Missive From ‘Merica: Sin Growl Nicety

Good news, Dear Reader 😀 I have finally, finally finished and submitted my story for Underdog Anthology XIV…

*Something like that, Clicky…*

… I still have to find a dead poet’s poem to mutilate for the Afterword, but Leggy is hoping to publish the new volume in the next week or so, and I will then post ‘Walk I, With You’ for you here at the LoL…

*Yeah, I used an image from the story for that tweet…*

…Right now, however, we have a new missive from Cade Fon Apollyon, the Okie Text Us Devil, on the subject of synchronicity/synchromysticism. If you have any interest in the subject whatsoever, it’s not to be missed. And even if you don’t, it’s a bloody good read anyway.

Scroll on, Dear Reader, scroll on…

… And enjoy! ❤

*******

Captain….CAPTAIN, Jack Sparrow.

- - -
EASE TUR

EAST TUR

EAST HER

E-STIR E-STIR E-STIR

| · |

H Y

APP

EASTER

·| · |·

RETSAE

PPA

Y H

| · |

- - -

Did you know that, according to Google Translate, “tur” is German for “door”?

Did you know that “TUR” is the NASDAQ ticker for some fund based on Turkish equities?

Welp...now you know.

Open some doors.

Be free.

Mingle.

^KONTRUST – Dance (Official Video) | Napalm Records^

A holy crusade should be started. A holy crusade to eliminate all evildoers on the entire planet. That way, when all evildoers are dead, only the good will remain. So, if I survive these purges, that means I too, am good.

Right?

Well, there will still be murderers left because the good who killed all the bad are still alive. And I guess there will still be thieves because the murderers took something that did not belong to them. And there will be liars because all of this murder and theft was predicated upon there being no more evildoers left in the world.

We're right back to where we started.

Hrm… maybe it would be best to skip all those shenanigans and just leave things more or less as they are?

^The Living Deads – Everything is Broke (But Our Love) Official Music Video^

This time a year ago (April 2020/when the lockdown started) oil dropped to $11.26 per bbl and gasoline prices fell through the floor. Now, it’s back up to over $60 per bbl, and it’s being projected that by summer/fall of 2021, oil will be up to around $80 per bbl. Oil hasn’t been over $80 per bbl since October of 2014.

WTI Crude Oil Prices – 10 Year Daily Chart

Goldman Sach expects crude oil to hit $80 this summer despite price pullback

Banks stand firm on calls for oil ‘supercycle’ even as price drops

Hrm…relying on nCoV-2019 vaccinations, to rally demand for oil. I wonder what other types of things those in the market are relying upon nCoV-2019 vaccinations to rally. Further have to wonder if people aren’t getting vaccinated, does that mean the rallies aren’t gonna happen? I wonder if rich people/powerful people get rowdy when they want they want a rally to happen, but it doesn’t. Do they riot, and if so, how and where do they riot/tear shit up?

^CHEECH AND CHONG- MEXICAN AMERICANS *HQ*^

The concept of teaching Synchronicity is an interesting one. Teach people how to recognize and observe the phenomena. My experience has been that Synchronicity cannot be taught. If you start pointing weird shit out, people are initially going to query you as to how you saw such a small and insignificant event. Over time, they will start to look at you really fucking strangely.

Even suspiciously. 

They may go so far as to accuse you of being the engine that is driving this phenomenon because it only seems to happen when you are around. Or at least, you are the only one that seems to be able to see this stuff, no one else seems to catch it, although yes, once you point it out, they see it too. Maybe at this point it’s important to point out that “seeing” (to me anyway) is one of the more overrated parts of the experience. It may sometimes be a smell, or a sound, or a feeling, or even an aggregate of sensory input that generates a deja vu type of vibe, except with synchronicities the feeling is more like you’re experiencing something that has already happened in the future rather than re-experiencing a something that has happened in the past.

I’m getting off-track…lemme get back on topic. It is likely possible to teach one to recognize Synchronicity, but I’d think an interest on the part of the learner is gonna be necessary.

^[mau5trap exclusive premiere]: i_o – LOW^

Seriously…who in the hell wants to be an observer?

A: Fucking no one.

You don’t wanna be in the stands, you wanna be on the field, be in the game. You wanna be making things happen, not be at the whims of chance and just standing their helpless as events unfold because of those who are actually participating and driving things.

Glory. Glory!!! BUCKETLOADS OF GLORY!!!

You want it. You want them. 

This is really just me vocalizing my ineptitude at figuring out how one teaches another to be a good observer. How to develop your communication skills so as to be able to be accurate in expressing yourself and relating events to 3rd parties. But to be honest, when it comes to synchronicity, anyone who seeks you out for help is likely to already be either a novice or perhaps even intermediate due to the nature of synchronicity. You were just minding your business one day, and suddenly, the Universe grabbed you by the nape of the neck and chunked your sorry ass into the deep end, and that was the first and last time you could ever be qualified as a “beginner”. Its all uphill from there, and chances are you possess tools you didn’t even know you had before this journey even started.

It is with all that in mind that I reiterate…the concept of teaching Synchronicity is an interesting one. Maybe its not about teaching as much as it is about learning. Maybe even sharing. Maybe there’s an equality type of trait nested within where the teacher and student hats are always and forever interchangeable. There are no masters, there is only mastery.

Some people are probably gonna REALLY dislike such a concept.

No room for advancement.

No way to become a name.

No way to become a face.

^Ace of Spades (Official Music Video) – Hayseed Dixie^

What does your face look like anyway?

DATABASE FOR HUMAN TRAINING a glimpse into the databases used by artificial intelligence-Animated Gifs

Hey…you’ve always wanted to get to know people. That must also mean you want people to get to know you. Welp, they are. Problem is, there may not be a whole lotta reciprocation going on.

They, know you. You, are not them.
^Vince Gill & Jerry Douglas – Oklahoma Borderline (Live 2004) (Promo Only)^

You may have to suspend disbelief if you listen to this next song.

Just hang in there...you will reach the “wtf?!?” part soon enough.
^JINJER – Pisces (Live Session) | Napalm Records^

SO! For those who journeyed into that video, and stuck with it long enough to reach the “wtf?!?” moment, lets us see some of the more or less boring mechanics of how some sweet little soft-spoken pixie learns to summon and master the dark vocal forces of hell.

Is that misogynist of me? Sexist? Referring to a person who I do not know nor have any sort of relationship with as “a sweet little soft-spoken pixie”? To be fair, she was/is singing to me. Or at me.

/shrug
^’How To Growl’ Basics: 3 Safe Ways To Learn False Cord Technique^

Prolly not that much different than anything else. You want to learn to do something, you see how others do it, then you practice, practice, practice.

I admit that when I watched that Jinjer/Pisces video, I did not believe what I was hearing. The video is supposedly live, but if you are as old as I am and have been around the musical block a few times, you learn that a “live” recording is…well, not necessarily as “live” as they say it is. Most of the time a “live” recording has been sent back to the engineers for cleanup, and many of the nuances of a live performance have been removed. Also need to point out that electronic vocal processing has reached the point to where there is virtually nothing that one cannot do digitally. So I had to ask myself…

”Wait, let’s say that they are heaping a shitload of vocal processing on her voice in order to make her sound like a man. Is that really any different than some pop diva using autotune, so that she never hits any sour notes? Or even putting a reverb or delay or EQ or compression or some other effect on a more or less clean voice?”

I used to sometimes run my own voice straight into a distortion pedal to get my voice to sound like I wanted. Yep, plugged the microphone directly into a distortion pedal made for guitar. Lolz (true story) Screaming is hard on the voice. Talk to any USMC drill instructor, and chances are their voice sounds like rocks in a woodchipper from all of that screaming.

With all this in mind, I went back and watched the Jinjer/Pisces video again, and I watched nothing but her lips and her throat, and tried to keep her posture in my periphery so I could see what her diaphragm was doing. I also tried to listen for any hints of more or less “female” sounding tones embedded within the signal I was hearing. I heard some. Also, the video angles and cuts are as such that it is damn rough to look for those tiny accentuations in the face and neck which reveal connections to certain tones. I still doubt as to whether she is actually producing these sounds.

So let’s do this…lets see if we can find a something where they are live live…like on-stage live at a concert, and see if it still looks disconnected.

^JINJER – Pisces (Live at Wacken Open Air 2019) | Napalm Records^

FUCK!!! She’s now got a goddamn huge neck tattoo obscuring everything!!!

Hrm. 

That certainly doesn’t help seeing whether or not veins are popping out in her neck, nor does it make it easy to see what the larynx is doing. So now I have to go back and listen to both the studio live and concert live versions, bounce back and forth and see just how similar the screamed/growled parts are. They do sound similar, but not in a Milli Vanilli/lipsyncing kind of way as much of a “how does the vocal tones of the live studio version sound so damn close to the on-stage live version?” kind of way. Are we learning to learn how to learn about strange coincidences yet?

Fuck this…let,s get the straight dope right out of the growler’s mouth.

^How Jinjer’s Tatiana Shmayluk Learned to Scream^

Formed a new band last week.

Avant Garde Fart Cracklings

Our first album “Crispy Burnt Leftovers In The Bottom Of The Pan” should drop soon. Which reminds me…

if Sulfur smelled like apple blossoms, would farts be more popular?
^Stevie Ray Vaughan – Texas Flood (from Live at the El Mocambo)^

Do you prefer to know the secret behind the magician’s tricks, or are you just here for the magic? Or both?

It is nice to be able to control others. Especially to control the magician.

^Lonnie Mack – Wham! (1963)^

The fog days of summer are rapidly approaching.

Frog days of summer...that is.

Pawg days.

Smog days.

Gog days.

Dog days.

^Lightnin’ Hopkins – It’s A Sin To Be Rich, It’s A Low-Down Shame To Be Poor^

Ever since this “Q” or “QAnon” stuff has fallen on its face and its followers have gotten all grumpy and discombobulated, it has been quite amazing to see just how quickly the “Disclosure” peeps have also turned on their own masters.

Which reminds me, I watched a documentary the other day called “Alien Reptilian Legacy”.

I’m not exactly big on pointing out certain physical features nor making derogatory type comparisons, but holy FUCK! As soon as David Icke appeared, I was like…”damn, that dude appears to be physically turning into the very thing that he hates…a Reptilian.” Besides that, the documentary was pretty fucking boring tho. Not to mention that the whole Reptilian thing is muddy as fuck since some seem to think that the Reptilians are the good guys, Greys are the bad guys, and others think the opposite. (Greys = Good, Reptilians = Bad) Um…I’ve never seen a Reptilian. Nor a Grey. Nor any other fucking extraterrestrial as far as that goes. Seen some goddamn freaky-assed human weirdos come out of the Ufology community, but never seen an alien. Cept via the wizardry of books, film and television. Which reminds me, its been a while since I checked to see how many alien species are now said to reside on Earth/Terra. I think last time I checked, there was around 78 different aliens visiting from 78 different planets. Lets see if any new aliens have landed.

List Of Alleged Extraterrestrial Beings

Fucking hell…that list sucks balls.

Global rise in emerging alien species results from increased accessibility of new source pools

That’s from over three years ago, and it don’t help me much.

How Many Alien Societies Are There?

That’s more along the lines of what I’m looking for in that it’s timely, but that’s just projections from a more or less legit entity in the scientific community (SETI). I need an updated list of the honest-to-God extraterrestrial beings that are currently hanging their space hats on Earth.

How many alien species will there be in 2050?

GAH!!! That’s more capitalist wet market bullshit. I need aliens with space ships and phasers and warp drives and cloaking devices and chicks with three tits and other assorted technological advances.

Black, Grey and Watch Lists of alien species in the Czech Republic based on environmental impacts and management strategy

More markets? Blacks and Greys?

WTFuckingholyfuckingfuckballsmotherfucker!!!!

List of alleged extraterrestrial beings

If anything, that list is missing aliens.

Alien Languages May Not Be Entirely Alien to Us

I cannot read much of that article because it is behind a paywall. Which, hey…remember at carnivals where a certain amount of money would get you inside of the tent, but if you wanted to keep going to the various shows inside, you had to pay additional? They tempt you with all those banners, but the truth is that the fee to get in the door is only one fee of many. You then get shown the exit, your funds are depleted, and you’re not exactly sure what in the fuck just happened nor what you actually got for your cash.

^Billy Preston – Will It Go Round in Circles^

I got yet another question for you to chew on…

Q: Where do the disaffected go?

A: ?? ( o ) ( o ) ??

They’ve rebelled, gone their own way, found their own path…but are they welcomed back and nestled into the bosom of mamma’s embrace when everything collapses? Make no mistake, “they” want you as part of their team. They’ll split, divide and set you assunder via any and all means in order to get you into the fold. Build a something up, and tear it right the fuck back down so you have nowhere else to go. Has an air of demonstrating and reinforcing who the rightful owners are…eh? Have any idea what I’m talking about here?

Q: Who owns the Universe and everything in it?

A: ? ó¿ó ?

You’re on your own in answering this one. Maybe if you weren’t fighting like hell to get these fuckers on a pedestal, you wouldn’t find yourself fighting like hell to get them off.

Get them off…the pedestal. Not like get them off get them off. Although…you are getting off getting them on, and, getting off getting them off.

Sounds like you are getting the better end of the deal.
^Dr. John – Right Place Wrong Time^

Lets us take a spin around The Synchrosphere, yeah? Been a long time since I’ve done that, so lets see if we can see what the synchromystics/synchronauts are up to.

NOTE: Just because you aren’t one of the popular kids in the popular cliques doesn’t make what you do any less important. There are likely metric-mega-fucktons of people out there doing their thing who have no idea that “The Synchrosphere” is even a thing. They just keep on chugging, keep digging, keep learning, irrespective of what the cool kids are doing. Many of them prolly aren’t trying to carve out their own niche either. Just slogging through the craziness and trying to figure out what they are doing right and what they are doing wrong.

Lemme break out of that “note” and give a coupla examples of what I mean.

Now, I’ve seen a lot of stuff like that over time. They seem to be under the impression that they are completely alone, the only source of “truth”, and all this stuff they are seeing is driving them bonkers because they are shouting into the void and no one seems to be heeding their warnings. But at the same time, this individual does appear to be trying prove something, as well as trying to carve out their own niche because they seem to think that getting “Twitter Verified” will make everything they say and do OK. Validation by the very system(s) they seem to be at odds with, will, I guess, make their predictions more mostest trueerist of all because the message is getting out to millions instead of just a few hundred and people are actually listening! Or something. Maybe its a matter of money. Getting paid to do what you do is a helluva validation in our world and times.

/shrug

The Moose

The Moose, or BuckoTheMoose. I cannot speak for them, but I would imagine they would almost assuredly NOT consider themselves a Synchronaut. It’s probable he doesn’t even know what in the hell Synchromysticism even is (not that anyone else does either…heh). Hell, they could be the high priest of synchronicity for all I know.

I do kinda know “The Moose”, however. He’s a cool cat, but also very outspoken/pulls no punches. I’ve never really spoken with him about anything “spiritual”, nor have I seen him mention anything along the lines of more mainstream types of spiritual stuff. He appears to like cars, good beer, good cigars, is laid back, astute, has a great sense of humor, so yeah I guess he’s all about spiritual stuff. Just maybe not the same spiritual virtue signaling type bullshit that the herd considers to be spiritual. You know, spiritual virtue signaling…

  • like getting all dressed up in your religious uniform(s);
  • going to virtue display barn (church or maybe a political rally);
  • join in enthusiastically with the virtue signaling chants;
  • nod approvingly (but otherwise keep your piehole shut) as the messages from on high are delivered;
  • fall on your face and cry and wail for acceptance by the pure and holy;
  • maybe even get to rub palms with a few of the elite…

you know, virtue signaling.

 Digress. 

The Moose may not be your typical Synchronaut, but they’re a cog in the wheel. Not only that, they are their own wheel. A voice. Their voice. To exclude them would be tragic.

OK!!! So, enough of trying to figure out the synchronistic forces and dynamics at work on our planet, and lets off to see what the big guns are up to.

^Bobby Darin: Splish Splash W/Lyrics^

Up first is…

SYCNkronicles – Table of ContentsAxis of EvilMinor Level Perps – Foot Soldiers – Jen Psaki

Yes, that’s right…the Synchromysticism Forums are BACK!!!

Cept not. 

I admit that I’ve known for some time that these forums were there, but I further admit I’ve not given it much of a look. It appears that only one person posts there (Peg from the old whatchacallit forums), and a lot of it appears to be only reposts of news stories…all of which are separated by the same ad over and over where someone is plugging “astrological mini-readings” for $50 via cellphone text message. The forums layout is confusing, the giant pictures in the Table of Contents make no sense, and the whole place seems to be more about “Q” and “Truthers” than they seem to be about Synchronicity and/or Synchromysticism.

Now, is it possible that the one person who is making all the posts over there is actually a community account shared by several people? Sure. Maybe they’ve decided to take a 4Chan type approach to administration in order to bundle everything under a single moniker, so that the reader has no idea who is posting what. But even if that is so, as of the time of this writing, the forums only has 1046 posts in 575 topics, and there are only 11 registered members.

11. 

Not gonna be much discussion going on with only 11 registered members when only one of those registered users appears to speak. The forum layout also seems to be structured in such a way to discourage discourse. Topics are WAY to detailed and specific, there’s no readily apparent and coherent parent-child type of inheritance, and I assume the thought process here was to make moderation easier by putting all of the burden of staying on-topic on the posters.

Don't stay on topic? BANNED!!! Simple. 

Very authoritarian, hopelessly rigid and completely counter-intuitive to the erratic and unpredictable nature of Synchronicity. I can only assume that the goal is to amass useful and usable information. Actionable lists of worthwhile data.

Oh well, it’s their forums, they can do whatever they please with them. As to the Evergreen Consulting/Jen Psaki thing, controlling the shipping lanes and intercepting freight is how you make money in the datastreams. Just gotta add your own node to the existing infrastructure(s).

^’Footloose’ – Dancing In The Movies^

Let’s move on to…

THEE CHRONICLES OV JSTEVEKANE – Fingers

Spirals are syncy in my own sphere(s) as of late. This post is kinda interesting because only yesterday I crossed paths with that image above, and there’s been lots of holes and sinkhole types of things appearing on my radar. But what I’ve been mainly thinking about is a particular axis/view that is usually required to identify a spiral. Take for example the rifling within a barrel of a firearm/gun. You really need to be able to look up/down the barrel in order to best see the twist of the rifling. From the side you get more of a sine wave type of impression. But in the case of say a spiral galaxy, a side view will give the impression that there is no spiral at all. Just a cloudy more or less flat blob of a murky mess with maybe some wedge-shaped properties.

Kinda weird how the up/down of the z-axis changes based upon observer perspective in those two instances. Whatever this weird “edge” is I keep seeing tho? I can’t quite put my finger on it. I cannot tell if it’s a reset type thing where the reset somehow carries conditional types of properties over in order to exist in two places at the same time, or if there is simply a dimension that I’m missing. Perhaps there is always an inverse to the more forward types of dimensions so as to preserve information when one reaches the edge where dimensions cease to exist.

EX: The edge of the Universe.

Maybe I’m thinking too much in the micro scale and thinking too much about shrinkage instead of expansion and/or macro scale(s). Maybe the dimensions do not shrink when one reaches the edge. Maybe they expand. Maybe they both expand and shrink. Whatever it is, the typical 3/4/5/8+ types of dimensions that create our reality seem to become incoherent as a specific and succinct set. Perhaps the existence of an inverse carries an accurate enough stack of data in such a way that matter which becomes corrupt in our Universe/reality can and will remanifest itself elsewhere, all while giving the appearance of existing in two places simultaneously. Spooky action kinds of stuff that is not easily identified as such. We are, afterall, talking about more or less zero-times between extraordinarily remote/distant objects.

I can't quite put my finger on it.
^Depth Charge – Shaolin Buddha Finger^

Let us off to downunderland where their fall is just getting cranked up in anticipation of winter…

Just Watching the Wheels Go Round-Chris Mackey: The Positive Psychology of Synchronicity?

Brizdaz can always be counted on for having some interesting shiz, and today is no different. Looks like there’s some Synchronistic learnin’ going on there, and even tho I wrote the top bits of this post several days ago, its still kinda weird to see the connections. But hell, who am kidding. Synchronicity is nothing new, and the concept itself has likely been around since long before Jung got his hands on it. So…

Q: Where is the new?

A: Right here.

Me, you, him, her, it, they, them, us…all of this shit may be as old as dirt, but it’s new as fuck to us.

^The Police – Synchronicity II^

Looks like Rune Soup has a new podcast series type thingie or something…

Rune Soup-CARDS AGAINST INHUMANITY

And a new website. And new merch. New, new, new Rune Soup Stew…from 2021 to 2022.

Those vids are about an hour each so I’ll prolly forgo for the time being. Prolly won’t watch them later either because I’m lazy af.

Which reminds me…a certain someone who I shall not name (RooBeeDoo) noticed recently that a someone who hasn’t posted a blog post in a very long time had a new post up. Let’s saunter over there.

^Ween – Strap On That Jammypac^

SynchoMiss has posted on her blog for the first time in like 4 years…

SynchroMiss-The Year of the OX EquinOX

I have no idea where she’s been. Actually, that’s not true because I bumped into her on Twitter several years ago and I guess she’s kinda more active there.

I have no idea who she is.

Actually, that’s true. I have no idea who any of these fucking weirdos are. Just a buncha freaks being weird and doing strange stuff. Like…writing. And like I guess…reading. And then like…writing some more (all of which are pretty damn strange).

^ deadmau5 – Ghosts N Stuff ^

Aight…enough of that shit. It’s not that I don’t like cruising around and checking out people’s blogs, because I do. I almost never view any blogs anymore. Not UnderdogBitesUpwards, nor Frank Davis, nor Merovee Frank and not even Miss Ivannah The Topless Psychic.

heh

heh heh

heh heh heh heh heh heh

Anyway, yeah I like reading people’s blogs, just have completely lost the heart to do it. I don’t drop in with an encouraging hi, nor howdy, nor keep going, nor kiss my ass, nor fuck off and die…nothing. Nada. My heart just ain’t in it currently.

/queue sad music

Me me me me me em mem mememememememememememememe

Yeah, this post is already 9 pages long and I should likely get it over to Roob before Doomsday gets here.

^The Cramps. Bikini Girls With Machine Guns.^

We’ve got 800 fucking billion forms of communication available to us on this planet, and not a single motherfucker on this entire rock seems to be able to figure out how to communicate with one another.

Am currently suffering from a wicked case of flabbergastritis.

Perhaps I should go.

(no pun intended)
^Yello – Tied Up (Remastered 2005)^

cYacFa

^Butthole Surfers – Cherub^

*******

*Good idea, Clicky…*

The comment section is open, Dear Reader, so don’t be shy to use it if you have any questions or comments for Cade, myself or Clicky. Have a Song 😉

Adventures In Remote Viewing: When Scriblerus Met Dribblerus

Good news, Dear Reader! Double good news in fact, as there is a Missive From ‘Merica in the works from the Okie Devil of Text US, and that will be ready for you tomorrow.

But first, we were excited to hear on Tuesday that the Library of Libraries has been inducted into an online gang of scribblers…

*LoL, Clicky… /rolls eyes… It’s a dream come true…*

… Called Martin Scriblerus…

*/lights up… Loosely based… /drags… on a collaborative group of satirists in the past… /plumes smoke…*

*Exactly, Clicky. Satire’s booming…*

*It’s a sign of the times…*

…You’ll find a permanent link to the Martin Scriblerus site on the sidebar, to your left. It has some excellent bloggers, Dear Reader. Do go take a look…

*You do know that if Dear Reader takes your advice, Clicky… /flicks ash… they might not come back for the rest of the post…*

The other equally surprising and delightful occurrence on Tuesday was the movie Cade and I remote viewed. I came across it quite by accident…

… The only ‘Professor and the Madman’ I’ve heard of before were a couple of wonderful podcasts from my favourite online philosophy lecturer, Wes Cecil…

… But a historical biopic about the labours of birthing the Oxford English Dictionary? With a glorious cast, studded with Oscar winners? Sounds like my kind of movie; why had I never heard of it before?!

*Indeed, Clicky… /drags… Shit happens… /streams smoke… Poor Mel…*

… So Cade and I remote viewed ‘The Professor and the Madman’ and then discussed it afterwards, sparking all sorts of connections as we went…

*Yeah, I had to stop at that point to mop up the tears and blow my nose…*

*Lashy reckons the ancient Gnostics described the Aeon Sophia as a plasma entity… /final drag… Before she turned herself into the Earth that is…*

*Whoa, that U Tuba’s avatar is Spider-man? What’s the name? …/stubs butt… Sounds familiar…*

… So, three LoL recommendations for you today: One – visit Martin Scriblerus and check out the bloggers there; two – ‘The Professor and the Madman’ is an absolute gem of a movie of some fascinating history, and most definitely worth seeking out. Finally, three – come back tomorrow for a brand new missive; Cade has sent a corker 😀

We’ll see you then, Dear Reader. Have a Song…

Story Time: Facing Eternity

*Leggy wrote a post on nanobots, Clicky? /lights up and smokes… I heard mention of those in a new vid from Lashy just last night…*

We have a little treat for you, Dear Reader, on this cold January day. My good friend Leggy, a.k.a H.K. Hillman, has agreed the LoL can post a story from Fears Of The Old And The New, his collection of short horror yarns. It’s relatively tiny but really packs a punch 😉

Enjoy! ❤

*True – Leggy does live in the Scottish Highlands… /thinks… And he’s got swords…*

*******

Facing Eternity

by H.K. Hillman

Nigel sat at the remains of his desk, idly twirling the paper-knife in the fingers of his left hand. With a swift motion he grasped it and thrust it through the palm of his right hand. His head pressed the high back of the chair as his body stiffened against the pain, his teeth clamped shut to avoid biting the end of his tongue. With a gasp, he forced his body to relax and looked at his shaking right hand.

Bright red life oozed from both sides, running along the blade and handle of the knife and forming crimson lines along his wrist. His face set into a grimace as he quickly pulled the blade free, then he sat sobbing as he watched the wound close, the flow trickle to a stop. As the last traces of his self-inflicted injury faded, he roughly wiped the blood from his hands onto his trousers. Standing, he walked to the shattered window, wiping the tears from his eyes with a wrinkled, filthy sleeve.

It had been his invention, his own work. Why should he share it? If he had told his supervisors they would simply have taken his idea and left him behind, alone and forgotten. He couldn’t let that happen. He had decided to keep his success secret until he could announce his invention himself. He would wait until the time was right.

He had tested his invention on himself, of course. Nigel recalled that day, months ago, when he had injected his microscopic robots into his veins. He remembered that first thrill as they set to work. His chest pains had vanished as his heart was healed. He had discarded his spectacles as his vision was restored. The arthritic ache in his shoulder simply disappeared. What an invention! He would be famous, or would have been.

Nigel felt tears returning to his eyes as he surveyed the desolation of the city. Four days ago – maybe more, Nigel wasn’t sure – nuclear Armageddon had arrived and everyone had left in a flash of radiation. Nigel could recall the pain as the wave of gamma-rays had followed the edge of the blast through his beautiful suburban house. His carefully tended garden had turned into a desert of brown, twisted stalks, although still in their perfectly ordered rows in the sterile soil.

He watched as the bulging wall of a distant building suddenly gave way, showering bricks and mortar onto the dust-obscured street below. The sound traversed the distance easily, unhindered in the silence of this dead world.

The flash had killed him, but it hadn’t killed his robots. He had no idea how long it had taken them, but they had repaired him. They had brought him back to life. He had invented more than just a medical dream. He had invented immortality.

If only he had told someone else.

*******

*Fantastic book, Clicky… /stubs butt… So’s ‘is uvver one…*

Catch you later, Dear Reader… And have a Song 😉

Story Time: Christmas Death Wish

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

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

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

*******

Christmas Death Wish

by Roo B. Doo

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

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

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

Hello, Big D.

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

Quite. You wanted to see me?

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

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

Thank you, Brian.

God took the proffered page and scanned it.

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

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

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

A letter to Santa?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are the ideal candidate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*******

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ho. Ho. Ho.”

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

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

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

“Sure, come this way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Heh. What is it you want?”

“A child.”

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

Death gulped. “I-”

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

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

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

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

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

Death answered with an expressive shrug.

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

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

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

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

“Fuck!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*******

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

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

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

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

Hello Big D. Have you come to see me?

“I have indeed, Ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

Excellent. What did you wish for?

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

No, but I hoped.

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

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

“Ah…” Death hadn’t thought of that.

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merry Christmas 😀

*******

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

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

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

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

Underdog Anthology XIII: Coronamas

*Woo Hoo! …/punches air… Finally…*

Dear Reader, Underdog Anthology XIII: Coronamas is now available to buy in Kindle or ebook formats…

*No, that’s a coronal mass ejection, Clicky… /lights up and smokes… Sure is pretty looking though…*

*Wait. What?*

*Oh. Butt that wasn’t caused by a coronal mass ejection, Clicky…*

*Agreed… /flicks ash…*

*So, you’re tell me that within hours of Coronamas being published, all that ‘appened, Clicky?*

*Blimey. Well, it is number 13, I suppose… /stubs butt…*

… And, for those that prefer a tangible, hold in the hand, book-shaped book, the paperback version will be available later today or tomorrow…

*Ah, blocking the space for a later link… /pats snout… Good thinking, Clicky…*

Dear Reader… Have a Song…

 

Missive From ‘Merica: Feeling Chromassy Part 1

Dear Reader, we now have a name and book cover for Underdog Anthology XIII: Coronamas

… It should be published and available to purchase within the next couple of days. There are some damn fine stories in it; you will not be disappointed…

*That’s called a pomander, Clicky… /lights up and smokes…*

Here, now, is a spanking new missive from Cade Fon Apollyon. It’s the first installment of a two parter. Enjoy! 😀

*******

Lawn Ging Fore Thuh Passed
Lon Geeng For Theep Assed

Lahng Eng Foar Thup Pah Stuh

Long In Four Thee Passed

————————–

Longing For The Past

^The Beatles – The Long And Winding Road (Remastered 2009)^

We do it.

(rawr)

No seriously, we do it.

We long for long gone things. We long for long gone times. We long for long gone places. Maybe its when we long for long gone things AND long gone times AND long gone places, all at the same time…history repeats (or, repeats-ish).

Yeesh. 

What a nightmare. Not only that, but what a waste of energy. You spend all that time fighting tooth and nail to get away from where you are and what you are, only to do a 180° turn, and scramble to become what you were. I guess maybe things didn’t turn out as you’d hoped. You do not like what you have become. What you were is somehow better than what you are, and of the two, you choose…were. I guess you think that “were” will make “are” go away.

Bad logic.

If “were” still is, then I think its safe to say that “are” will still exist when you get back to “were”. You can never go home again.

Or something.

^Massive Fire Breaks Out In NYC Destroying Historic East Village Church | NBC News^
Pine...Mountain.

Third Monolith Appears atop Pine Mountain, California after Mystery Objects in Utah and Romania Removed

Pine…long. Kinda funny that the monolith in California didn’t last long. I sometimes have that problem with my own monolith not lasting very long.

ZING!

Another mysterious monolith has appeared. This time it’s in the middle of a Dutch nature reserve

Pining a mountain. Pining for a mountain. Sounds challenging. Pining for two mountains? Whew! Sounds exhausting. I love mountains, and love climbing them, but I’m a valleyman too. Ain’t no mountains without the valleys.

Heisenloes.

^Breaking Bad OST 12/20 – “The Long Walk Alone (Heisenberg’s Theme)” [Dave Porter] [HQ/HD]^

Kinda weird that during the writing of the previous whatever, I was thinking about that pot plant fire in Los Angeles (heh…pot plant fire), the Notre Dame fire, that giant explosion in Beruit, the Oregon fire(s), that passenger plane getting shot down in Iran. Then yesterday, I sat for an hour or so and watched a live stream of various banks (and other stuff) getting torn up and parts of them burned in Paris (France) as I guess some people there are upset about something.

Now this fire in New York City, and it has me to thinking about…reinsurers. During my brief times in working as an underwriter for a general agency/auto insurance, and then later as an underwriter for commercial insurance, I was somewhat baffled by this need that insurance companies have to pay out on claims. Even dodgy claims. Does this keep the outgoing cashflows/payouts within a certain margin? Keep a reasonable percentage of the customers happy? Justify the premiums? Keep the reinsurers happy? All of that?

/shrug 

Whatever the higher-ups methods and formulas are, they aren’t going to tell a lowly underwriter. So what I’m thinking about now, is all these lockdowns here in 2020AD/CE, and how they are affecting the margins for both insurers and reinsurers. SURELY rates have been affected since we don’t have the usual calamity and mayhem working together to create the same aggregate(s). Everything is shut down. There HAS to be changes, right? At home accidents skyrocketing, auto-related accidents through the floor, outdoorsy stuff doing the same. Insurance companies would almost have to be scrambling to figure out how to deal with these changes.

Lets us dig.
2019 U.S. Traffic Deaths Lowest Since 2014, but 2020 Numbers Aren’t Looking Good
NHTSA 2020 Report
(that one there is a real gem...it's from 1997...23 years ago reporting on what 2020 will look like..heh)
2020 in aviation
The rise in murders in the US, explained
Charges dropped in bizarre Home Depot incident
CDC-Accidents or Unintentional Injuries
(that page says it was last reviewed on 13 Nov 2020, but all the data looks fairly old)
Home Safety Statistics & Trends You should Know
US Department of Labor-UNEMPLOYMENT INSURANCE WEEKLY CLAIMS
US CONSUMER PRODUCT SAFETY COMMISSION-Injury Statistics
WHO-Injuries and violence: the facts
Monthly occupancy rates of hotels in the United States from 2011 to 2020
AARP Answers: Your Insurance Coverage and the Coronavirus
What Happens If Your Insurance Company Files Bankruptcy?
Congressional Research Service-Wildfire Statistics
2020 Western United States Wildfire Season
Cost of Oregon’s 2020 wildfire season: $609 million, and rising

That last link may not work. I found it via a Google search on Oregon wildfires, top result, but I can’t get the page to load. Keep getting an error that says…

The http://www.statesmanjournal.com page isn’t working

http://www.statesmanjournal.com redirected you too many times.

ERR_TOO_MANY_REDIRECTS

No matter, Google has a “snippet” that pulled this from the article…

Oregon’s 2020 wildfire season brought a new level of destruction. … Severe drought, extreme winds and multiple ignitions fueled the most destructive wildfires in state history. Roughly 1.07 million acres burned during the 2020 season, the second-most on record. The cost to fight the fires was also high — $354 million. Oct 30, 2020

Source = Google 06 Dec 2020

You didn't click on a single one of those links above, did you?

Heh, I don’t blame you. This is my path, not yours. Unless of course it’s our path…in which case, welcome aboard, sailor.

^Tea Dance: 1920s, 30s, 40s Vintage Tea Party (Past Perfect)^

Yesterday, saw George Soros referred to as “Uncle George”, and it got me to thinking about shady practices that keep money people positioned where they are or where they are comfortable. Nobody likes to be uncomfortable, and in order to maintain that comfort level you’ve become accustomed to, you may just have to skin a few sables or mink.

Me, as an underwriter, would sometimes be instructed to accept a premium payment, even tho the insured was only making a payment because A) their policy had lapsed, and B) they’d been involved in an accident during that period of non-coverage. More than that, I was instructed to accept the payment with no lapse in coverage. Meaning, we were willing to accept the claim that was sure to be coming. It could be said that the long-term benefits of doing as much was going to give us a customer for life. The company is being generous, understanding, and helping out someone in need. But then I started to learn more about the insurance processes, reinsurance, and I became a tad more skeptical as to the reason(s) for bending the rules or making exceptions. You bend the rules for this person, but not that one?

Hrm...what is going on here? I must know. 

There are intricacies at work here with which I am unfamiliar. Why, would the powers, want elements of chaos in their rigid systems?

/me scratches chin whiskers and thinks.

^Junkie XL – Tennis / Crusher^

If one remains master of the option, one does not become slave to their own creations. You create these rigid systems, whilst reserving the option to change them. That means these rules really do not apply to you. Others? Sure. These rules absolutely apply to others, but you have the option when and when not to apply them. Those whom you delegate your authority to? Yes, they better fucking follow the rules to the letter. Or at least ask when there is a question. All this means that not only do you create the black and white, this also means you control the grey. Now all you have to do is safely navigate all those agreements you’ve made.

 Sounds stormy. I'm in.

^The Re-Stoned – Crystals^

What is the feminine for sailor? Is there one?

Sailorette?

Sounds like a product. Not that sex isn’t a product.

^The Temptations – I wish it would rain^

Speaking of products, ya know…this “cancel culture” bullshit has me to thinking. All you high and mighty social media powerhouses block the living shit out of people. Someone calls you out? Or says something you don’t like? Or maybe you wish to distance yourself from someone who is currently on the outs because of something they’ve said or done? Maybe even some in your own organization lobby you to close the social media door on a someone because it’ll be good for business?

You unfollow. You mute. You block. 

You’re a bandwagon jumper as much as anyone else, a high-powered bandwagon jumper at that, so I really don’t see how you have the right to piss and moan about “cancel culture”. You’re the one setting the fucking trend(s) in the first place by making a big show of distancing yourself from things that hurt your own bottom line. You’re steering the ship, driving the bus and all the while you’re complaining about your own driving.

lolz

Thinking about this because two nights ago I made a suggestion for the upcoming Underdog Anthology 13 book name…

Can Sell Culture

I guess I coulda went with “Can’t Sell Culture”, but history has more than aptly demonstrated that, yes, you can sell culture.

You Can Cell A Culture, But You Can’t Sell A Fish

You Can Sell A Culture, But You Can’t Sail A Fish

You Can Sell A Culture, But You Can’t Sail A Sailfish
You Cancel A Culture, But You Can’t Uncancel A Fish
(playing on “you can tune a piano, but you can't tune a fish”)

Trying to stay within the “2020 = A Fucking Nightmare” motif, and thinking about UK fishing rights/EU, the way(s) these new vaccines work with respect to cells, all the throes social media has gone through this year because of lockdown, all the culture wars bullshit, all the trade wars bullshit, we’re told that this year has been a fucking nightmare. But with respect to the book title, I keep thinking that a break from the obvious might be the most shocking and horrifying title one could come up with.

It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Fear

“2020/MMXX – The Year Of The Fear” (and the Year Of The Rat) will be ending soon. 2021 is right around the corner. Year Of The Ox. Bulls and bears and wolves…oh my!

❤ XOXO ❤

^Andy Williams – It’s The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year^

John Lamb Lash announced the other day that he will not be doing any more talks. Not for YouTube anyway. No more freebies. No more sample products. No more Gnostic Intel, no more Sophia’s Correction, no more Charlotte Working, no more data on how to navigate these turbid and tempest-tossed waters. The drug has either hooked you and you now need to pony up to get your fix, or join the kebosh or zenosh or whatever in the fuck it is and suffer the consequences of destruction and eternal damnation. Which, that reminds me of something I saw yesterday…

I tried to better simplify his simplification…

I guess I outsimpletoned him…

I’ve heard this argument before. Right vs Privilege, and “taxes are a right”. Meaning, it’s a loopy way of creating a right that demands recompense. We have the right to demand services from our government, which means that paying for this/these service(s) is also a right. The government has a right to demand taxes, and we have a right to pay them because it gives us the right to demand service. You do not have the right to not pay, and they do not have the right to refuse service.

Afterall, we paid, right? 

This eventually boils down to the seed of discontent, and an argument to do away with free and open elections, and/or, abolish the party system(s). No telling who is gonna get elected, not telling who they will appoint, and no telling if all of these partisan peeps are gonna give me what I need/want. Even in the professional/more permanent government employees, they are citizens too, they are going to have political affiliations, so its possible that their political views will clash with my own and they will not give me what I need/want. Abolish the parties, and all this polarized and partisan nonsense goes away. No one is left out or punished for their political views, because there are no political views. Just one big happy family living in harmony. Pay your dues, get your booze…simple.

Harmony

Monotone

FYI, you need more than one sound to make a harmony. Not to mention that single unwavering frequencies can be damn destructive.

Resonance

Antiresonance

Mechanical Resonance

It would appear that there is something built-in/embedded into our Universe that says…I just flat do not want to exist. Or at least, I don’t want to exist for long. Not here, not now, and not like this…I, do not want to exist under these conditions. Hrm…now, where have I heard this tune before?

You belong to the state. You were born into it. Ain’t no escaping it. Unless of course you renounce your current state in order to pledge allegiance to another state. You still belong to the state. A state.

Q: You think it possible that the US Founders saw this coming?

A: ???

Yeah, this. All this nonsense currently talked about with respect to two Presidents and the country splitting and civil war and all that. Republics don’t have the best of track records. Our forefathers (and mothers) had to know that divisions were going to form at some point and this nation would face endless trials. Question is, did they see it coming, and did they leave us any clues as to how we might proceed? Can we continue to follow your rules, and play your game, your way, and still enjoy a life of our own? Did you protect us with your Constitution? Leave pearly pearls of wisdom in there to guide us? Or did you enslave us, doom us to be fodder for the machine?

Tough questions for sure. Lots to think about.

^#53 Junkie XL – Brothers In Arms (Mad Max Fury Road OST) – Drum Cover^

Perhaps I’m a soppy idealist, but it never really bothered me who was in the White House. They’re an American, and that’s good enough for me irrespective of their politics. The US President is just one of many thousands of politicians in this country, and top to bottom, there ain’t a one of them who could not make my life a living hell if they really wanted to. Some jerkweed on the city council, to a piece of shit state judge, to some dickhead senior senator in the US Congress…lotta power and powers in this country.

Not all of them are elected either. Lots of professionals in the system, and they too can be sand in the engine block if they so choose. Thing is, all these elected folk they’re all sure to be…Americans. Same with the professional folks. They are either citizens, or on their way to being one. They have to have some interest in this country, otherwise, they wouldn’t be here. Could people come to this country, become citizens, and try and work their way into places in order to fuck things up? Of course. Nothing new about that. Moles of all types in all places and foreign influences of all types have been around forever, and it appears they will be around forever, so why not just accept it and deal with it. Let the processes work, and don’t tear down the whole fucking infrastructure just because shit isn’t moving along at a pace that better fits your own personal desires. A little patience might serve you. Afterall, you don’t want someone coming along and picking you up in the morning, then throwing your broken remains into a shallow hole later the same day…do ya?

Nah...I didn't think so.

^Zack Hemsey – “Vengeance”^

So…you’re telling me that the US Postal Service handles somewhere in the neighborhood of half a billion pieces of mail each and every day, and yet once every four years we somehow cannot count about 150 million ballots for a single checkmark?

Something doesn't add up here. 

There have to be literally thousands of people running for various offices all over the country, and yet you cannot zero in on a single checkmark in a single column for a single race that is the only goddamn nationwide race in the whole fucking country?

Something doesn't add up here. 

Most states are likely to only have two candidates on the ballot who are running for US President, so you are telling me that you have a 50/50 shot at getting it right, and you still cannot fucking get it right?

Something doesn't add up here. 

BTW, how in the FUCK did a single company get a majority nationwide franchise (30 states I read) on providing voting machines?

Something doesn't add up here. 

Are you really telling me that each and every state doesn’t have at least one fucking state-based service provider who could provide that state with voting machines?

Something doesn't add up here. 

What’s the matter? You don’t trust the states and their people to do the right thing? Worried about franchising? Can’t you rotate the shit? Are the big companies too worried about getting dealt a small state?

 Something doesn't add up here. 

And what the fuck is this nonsense about voting data being sent out of the country then coming back in? Why in the bloody hell would voting data ever need to leave the country, its states, or its territories?

Something doesn't add up here.

^Vision Is A Lonely Word^

Gonna leave this space more or less blank because I need to run have a quick fap.

brb

^Enjoy The Silence by KI Theory (Ghost In The Shell Trailer Music)^

Oh yeah, I feel much better. How about you?

So very naughty. So very, very naughty.

A prank like that might gain you a sock to the jaw, but it just may be worth it…lolz…the song that just came up in my playlist is called…Windwalker.

Fucking rofl.

^Mord Fustang – Windwaker [Electro House | Plasmapool]^

I’ve watched more politics in the past 1 or 2 months than in the previous 10 – 15 years.

Nothing appears to have changed.

^Washington Post – Georgia Republicans lambast Trump for election fraud claims^

I now have three friends on Facebook.

Ironically, it’s the same three friends I have on Twitter.

lol

I am popularity.

^White Lines – Tom holkenborg – Infinity (M F Remix)^

Have made a decision to rip the rest of this post out, and put it in the next one. That way, I’m not sending a 15+ page post to Roob, and she doesn’t have a seizure when she sees it. Nor will she be as likely to develop PTSD after having to edit/format it.

That ok with you/ya'll?

Cool…THX…you’re very sweet. Oh, and the colors theme, will continue.

Assuming you even noticed.

^I Wish it Would Rain Down ( with Lyrics ) – Phil Collins^

cYa | cFa

^Psychedelic Indian Fusion: Tikki Masala – Euphoriant^

*******

*Indeed, that very idea was mooted at this morning’s team meeting, Clicky… /stubs butt…*

… We’ll be back later this week, Dear Reader, with Part 2 of Cade’s Missive, and a link for Underdog Anthology XIII: Coronamas. Until then, have a Song…

 

CLICK5: A Bridge To Fnarr…

Missive From ‘Merica: Another We Kenned Missive

Breaking news, Dear Reader! Leg Iron Books will be publishing a volume of my Underdog Anthology short stories. On November 15th…

*An auspicious date, Clicky… /lights up and smokes… It’s also Cade’s birthday and… /rubs brow… something else…*

… 18 tales in total. Who knew I had that many in me…

*Nah, me either, Clicky… /pats snout… I bloody well hope I’ve got some more…*

… I’ll let you see the cover artwork when it’s ready, Dear Reader 😀

But enough of that; now we have a missive from Cade Fon Apollyon with his thoughts and reflection from the past week. It’s been very exciting  and turbulent in ‘Merica…

*Seriously, Clicky, that only works if you can imagine Donald Trump as Sandy…*

Enjoy! 😉

*******

Dehsharm
Diss Harm

Dis Arm

Deh Sahrm

Disarm

^Stars Of The Lid – The Evil That Never Arrived^

Many things exist to disarm us.

A nice smile.

A kind word.

A good deed.

Perhaps a miscue, a misstep, or some display of ignorance or innocence.

Maybe even a defect or disability.

A uniqueness.

An offering of some kind…to keep one…from conflicting with another.

An offering of some kind…to keep one…from taking advantage of another.

Establish a decorum or a level of respect.

Disarmament
^Julie And Candy^

We are powerful beings after all. We aren’t always aware of just how powerful we are or how powerful we can be. As a result, sometimes, we are not the best at exercising restraint. It is at these precise times, when Nature steps in.

Disarms us…gives us pause…allows us a brief interlude to reflect and maybe rethink.

Sometimes anyway

Sometimes…She appears to, Herself, exercise restraint. Allows us and our own hubris to march ourselves directly into peril.

^Aphex Twin – Just Fall Asleep (1080p HD/HQ)^

Wait…Steve Bannon was involved with Biosphere 2?

Biosphere 2

Bear with me. I just watched two documentaries, both kinda far out and seemingly on two completely different topics, but I really didn’t see a scrap of difference between them. Two flicks about people learning how to act, presumably in order to manipulate others in order to get what they want from them. However at 1:40:17 into the second documentary, there was a name mentioned that I absolutely did not expect to hear with respect to a movie about 1960’s Hippies taking their green ideas corporate.

Hail Satan?

Spaceship Earth (Film)

Steve Bannon

Bass Performance Hall

I guess it was kinda weird to hear that name, because only recently I learned that Bannon is supposedly big on Strauss–Howe generational theory. First he’s running the right-wing rag Breitbart, then he supposedly is kingmaking with Trump 2016, Cambridge Analytica/Brexit, and now it turns out he was mixed up with Ed Bass and Biosphere 2? This dude has his fingers in everything. This revelation prolly wouldn’t be so weird if that NXIVM cat hadn’t been sentenced just the other day.

NXIVM

One of the connections here is that the people involved with Biosphere 2 were/are labeled as cultists. They are/were outside of the mainstream scientific community, had their own thing going, and as a result they were outcast. But these Biosphere folk were members of at least four other very popular and well-known cults, but no one likes to talk about these cults as being…cults.

The Cult of Advertising

The Cult of Voyeurism

The Cult of Acting

The Cult of Capitalism

They’re also members of The Cult of Humanity, but we’ll let that one go since we are focusing on Bannon and how he eventually came to run that whole Biosphere circus.

Q: What was found during the course of this Biosphere 2 project which inspired Ed Bass to change direction so quickly?

A: Media/Marketing is my guess.

Yeah sure, this project probably taught us a lot about the challenges that long-duration space exploration missions will eventually face. It is highly possible that Bass found something that was both patentable and licensable, wanted to keep it/them a secret in order to secure his intellectual property/properties, and so Bass brought in a pit bull to guard it.

But considering what a media circus that Biosphere 2 project was, and considering the number of outside parties that were brought in to consult on the project, I’d think that media utilization, media manipulation and how to influence and/or drive public opinion(s) was the real motherlode. Especially as it relates to really far-out and obscure topics. How to force the old ideas out, and bring in something new.

^Sufjan Stevens – Untitled (piano)^

Do you ever act? Put on a face? Act contrary to how you actually feel? Any ideas as to why you may do this?

Hail Satan? = Full of actors and acting

Spaceship Earth = Full of actors and acting

‘Tis rough showing the soft underbelly of self. Might be some vicious ass-hat out there just waiting for you to drop your guard, and BOOM!

Scarred for life

You shoulda known better. You did know better. But for the briefest of moments, you believed.

^dwig – different days^

Oh, and whilst we are on the topic of cults and cultists…John Lamb Lash had a damn weird “talk” released yesterday. Seemed to be on the topic of institutionalized sex education, but the talk seemed to be less about Elohim giving classroom type instruction, and focused more on the practical demonstration/demonstrable side(s) of “sex education”.

OJT, if you will

What made this talk even more bizarre, was that it seemed to focus on the ancient sexual education(s) of…teenagers. Teenagers? Did ancient peoples even have such a distinction of “teenagers”? I’ve always been under the impression that, in ye olden tymes, humans went straight from childhood to adulthood, and no such middle ground (teens) existed. Made me raise an eyebrow as to potential faults in modern trappings being associated with ancient modalities.

Also made me think…wait, there are metric fucktons of 30+ years old people, in this world here and now, who know fuckall about sex, and prolly know even less about intimacy. Or at least, that’s what we’re told. We’re told that this modern world we live in is full of sexual inadequacy, we’re told that sexual dissatisfaction is one of the primary reasons that relationships fail, and yet mysteriously there’s no shortage of sexual accessories, add-ons, training programs, and sexual information available to supposedly help remedy this dilemma. Not to mention that we are also told that we live in a time of rampant sexual deviancy, sexual depravity, and basically complete and total sexual lawlessness. In social media, pedophile rings, human trafficking and sexual slavery are all the rage.

Something doesn't add up here
^Mysterium^

You’ve got a “Gnostic Teacher”, who is giving a bunch of “introductory talks” about I guess both Gnosticism, his own personal school, the flavor of Gnosticism that he personally teaches, one of these talks he devotes to the subject of “sex”, and he goes straight for the youth? I guess he’s using the standard modern marketing model(s) or something. Hitting the youth market first since that’s the real cash-cow. But I can’t see a bunch of teenagers lining up to learn about Gnosticism. Not even twenty-somethings. I have trouble imagining that even thirty-somethings would have any interest in Gnosticism.

Wait

Is he about to suggest that Gnosticism has the answers to all of these sexual questions that we modern people have?

In a way, it’s kinda refreshing to think that someone would think about addressing the topic of sexuality within some religious framework where the topic wasn’t simply “Sex: Don’t Have It Until You Are Married!” /lesson over”But “teens”? Why is “teens” even a demographic within this particular Gnostic framework? Only thing that I can come up with is that this has to do more with pornography than anything. Maybe advertising too.

^Christopher Willits – Comet^

It’s been my experience that, anyone who is talking about mystical power and mystical powers, and proclaiming these powers exist?

Yeah...they're skeptics

Maybe closet skeptics, but they’re skeptics. They’re more likely to be attempting to disprove them more than prove them. Poking at the ethereal planes to see if they are indeed real. Not knowing what to expect, and not exactly sure how they’ll handle the experience if this mystical something turns out to be much more tangible than they previously thought. This is prolly why stories surrounding things like the Philosopher’s Stone, Pandora’s Box, Midas Touch, etc., are typically cautionary tales. Someone is skeptical about some power, they tempt fate, find out the power is real, everything goes to hell from there.

Usually anyway

But yeah, most individuals have to actually be burned by the mystical fire(s) before they are going to believe. We humans are both skeptical and at the same time very tactile/curious/exploratory creatures, which, when you think about it, is an odd combination of traits to coexist in the same space. But sometimes maybe some can just accept that, irrespective of whether these powers exist or not, they are not yours to wield, they never will be, and just deal with that/those fact(s) and go about your life.

Word To The Wise: This is sometimes precisely when life will hit you with a twist.

^Sigur Rós – Varúð^

This world is not about finding things that disarm us.

We don’t see the things meant to disarm us as being disarming.

We look for weakness in order to take advantage of it.

We look for difference in order to exploit it.

Diversity, is a revenue stream.

I’ve no idea how things were.

I only know how things are.

Relying in totality on some singular ancient something to guide me in the here and now?

Welp, why in the fuck would I want to do that?

If I need some ancient something to guide me, I got this planet right here, under my feet.

Supposedly, it’s pretty fucking ancient.

The stuff that our planet is made of?

Supposedly, it’s even more ancient.

^Huerco S. – A Sea Of Love^

Yes…I’m lost.

But I ain’t that fucking lost.

And if I’m looking for anything, “truth” sure as shit ain’t it.

“Truth”, ain't even on the fucking list
^Bluetech – Oleander (Phutureprimitive Symbiotic Remix)^

When you align yourself to one side or another, everything becomes fringe.

Everything else anyway

Where you stand is not fringe at all.

To you anyway

To all those in the fringes tho?

Yeah...you, are fringe
^Brian Eno – An Ending (Ascent) [1080 HD]^

It’s beaten into us “to do something”. Someone out there, wants to hurt us, and something must be done about it.

Q: Why must I do anything?

A: ? !!!!!!! ?

If for some reason, someone has it in their mind to cave my skull in, fuck it…let em’. Was I put here on this Earth for the sole purpose of fighting against this someone? I don’t think so. Sounds more like their plan than my own. They need an enemy, and they found one in me. Do I play along? Or is it OK with you fuckers if I come up with my own plan(s)? Carry on with my own life? Either way you slice it, your logic in conflict management equates to the same damn thing…I, irrespective of outcome, am their personal plaything. They, get to dictate my behavior, and not me.

Hrm
^Somewhere Up Here^

Wanna know how to tell if someone in a YouTube video is full of shit? Just watch their mannerisms. If they are talking about some ancient something, and they are overly expressive in verbal accentuation of certain things? Using a lot of hand motion? Many changes in facial expressions and/or little to no change in facial expressions? Lots of crazy graphics changes that do not necessarily follow the text of the video? Lots of carrots and rabbit holes/loads of questions with no answers? Yeah…some or all of these likely point to the video being bullshit. Not necessarily wrong, or maybe not even inaccurate, but still bullshit. Maybe someone rehashing some old something without adding anything new, and doing so for the purposes of making a few bucks. Lot of that going on currently, and not just and only on YouTube.

Nothing wrong with people finding their own voice. Honing their craft. Even the oldest of stuff and most known of things is new, mysterious and completely unknown to someone. Trouble is, many forget how to fall. Forget how to stumble. Forget how to be lost. Forget how to cope with, accept, and overcome errors, adversities, setbacks. Forget how to take a punch or absorb a blow. You spend all that time being a complete fuckup, you succeed only at failure, you pick yourself up and keep at it, and yet when you actually find success (or what you consider to be success) the slightest of hiccups or deviations leaves you blank-faced and clueless. Sends you right over the edge. You have polished yourself to such a degree, that even you have begun to believe your own image is…you.

Q: How is this even possible?

A: ?¿?

How, does one, lose their ability to cope? Especially when one has accrued such an impressive resume of failure(s). Maybe as time passes, we let all that old an less than complementary shit conveniently fall off the page.

We’ve moved on.

We’re amongst the learned, knowledgeable and wise.

Part of the elite.

A member of the club.

The club.

Club
^Kid Francescoli – “Moon” (Official Video)^

Just remembered it’s election day in the USA today.

03 November 2020 AD

Maybe that’s another reason I was kinda jarred upon hearing Bannon’s name this morning. Still debating on whether or not I’m gonna vote. I know who I’d vote for, and I also know why. But…wait…um, I just remembered something.

Steer into the skid

Or sometimes, the best course of action is to just let go of the wheel. Yeah, I won’t be voting today.

I wonder who won?
^Telephasic Workshop^

Tis now Saturday November 7th, and still, “the press” is offering up “projections” as to who won. Why in the FUCK are people still relying upon “the press” and their projections 4 days in? Wait for the FEC to publish the election results, then you’ll know for sure without having to rely upon very biased third-parties who keep stringing you along so they can keep you viewing and clicking because their advertising bubbles are limp. What’s that? You really don’t think that MSM has been chomping at the bit for months in order to get a cash infusion from election coverage? Obviously, you’ve not been following this nCoV-2019 thing very closely. Or maybe its that you’ve been following it too closely?

/shrug

We supposedly want all these neato gizmos and gadgets to speed the process(es) along, and yet we damn the living shit out of them when they don’t behave in a manner that is pleasing to us. Something must be wrong.

Dunno about you, but to me, an absence of irregularities, a lack of of inconsistencies, and a non-existence of errors is a sure-fire sign that something very underhanded is almost assuredly taking place. And I’m not talking about any built-in integrity testing types of stuff. I’m talking authentic stuff. Stuff that is there, but covered up in order to maintain appearances. Project an illusion that everything is okay, even tho things are most certainly not okay. Opens up all kinds of doors to manipulate the system in virtually any way that suits you.

Q: Are you really ready for “faultless”?

A: ??? wait wut ¿¿¿

You’re gonna need to do some soul searching before you are going to be able to accept “faultless” as an actual thing. Evaluate your doubt, evaluate your trust, evaluate your honesty, evaluate your own polarity and your own concepts of right/wrong. Are you diverse enough to do that?

Might wanna find out
^Beach House – Elegy To The Void^
Revelations are sweet

English, as a language, has never made sense to me. Last night, a certain college professor named Wes Cecil, opened my eyes a bit.

Latin = Verbs

It was that fucking simple.

Latin = Verbs

Everything is “do”. Or I guess “done”. Either way, Latin is very verby.

EUREKA!!!

Yes, I realize that English is not just and only Latin. But 80-fucking-percent of it is. I guess the rest is a hodgepodge of Greek and loanwords, and they’re all crammed into this “do” type language.

Do

Done

Do/Do

Doo doo?

Fuckin’ hell…ENGLISH IS SHIT!!!

I FUCKING KNEW IT!!!
^Deadmau5 – Fn Pig (1080p) || HD^

English is actually great. Allows for a great deal of expression. Has a plenty of roadblocks tho’. Sometimes, just ain’t no way to express, in text, what one is feeling. Either the word(s) don’t exist, or the structure of the language does not allow a certain thought or feeling to be communicated accurately to others. One can only surmise that this is likely why e-shorthand or “leetspeak” or similar has become so popular.

Maybe even memes

They convey feeling(s) that can likely be understood by others. From a grammatical standpoint there’s no real “substance” to the communication, and yet, one can express themselves, and more importantly, others can relate. Others can understand. Others may not be able to get an exact fix on where one is coming from, but they do have a pretty good idea as to the general location.

All that said, when Wes mentioned in his talk about Latin being “verb-heavy”, a light went on in my head. Everything, in English, and I mean EVERYTHING, has to be associated with some sort of doing. An action. And this doing is either right now, in the immediate future, or already done.

Hrm...done

It is done.

It is finished.

Event-driven.

Challenge/response.

Newton’s Third.

Cause/effect.

Interrupt requests.

Capitalism.

Say/do.

Slavery.

No fucking wonder we’re having so much difficulty understanding quantum mechanics, chaos theory, string theory, etc.. Even religion(s), spiritual matters Not only is there’s no fucking language to describe these “higher level things”, there’s no language to relate to them. No language to relate them to. There’s high, and low, and no fucking middle. It’s like Inferno and Paradiso, with no Purgatory. Not to switch gears too quickly here, but something big has to be happening in that middle. It’s completely absent. “The Middle”, is gone. That can only mean one thing…it has gotten so massive, that no one can see it.

Hiding in plain sight
^Arve Henriksen – Hambopolskavalsen^

Someone mentioned “Loudon County” to me on election night. It’s a county in northern Virginia. Was weird because the person who mentioned it to me could not have possibly known that I used to live in Loudon County VA. Earlier this morning, “Loudun” appeared on my radar (not to be confused with “Loudon”).

Loudun

Loudun Possessions

Just now, a song appeared in my playlist. Never heard this song in my life, sounds pretty good, so I switched over windows to see who the hell this was. What immediately caught my eye, was the artist’s last name. Usually, I just listen to music, don’t watch the videos. But this video? I gave it watch.

^Holly Herndon – Morning Sun [Official Video]^
Lone digger. Lone explorer.

Herndon, Virginia

Not Loudon County, but Herndon is right there by Loudon. When I worked at Dulles, I used to go into Herndon VA and Reston VA to get food. There was a fucking awesome deli in Reston that made incredible subs. I can only wonder if the deli are still there.

Wait…Herndon’s largest employer is…Fannie Mae?

^Ben Buitendijk – Promised Land^

Erm…

…why did they give a shit about him in the first place? I’m somewhat skeptical of those who are interested in me only because of what I can give them. That said, the media wanted sustenance, and for the better part of five/six years now, Trump & Co seems to have fed them. A never ending Las Vegas style all-you-care-to-eat buffet.

Or, erm, Atlantic City style

Just wondering if they realize they killed their meal ticket. The media must be planning on going on a diet or making some other kind(s) of lifestyle changes.

/shrug
^Tycho – Adrift^

Some people repeat themselves a lot. When they are not repeating themselves, they will resort to repeating themselves…a lot. Then they’ll move on to repeating themselves…a lot. As time passes, they will begin to repeat themselves…a lot. When repeating one’s self no longer serves, it’s time to repeat yourself…a lot.

All that said, and all that said, I guess, I guess anyway, that the point, and I mean the main point, of the video below, the one to follow this text here, is that the greater good, or maybe the greatest good, or yeah just the greater good and not the greatest good, is better served, or better served, or best better served, by…wait, what the fuck are they even talking about in this video?

^What will Trump do?^

cYacFa

^Dissident Aggressor^

*******

*I gotta say… /final drag… Wes Cecil’s Language and Civilization lectures are fucking awesome… /stubs butt… Perspective opening…*

*Glad you agree, Clicky. Now, put the sandwich down and go get us a song to end on…*

Hopefully next week will be as exciting as the last one, Dear Reader 😉

Have a Song…

Story Time: What Time Do You Finish?

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

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

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

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

*******

What Time Do You Finish?

By Roo B. Doo

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

Shit!

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait…” Death did not look up.

Click. Click, click. Click.

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

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

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

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

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

“AAAAAAAGH UGH!”

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

“Clos to ze British Muzeum,” Famine interrupted.

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

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

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

“UGH!”

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

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

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

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

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

“WAAAGH AAAAAAAGH!” Pestilence groaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“AAAAAAAGH!” Pestilence bellowed.

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

***

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

Excuse me while I light my spliff…

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

Oh God I gotta take a lift…

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

From reality I just can’t drift…

“Drift.”

That’s why I am staying with this riff…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tventy Tventy! Hellz Bellz!” Famine exclaimed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Scratch?” Death asked tentatively.

“Yes, child.”

Old Scratch?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*******

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

*/sighs…*

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

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

*/rolls eyes… Elementary, dear Clicky…*

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