes, dear. Now, after you get the towel, go and fill my kettle over there,” she said, pointing to the far corner of the room, “and fill it with cold water from the tap in the bathroom. Then switch it on.”

Molly nodded and sprung away like a gazelle.

Jocasta leaned back against the bed panting. “Not again.”

Aida got out of her chair at the first attempt and rushed over to the bed. “Not again? Did Molly arrive early?” she asked as she helped Jocasta onto the bed and plumped up the pillows behind her.

“You could say that.”

“At home?” Aida started to remove Jocasta’s boots.

“In a taxi.”

Aida paused mid-pull. “Oh my.”

“The taxi… oh, oh,” Jocasta noisily breathed out,”…crashed.”

“Awkward.” Aida dropped the boot on the floor and lifted the hem of Jocasta’s dress. “This should be a doddle for you then.”

***

God was gazing down at the baby in her arms and softly crooning.

“Ma’am.” Marge Gerana held the open carpet bag between her wings. “It’s time.”

I know.

War was pressed up against the side of the cube watching the two women in the room. “She gave birth during a car crash? That’s brave.”

She is.

“And the old girl seems to know what’s she’s doing.”

“She should,” Marge snorted. “Aida Roundtree is one of the best midwives I’ve ever worked with.”

War pointed at Aida. “She’s a midwife? That’s convenient.”

Isn’t it.

The walls of the cube suddenly rippled and a small witch, wearing a large hat rushed through. Molly stood stock still, with eyes like saucers. God stepped aside, allowing the child to collect the kettle.

‘Thank you,’ Molly signed.

You’re welcome.

The walls of the cube rippled once more as Molly left.

We had better leave before the child comes back.

God placed the baby into the carpet bag.

Be yourself, little boy and good luck.

“Ma’am.” Marge bowed her slender neck and left.

God grasped the cord to the light bulb.

Ready, War?

“Aren’t we waiting for Death?”

No. Big D is on duty. He’ll find his own way back.

“What’s the dealio with Death and those two anyway. They were there that day in the park when my rich politician kicked the bucket. I miss Jimbo; he always paid over the odds.”

God cocked her head to one side as if contemplating what to say. She smiled.

The mother sat on him.

“On who?”

On Big D.

War’s eyes fluttered as she tried to comprehend what God had just said. “Wait…” She counted on her fingers. “Did Death give her a boner?”

God tugged the cord and it all went black.

And then it wasn’t.

*******

*I’m glad you enjoyed it, Clicky… /final drag… It was a lot of fun to write… /stubs butt…*

A Christmas installment is next, Dear Reader, for Underdog Anthology XVI. Fuck knows what the state of the world will be in by then. We can but hope and… have a Song 😉

Missive From ‘Merica: Bend It, Shape It, Shake & Bake It

*Blimey! I’ve been to three of the Canary Islands, but not that one… /lights up and smokes… Wait! Isn’t that the volcano in that Horizon doc I saw ages ago, Clicky?*

*Thought so. Shit… /plumes smokes… well, let’s hope that don’t ‘appen…*

Hello there, Dear Reader. I’ve been under the kosh for the past few days, as I’ve been trying to finish writing ‘OK Charon!’, the next installment of my Ronageddon series of stories for the next Underdog Anthology. So I was delighted to find a missive from Cade Fon Apollyon waiting for me this morning… 

*It’s always a pleasure to read Cade’s writing, Clicky…* 

… And I couldn’t wait to share it with you. Enjoy!

*******

If those of you running things on the web and/or various websites have wondered if you are approaching critical mass on the number of ads you are subjecting visitors to, the answer is yes. For this reason, there will be no YouTube video accompanying this section. Sweet Jesus, you fuckers are off your rockers with the ads. And the popups now are worse than they were in the late 1990’s/early 2000’s. In fact, it’s now a rarity that a website does not give me a popup of some kind. Fucking hell…you do want me to read your content, right? Not spend the entirety of my time on your site clicking off popups in an attempt to read your content, then getting frustrated and leaving, never to return? But yeah, critical mass, website ads, you’re there.

Speaking of, I’ve had my current email address for 6 and 1/2 years, and in that entire span of time, I have not gotten ONE single piece of unsolicited email nor have I gotten one single piece of spam.

NOT...ONE! 

However, since ordering some Pizza Hut pizza online a coupla months ago? I’ve had a rich relative who I didn’t even know existed up and die and they left me like 30 million dollars, I’ve had someone offer to pay me several million dollars to help them smuggle their millions out of some backwater country, the United Nations/World Bank has discovered that they owe me 5.4 million dollars for some unknown reason, the International Monetary Fund has discovered that they owe me 10.7 million dollars because of corrupt bank officials and courier companies, and I’ve also won 1.2 million dollars in the Australian Lottery. Fuck ME! I had no idea giving my email to complete strangers was gonna make me so goddamn LUCKY!!!! And just in time for my Vegas tip too!

Thank you PIZZA HUT!!! ❤ ❤ ❤ 

Had you and/or your employees not sold my email address to a bunch of sleazy fucknuts for a few bucks, I would not be the multi-millionaire I am today.

^Republica – Ready To Go^

You, are way behind me. Your quest to elevate yourself to an enlightened state is happening so far behind my own that I am lightyears ahead of you. I am knocking on God’s door, and you are so fucking lost that you are still unsure whether or not God even has a door. Hell, you’re so far behind me that you’re prolly still doubting there even is a God.

X: This is not where you were going.

Cade: Correct.

0: May I interject here? I sense danger, and for once I’d like to see the kid avoid trouble if possible.

Cade: I was going to put forth the notion that, in some things, we might actually be able to challenge this almighty entity many of us have grown up hearing about.

0: But…you got lost.

Cade: Correct. I had an idea, was gonna write it down, and in the 15 to 20 seconds it took for me to pull my tubby ass off the floor and open my word processor, the thought was gone.

0: Why do you think that is?

Cade: I really do not know. I didn’t sense danger. And I honestly sat there for a minute or so trying to get the feeling back, but it did not come.

0: Feeling?

Cade: Yes. Everything that I write is a feeling. Something in me…erm…feels, like, a certain way or something, and the words come.

0: But, you aren’t being totally honest here. You had a brief moment where you thought “this might not be such a good idea”, and you were unable to recall your thought.

Cade: Again, correct.

0: So what is this “challenge God” crap?

Cade: I really don’t know. It was an idea that maybe sometimes we are on a more or less equal footing with…”elevated fuckers”, or whatever…and I wanted to explore the idea of what we as individuals chose to do in those situations.

0: Do you really think it a good idea to point out such things?

Cade: I can take the high ground here and say “no”, but I don’t think that would be honest to the feeling that I had in my gut.

0: Which was?

Cade: Perhaps a bit on how to deal with success.

0: You aren’t very good with that.

Cade: Fuck no I ain’t. I have no idea what “success” even is beyond some social construct where outside opinion is required in order to justify a contextual something.

0: And shortly after any such proclamations, you’re right back to being a moron.

Cade: Exactly. Some…”poking my head above the clouds” type of moment occasionally exists within the fabric of space and time, these moments are rare, and fleeting.

X: You think that in these moments, you’ve challenged God, and won?

Cade: No. As far as I can tell, the idea is to challenge yourself and win. As to whether that victory somehow translates to God or others, I do not know.

X: And yet, you had an idea that led you to come here and write about the notion of “challenging God”, and now you’re talking about…whatever it is that you are talking about.

Cade: OK…then let’s wander back to where this idea sprang from.

0: Are you sure you want to do this.

Cade: No. But, I’m gonna do it anyway.

0: God be with you.

Cade: The original thought that got me to spinning was the idea of eliminating the concept of “human trafficking”.

0: You’ve temporarily fixed your broken headphones, you started to watch a documentary, but then you stopped watching it because you thought of a someone who might want to watch it with you.

Cade: Correct. I stopped, and someone in the documentary had just put forth the notion of “permanently eliminating human trafficking”.

0: Sounds like something good to aspire to.

Cade: God is the biggest human trafficker in history.

0: Uh oh…

Cade: You ain’t wrong. It’s a helluva thought to have, but after thinking on it for a moment, I can find no fault with the thought.

0: And so your idea was that you are basically “challenging God”?

Cade: No. My thought was that anyone who read my making the assertion that “God is the biggest human trafficker in history” would likely see me as challenging God. This had the knock-on effect of me starting to wonder if such thoughts in my own head are “a challenge to God”.

0: And you promptly sat up to start writing, then forgot what you were going to write.

Cade: Yes. BUT! See what just sitting down and writing a bit got me?

X: Why yes, I do.

Z: Concur.

A: Also.

Cade: lolz…look, I can see the thought being a bit…um, controversial or inflammatory or emotionally charged or whatever, but the point was, there was a dude in this film who suggested that we humans should endeavor to completely eliminate the concept of “human trafficking”, which on the surface sounds great and all, but it immediately became clear that in order to do so, there are metric shit tons of stuff that will need to be eliminated as a consequence.

0: And?

Cade: Well, I’m not going to go into all the details, but it immediately occurred to me that, if there is indeed “a” God, or if there are “gods”, anyone wanting to eliminate human trafficking is gonna find themselves toe-to-toe with these entities at some point.

X: And by default, will actually and eventually find themselves staring down “the” God?

Cade: Yes.

X: And the result would be?

Cade: No idea. I only know that, within the framework of “creation”, there appears to be a force that deals in human flesh/human lives, and for one to actually eliminate this “trafficking” would, perhaps, fuckup “Creation” as we know it.

X: And from there, your mind wandered.

Cade: Well, yeah. There’s all kinds of “futurist” types of considerations.

Z: Designer babies.

Cade: Yes, but in all honestly that concept is nothing new. People have been matchmaking in various modes since the beginning of time as far as I can tell. The only difference is maybe the means and a somewhat greater availability via technology and such.

A: And your feelings on these matters?

Cade: It comes down to the same shit as just about everything that I write.

A: Which is?

Cade: How many lines am I crossing, and am I in any way prepared to cross them.

X: You honestly think that “God” deals in flesh?

Cade: There are points in the Bible where God talks about intentionally making people stupid or blind or ignorant or hardening their hearts or whatever….I guess, in order for “God” to get what they want.

X: Your point?

Cade: I have to wonder sometimes if God makes me a moron for the express purpose of letting me blunder around in the dark.

Z: I admit I am a bit lost.

Cade: I know that is not true, but thank you for providing me a moment in which to meld these many ideas.

0: You are suggesting that God is a human trafficker…

Cade: Wait…for the sake of arguments, let’s make “God” and “Nature” somewhat interchangable.

X: Are you sure you want to do that?

Cade: Actually, no. It muddies the discussion something fierce. That said, it’s probably a fair approach seeing as how plenty of people seem to have no idea what to think about the concept of “God”.

T: Many have no idea what to think about the concept of “Nature” either.

Cade: Tru dat.

0: So you think that you have what is essentially a heretical and/or blasphemous type of thought, and you wonder if God is making you just stupid enough to ramble on about it anyway.

Cade: I think it highly possible that if there is some “higher” something actively working on my own life, that yes, they can potentially make me capable of being smart and stupid at the same time. And, fuck, they ain’t gotta do much at all to make me stupid.

0: And what about smart?

Cade: I’ll refer back to the original thought of typically needing some kind of outside influence to even have the slightest comprehension of what is typically billed as “success”. I’m successful at a lot of things that many if not most wouldn’t even bat an eye at because they aren’t things that are all flashy and make loads of people cream in their pants or swoon or whatever.

X: You’re thinking that “simulation theory” or “simulation hypothesis” is part of the posthumanist agenda.

Cade: It occurs to me that in order to eliminate “human trafficking”, there is a lot of average and boring shit that most “elevated folk” will almost certainly overlook, and all of this will also need to be tamed and then controlled.

X: And you think that the Posthumanists will think of these things?

Cade: Well, if they haven’t thought of it before, they’ll sure as shit be thinking about it now.

0: The Matrix has you Cade.

Cade: So it would seem.

0: And what was all that jazz about being ahead of others?

Cade: Just think that there has to be some property embedded within the concept of “ascension” where some, must, be left behind.

0: Doesn’t seem quite fair.

Cade: Fuck fair. I wasn’t thinking about “fair” as much as I was thinking more about how and why “elders” cannot relate to their own peers irrespective of where these peers may be in their own journey.

X: Get too big for for their own britches.

Cade: Maybe. Was just thinking that perhaps “relating” is so difficult because everyone is struggling so much to get those top tiers and become untouchable, that they forget from whence they came.

X: Interesting.

0: Do you?

Cade: Probably. I try not to, but I’m sure I fail miserably just like I fail at every other fucking thing.

X: Interesting.

0: …

^Kraftwerk – Die Roboter 1978 (1080p 50p)^

You may not have read all that. I would submit tho that yes indeedy, if one is going to endeavor to “end human trafficking”, it is likely that you are only thinking in terms of “evil”, and you’ve not thought this through. Hell, once you get to thinking in both good and evil terms, you’re then gonna have to stop thinking only in “human” terms, and that is gonna be so deep and overwhelming that you might just lose heart entirely.

Human tissue trafficking. Bacteria trafficking. Virus trafficking. Plant trafficking. Animal trafficking. Insect trafficking. Oil trafficking. CO2 trafficking. Mineral trafficking. Vitamin trafficking. *.* trafficking. Like it or not, your very existence causes you to stomp the living shit out of all kinds of things – you traffic in all kinds of things, and you likely don’t give these things a second thought, let alone think of yourself as a trafficker. However, if you’re gonna plumb these depths, you’re gonna have to give some of these things some thought. Or, you can just, half-ass it like most crusaders do. Take what you can get then pat yourself on the back for being all great and stuff.

Oh, and here's that documentary. 

Like I said, I didn’t get that far, and to be honest it looks more like hype and cheese than anything, but I’ll prolly give it a watch at some point. If for no other reason than to see where “the up and comers” are in their various journeys.

^A Glitch in the Matrix – Official Trailer^

Ya know, the big appeal of “The Matrix” is being in position to where the rules either do not apply to you, or you yourself can be in a position to bend or break the rules.

It's that simple. 

I get the feeling that someday, many folks are going to “wake up” and realize that all of the crap they were reaching for, they already had it. Already possessed the freedom to bend or even break any and every rule imaginable. It will be at this point that you’ll have to come clean with yourself and admit that what you were really looking for, was a realm where you could do as you please without fear of repercussion or reprisal. Welp, I got news for you…

these realms exist too. 

Very exclusive these realms tho. Very fragile too. And worst of all, they are almost certain to contain all the bullshit that you espouse to so vehemently oppose. Quite a loop. Cover a lot of ground, and go basically…

nowhere.
^Electro Swing Dance Freestyle: Spooky Scary Skeletons, Glenn Gatsby feat. Ashley Slater^

Do you even know what “swing” is? Of course you don’t. Who the fuck listens to swing anymore, let alone any music that either has swing in it or a swing to it.

^What is Swing? Swing Explained in 2 Minutes (Music Theory)^

Have often wondered about the nature of time, as it pertains to the times that are crammed in it. One of the most intriguing ideas is the notion of how time appears to run faster or slower under certain conditions. And by faster or slower, I’m referring to faster according to our own perception of “normal time”, or slower according to our own perception of “normal time”. Some examples would be when people have near-death or some other type of traumatic event, huge chunks of time can appear to run extremely fast, and we know that the further that one travels away from the Earth, the more time appears to slow down.

For me personally, all kinds of things are always running at strange times because of some “celestial events” that I use constantly as filters for my own thoughts. Big Bang, Big Crunch, Big Swirl, Pulsars, Novae, Black Holes, etc.. Over the past 10 years or so, I’ve also picked up some less relatable filters via thoughts about…erm…how do I word this…”entites who move through time differently than we do”. Basically, living beings of some kind that move through time and space faster or slower than we do. These thoughts can be quite scary when one thinks about contextual events such as “moving through space which contains a star, when operating in a realm where time moves thousands to millions faster or more slower according to the observer than time moves for us.”

I mean, can you imagine moving through a star when you’re only moving at 1 foot per year? Or 1 foot ever million years? Yeah, I know. There are questions there regarding things like mortality/immortality, but this does not invalidate the thoughts on speed if for no other reason than we humans have little to no understanding about either concept, and plenty of folks in our own human history who seem to think that at least some part of our own mortal being carries some immortal something within it. And of course, there’s that pesky “energy can neither be created nor destroyed” conservation of energy thing.

All that said, where I was really going with this is some thoughts that I’ve had regarding “The Big Bang” and the idea that it wasn’t just some singular something as it is usually portrayed in all those science shows with their fancy explosions. Namely my thoughts have been, it happened, it is still happening right now, and it will continue to happen. It is with that thought I’ve wondered…wait, what if a star is actually an exploding something that is running at a different time than we perceive time? Stars supposedly collect a bunch of crap that is floating around via some unknown process(es), then they eventually get so dense that some chain reaction starts via some critical mass, then all that shit catches on fire and starts burning. Welp, from there, our understanding is that the star starts expanding as it gives off energy and starts losing its mass, and a star will continue expanding, growing larger and larger throughout its “life”.

Sounds like an explosion to me. 

Perhaps a really fucking slow explosion, but an explosion nonetheless. Eventually, this “slow-ass explosion” will eventually speed up to speeds that we more readily understand when the thing goes nova or supernova. But until that time, I mean, the entire mass of the Universe is pressing down on this star, right? The entire mass of the Universe is basically containing this explosion. So, why would this “explosion” run at the same time as everything else?

^Underwater Submarine Explosion in Slow Mo – The Slow Mo Guys^

I’ve watched plenty of videos of the Slow Mo Guys and others blowing shit up underwater, and every time they do this, I’ve seen that little “star” or “Big Bang” representation in these detonations. However, for some reason that video above and that first pop Gav does really demonstrates these thoughts that I’ve had about time running slower (or faster) under certain conditions. Perhaps it’s the proximity of an object nearby, or maybe I’ve watched so damn many of these things that I was finally able to express in words what I’ve been seeing for so long. I’m not an educated fella so, I don’t really possess the vocabulary to express things the way some actual scientist might. And that’s by design because if I learn their language, I’m gonna just wind up talking like they do and saying the same shit they do and that ain’t gonna help anyone. Gotta find my own way. Or die trying.

Prolly gonna be that second one.
^[Electro Swing Remix] A Friend Like Me^

That shit always has a bend to it. And no matter what it is, if it’s not bending now, or it hasn’t bent in the past, you can bet your ass it is gonna bend at some point. Has to be some property embedded within even the most linear of somethings that, causes it to bend. Maybe even break. Maybe even break before the “bend” property can be realized or maybe even before it can be recognized as a bend.

Q: Can a “bend” property exist within a system, yet never be identifiable as such?

A: ? /?\ ?

Gotta be possible. You have no interest in this. It’s all “Big Swirl” crap and “The Big Swirl” isn’t even a real thing so, I’ll bail.

^”SING, SING, SING” BY BENNY GOODMAN^

cYacFa

^James Randi’s fiery takedown of psychic fraud^

*******

*For the Song? …/stubs butt.. That’s an idea, Clicky…*

I don’t know about you, but I feel refreshed now, and ready to get back down to writing. Thank you Cade ❤

See you next time, Dear Reader, and… Have a Song ❤

Extended CLICK5… CLICKB8: Writing A Story For Underdog Anthology XV…

Missive From ‘Merica: The Lacuna Landing

*Nice! Good choice of Song to start, Clicky…*

Dear Reader, I had a dream this week in which Cade Fon Apollyon told me something. Something important…

*Oh shit! That was the soundtrack to that dream, Clicky… /lights up and smokes… I woke up humming it…*

*Phil opines? …/taps ash… Who’da thunk it?*

… What I didn’t do at the time, something that I always do, was to visit Etymology Online to find out if ‘lucuna’ had a meaning and how its root had developed in time…

lacuna (n.)

“blank or missing portion in a manuscript,” 1660s, from Latin lacuna “hole, pit,” figuratively “a gap, void, want,” diminutive of lacus “pond, lake; hollow, opening” (see lake (n.1)). The Latin plural is lacunae. The word has also been used in English from c. 1700 in the literal Latin sense in anatomy, zoology, botany. The adjectival forms have somewhat sorted themselves: Mathematics tends to use lacunary (1857), natural history lacunose (1816), and lacunar (n.) is used in architecture of paneled ceilings (1690s), so called for their sunken compartments. Leaving lacunal (1846) for the manuscript sense.

*Sign language? Interesting – I think of synchromysticism as sign language for the def…*

… Then yesterday, a new missive arrived in my inbox! No. #168, one that Cade wrote on the 13th January 2021, but only sent yesterday. He explained his reason for the delay, butt I shall not divulge it here…

*’Cos it’s no one’s fuckin’ bidness, butt his own, Clicky…*

… Four missives from the Okie Text US Devil have been posted at the LoL in meantime, however…

#169

#170

#171

#172

… Doo go take a look. Or not. As always, Dear Reader, that decision is entirely up to you. Now here is Cade’s lacuna missive.

Enjoy! ❤

*******

Greetings fellow humans, humanoids, and other assorted entities residing in gravity. My name is Cade F.O.N Apollyon, and I would like to welcome you to this edition of “Missive From ‘Merica”. My co-hosts are RooBeeDoo, her assistant Clicky, and by the time you read this they have likely formatted and polished this particular writing of mine to a high shine.

You should know from the start here that I have made a decision to take the writing in a different direction today, as it would appear that some consider my writing as terse. Acerbic. Vulgar. Dirty. Offensive. Racist. Misogynistic. Disrespectful. Blasphemous. Too forward or too direct. Too cluttered, disorganized and sloppy. Too happy-go-lucky and freewheeling. Too loosey-goosey with the rules. Too non-standard, abstract and misty. Too vague. Too distant and nonsensical and even pointless. Too…

Zen.

For your own personal peace of mind, I would like to remedy this. All of it.

With that in mind, I, today, shall take my first baby-steps into a new world. No longer shall I endeavor to write in such a way as to inspire you to think with your own mind and leave you with your own thoughts to make your own decisions; I shall now strive to dictate your thoughts and your thinking for you. I will strive to find all your answers for you, and then deliver them to you. I shall strive to add my own voice to that of the echo chamber. I shall join the resonant drone so as to add more power to the socially acceptable mantra(s). Perhaps my finally joining the throng will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and this whole mess will, finally, and completely, self-destruct.

Thank you for putting me on the path. Thank you for showing me the light. Thank you for saving me from myself for your own benefit.

Namaste.

– – –

Last night’s dream was terrible. I could get nothing right. Everything I did was wrong: was clumsy, was awkward, everything I touched ended in complete disaster. The worst part about the dream though? I remembered it when I awoke. I already get everything wrong in my waking life. ‘Tis a shame that I am now getting it wrong in my dreams.

No stranger to dreams here. Dreams are a regular part of my life, dreaming is a regular and frequent occurrence, and they are always strange in that they always seem to be completely detached from reality. There are very real things in them sure, but they always, I mean always, take a strange turn that is so completely unexpected that the reality within the dream is shattered.

I have been dreaming every night, without fail, ever since around July/August of 2019. The thing is, I’ve started to not remember my dreams very much, which is highly unusual for me personally.

Alas, I must bail out of this section. I must digress and write something else.

I was going to regale you, the reader, with the all of the details and specifics of last night’s dream, but I have completely lost my nerve. My shyness has kicked in, self-preservation mode has been activated, I’ve lost my train of thought, and I’m far too fearful at this point to share my dream with you for fear of being thought of as a complete freak. My courage has left me.

Apologies.

– – –

Should dance be considered a martial art? Strange question, but I must ask it. It would help some if you, the reader, has an understanding of what a martial art is.

Martial arts are codified systems and traditions of combat practiced for a number of reasons such as self-defense; military and law enforcement applications; competition; physical, mental, and spiritual development; entertainment; and the preservation of a nation’s intangible cultural heritage.

Source: Wikipedia

Disarming. Dance, dances and dancing are disarming. There are a great many people, in the world, right now, doing dances, in order to disarm people. Making an effort to get the masses to drop their guard or lower their weapons. Molding the hearts and minds of individuals, in the moment, so as to get them to behave in a way that is more conducive to that which suits the dancer’s purpose. And that is the purpose of the dance: to focus a certain specific energy in a certain specific direction.

Typically, I’d think a dancer would want anyone watching to be pleased. Sure, the dancer wants to express themselves, and dance is the art form they’ve chosen as a medium for this expression, but they are going to want others to like their efforts. They are going to want to be accepted and garner approval from others. They are going to want to know that their time in learning to dance has been well spent. The audience has fallen under your spell, and will now behave according to your wishes.

Approval.

Acceptance.

With that, I must question that which is a martial art, which is typically not considered a martial art. Question those things that allow an individual to command and control a situation. Why? I’ve began to ponder the idea that if dance can be considered a martial art, so too can theatre. So now I must question the nature of theatre. I must question my preconceived notions about what is and is not theatre.

Is a street performance to be construed as theatre? Is a public gathering to be considered a street performance?

Is a riot to be considered a street performance?

Is giving a briefing outside of 10 Downing Street to be considered a street performance?

Is “a mass shooting” to be considered a street performance?

Is a reporter reporting from the site of some event to be considered a street performance?

Is all of that theatre? Is any of it?

Is the point of theatre to titillate, excite and entertain? To rouse and/or stir emotion(s) in their audience? Furthermore, is it the point of the theatre company and players to swing these emotions for their own benefit? What does the audience get in return, and do they get their money’s worth?

Is that what this is all about? Money?

Oh my, that does not look like writing that is going to please an audience. I am putting entirely too much pressure on the reader’s shoulders. I should be giving answers instead of asking questions.

Pardon me whilst I digress to a something that maybe I can hold a thought on.

– – –

Not being fond of being told what to do, there are only two possibilities…

Uno: The person telling me what to do knows how to do what they want done, but they see the task as beneath them and they have better things to do anyway, so they farm the work out.

Dos: The person telling me what to do does not know how to do what they want done, so they farm the work out to someone else in the hopes that this other individual can figure it out.

If número uno is the case, and the person you unload the work on does not yet know how to accomplish the task, I have to consider exclusivity and mentoring factors. Does the assignor assist in the task? Or are they throwing the assignee to the wolves.

Repulsion.

If número dos is the case, and the person you unload the work on does not yet know how to accomplish the task, you now have not one person who doesn’t know how to do a something, but two. I have to think about how many more “non knowing” individuals may be drawn into this endeavor in order to complete the task.

Gravitation.

What I am thinking about here is the nature of enterprise. What lifts up, and what pushes down? And I must, must, consider time.

If someone assigns me the task of completing and proving the GUT (Grand Unified Theory), is it a something that can actually be done? Are we humans actually capable of both understanding and explaining the Universe in its totality?

 Am I? 

Or is this just a time sinkhole meant to keep me occupied whilst others go off and do their own thing? A distraction in which the assignors have no real investment in the dangerous aspects seeing as how I am the one who will fail, hence all blame will rest upon my shoulders. I am inept, not the theory.

To be completely truthful, I, most of the time, do not have a problem with being told what to do. In fact, I tend to operate best in environments where I am told what to do. If I have to be self-reliant in dreaming up work for myself, I am most certainly going to be out in the fringes working on abstract things that others are likely to deem to far too distant to be relevant within the current time-frame. Leave me to my own devices, and the realms of the negligible is where you’ll find me. Splashing along the shoreline in the waters upon the far shores. The long odds. The impossible. The unknowable.

In order to be understood, I want, and perhaps need, another to tell me what to do.

– – –

We are only just now starting to see a lot of things in our world. Things that have existed for very long times, we perhaps have heard of them, but they so stretched the imagination that we could not comprehend that such things were possible. As such, we relegate these thing to the world(s) of myth and legend. Fantasy. Tall tales. Some real something that has been so embellished upon that it doesn’t actually exist, and certainly is not as advertised.

Not so anymore.

We can fire up our own personal communication devices of all kinds, and know almost instantly what is transpiring anywhere in the world. We can also know things that are happening in our solar system, in our galaxy, and even around the Universe. Perhaps not so timely with those last three, but we can certainly know more, and quicker, than at any point in our known history. We can be told, by others, what is going on, where, and maybe even why this something is happening.

I wonder sometimes how well you yourself interpolate information. Not interpret – interpolate. Although the two do share some concepts, there is a difference between the two. Alas, because of my new paradigm, I can no longer provide links to definitions for your consideration. I guess I am, again, gonna have to digress, and you’re just gonna have to do all the legwork yourself if you wanna figure out where I was going with all of this.

Apologies.

– – –

With everyone being sick and tired of lockdown, one thing that it has achieved, which most may not think about, is that transmission by hand has almost certainly been curtailed. And I’m not talking about transmission of disease(s) by hand either, I’m talking about the transmission of data and information by hand.

Instructions. Orders. 

Perhaps give a few short moments to consider the last time you saw anything at all via the press about any “terrorist” anything.

This is supposedly how most terrorist groups transfer their information…by hand. Circumvents all those electronic snoopers that have gotten so damn good at monitoring anything and everything. I’d imagine that lockdown has made any “terrorist” organization(s) have to rethink their information channels and adapt. And this lockdown has likely also changed the dynamics of leakers and how they operate. You may be able to still grab sensitive or classified info, but getting the info elsewhere on some physical media just got really difficult.

I’m sure lockdown has had the effect of giving surveillance networks some really unique insight as to how data moves/is moving when they have more or less of a monopoly on the information channels.

Bollocks.

I just started to re-read that section and have noticed that I am, yet again, slipping right back into my old writing style. Putting that comfortable clothing on. Returning to my natural ragamuffin state.

Learning to express yourself in a way that is pleasing to others is rough.

– – –

Sick … and tired … of lockdown. The cure is the sickness.

SWTFC.0168.2021.01.13

I will be seeing you around.

❤ cade

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Have a Song, Dear Reader… 😉