Write something now

The truth of the matter is that I hired twilight minotaur to polish my books. The first two he did nothing just fixed spelling and punctuation and such. Then he did  Cavr  (the first two were'the Crimson star' and 'Narratia) Cavr was a 100 page. book with good bones that I wrote in 2011...

        He put 200 pages of flesh on those bones. I sent one to arkangl and wgb to check out. I pay like $7 if you want one.twice that on lulu.bill Meikle box 269 Brackendale b.c. Canada

        The thing is that right now he's doing a short story book called shards2014  and it needs another story 

    So

        For me writing a short story is all about the first sentance.

       Concomitant to the paraphrasing that was going on Alibaster executed a rewording.

 

   The whole story is about figuring out what that means....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Release is like an Angel, when I’m not there. 

I took these boots from a dead *insert swear words here* cunt, I hope, with all understanding of where you came from, the mass of tendrils making a back massage.  Seriously, as if you could see any other word coming, how can anyone be expected to finish a one-sided genre battle without the other side reading?  Mother, father, brother, sister, wait for it, anyone I have ever known, I have ended up murdering against my intent.  For real, these boots are leather, and hot. 

Dead war carcasses, rot, and let them, as I take their boots.  Leather is so beautiful as is hot, I would almost be a dying animal to understand: 

Fuck all.

I am, death laser, my brother’s, death laser, keeper, laser of death.

Except where this used to be fake, real people now grow up.

Someone told me the real address, and she is long gone I think, so pocket queens, and I tell the Moses’ Jewish truth:

When your girl is from Vietnam, kiss her ass and don’t forget it. 

Because, and I tell you this gospel from age, there is no cunt sweeter.

Adult language:

Sweaters from the eighties, followed by leg warmers, which will never reappear:  In my lifetime.

Friend Twilight, I understand, when the writing ends, regardless of whether it works or not, that’s hell.

In a shadow, in an alley, use only cocaine, and nothing else.  Write a Rush 2112 star on the ground.  Add a forty of Jack Daniels, and no other drink in no other quantity. 

Then piss on it, literally.  Like the asses from that 7-11 35 years ago, and let it go, be free from it.  Children, I’m talking about me, into adults. 

And if Mother Molly cakes it out, in whatever form, ignore the responsibility.  For fuck’s sake, you are screwing Molly. 

Dead people, in the crappy swamp. 

No matter how good you write, there isn’t a tomorrow, because there is no equal to “Neuromancer”.  It’s God fuck.  Lick the killer’s armpits, on a contract that’s still there.  I mean it. 

Sacrifice.  Leather screw writing.  May we never forget it.  May it never end. 

Company is appreciated when the alley is really, seriously cold, despite these dead boy boots.

Geostatica 18

       We got out to the party a few days early. It had become clear that we were distracting the crew, drinking cervesa and telling stories. Rodriguez politely encouraged us to move on.

        Ryan dropped us off and flew off to the Lesbian Nudists, to deliver some mail. He promisied to pick us up on Sunday. Becky and I were left with Frank so I finally had a chance to get to know Becky's brother.

        "So let me show you around," Frank told his sister. 

          "So this is a 400 ft flip with 80 ft above water. It doesn't seem to be metal. I see Fiberglass and wood." I asked.

        "The wood is just the interior. Part of the hull underwater is ferrocement," he told me.

        "You'll have to let me know how that goes. My place includes ferro cement flips as well," I suggested. 

        "I thought you were doing the breakwater route," he said remembering our talks in the past.

        "I am. But we have a tower every five hundred feet that's essentially a four hundred ft flip. Eight of them in total," I said a little proud of my place.

        "So we both decided on a design that is just like the original 360 ft flip but a little bit bigger," Frank thought it was ironic.

        "With cheaper materials," I added.

       "I should show you my drawings mostly around what I call the Flip Post," offered Frank.

        "I always loved it when you showed your drawings"Becky told Frank.

         And so we found ourselves in Frank's room looking at his artworks that covered the walls.

        "I was expecting a bunch of small canvases but this is one large mural," I commented before too long.

        "I didn't have many materials so I just painted on the walls," Frank answered. 

        "It's the whole world,"marvelled Becky.

        "Not to scale. My seasteads with the national parks are huge," he said modestly.

        "You seem to have excellent technique. Did you study art?" I asked.

        "Yes I spent three years at school in Sydney,"he answered downplaying his achievements.

        "Frank won awards for his artwork," Becky said proud of her brother.

        "What is this in your picture,"I pointed to the highest part, probably space.

        "It's the six water tanks of the crystal sky," he answered.

       "And what are these walkways with little people between tanks?" I wondered.

      "Oh yah I hadn't noticed. Why are the little people walking upside down?" Becky asked.

        "That's how the force is flowing. The tanks are being whirled around by the earth,  flinging tthem out, and the walkway too," Frank answered. 

          How do you know the force is right? It's true most artificial gravity is done with centrifugal force," I asked.

        "That's what got me. I just wasn't sure that a one hundred pound weight would still weigh one hundred when measured on a scale on that walkway," Frank said doubtfully.

          "It's a captivating image. I can't help but imagine an entire civilization that evolved on the walkway around the world. But this would depend on that hundred pound weight weighing in at one hundred pounds not two or three as I guess it would be," I said trying to get real.

         The conversation wound into the night, matters made worse by Frank's production of a small cardboard box containing contraband recreational stimulants, 

        Next morning we had breakfast with Reginald and Kryptonite. 

          Kryptonite was talking in an extremely low morning hangover voice.  

       "You guys should visit the two other flips," he recommended.

        "We're going on a little tour after breakfast," Frank told them.

        "The only reason we've got three flips is that our backer wants to suspend a floor between them somehow," Reginald told us

        "Frank wants to suspend Noah's arc from flip posts" Kryptonite.claimed..

           When flat surfaces are suspended and Airoponics are used most kind of wilderness can be recreated," Frank defended himself.

        "You're a genius my friend but you're bapped. Why don't you head over to the Gallery and show these guys project Ezekiel?" Kryptonite urged.

        "The three flips are called 'home','the gallery'. smd 'the guest house," inserted Regimald.

           ".,.and you're going to get a fourth flip and suspend a flat surface between them..." I guessed.

        "You would be housed in 'the guest house' except that's where the party is Saturday night." Reginald told us.

        "It's only Friday. If you want you can stay there tonight." Frank offered.

         That's how we found ourselves with our own Flip in the middle of the pacific that night. Of course gallery had to be explored first.

          "Watch your step," Frank told us as we entered the flip at its basement doors. 

        It's a bit uh, rustic," I said to Frank as we crossed what appeared to be a driftwood floor.

        "There's a series of events that bring a lot of driftwood from Chile sometimes," Frank told us.

        "How do you know it's Chile?"  Becky wondered.

        "There's brands in Spanish," he answered.

      "I'm sorry to not join your discussion on driftwood but I want to see the gallery," I said climbing a ladder.

         "It's mostly designs for what I call 'the Ezekiel profect'," Frank said following me up the ladder.

        "Ezekiel saw a wheel a Rollin',way in the middle of the air," sang Becky.

        "Exactly," Frank called down from above.

         When I got up there I was disappointed to see mostly an elaboration of 'plan a', All the worlds land was depicted in duplicate. 

        "Australia looks great, but I think Nepal looks ify." Becky said looking it over

        "I don't think there's really agreement on how to do mountainous regions. I mean one can do amazing things with two by fours and plywood but stronger and lighter are necessary," Frank told us.

        Maybe some kind of fiberglass and chicken wire thing," I suggested.

        "Some of these placements are revolutionary. Like this piece in the Bering strait near Russia is amazing. Links the Alutians You might have thought polar bear habitat but millions of Americans would love to drive to Paris," Becky said proudly.

        "Not to mention the European kids who want to check out America,"  I added. 

        "Some of the integrations are contraversial. Like the road between Morocco and Spain would allow Africans to drive to Spain," Frank allowed.

         "I like how you solved the Darien gap own in Panama," I told Frank as I examined his map. 

         It's kind of stupid that the way to drive from Central America south is blocked by a jungle. In my map I propose making it a park, and using a raft to go around it," Frank told us.     

        "So a kid in LA can drive to Bangkok and to Buenas Aries. What good is that if you are working on world hunger and climate change," asked kryptoniye who had found his way over from home and joined the tour. 

        Kryptonite I'm glad you could join us. All I did for global warming is bring the oceans down. Theyree sinking about a quarter inch per year," Frank said modestly.

       "Using those retardedly big water tanks. If you sent down power from outer space using microwaves you could desalinate seawater down here," Kryptoniye claimed.

        "I'll admit the tanks aren't the most elegant solution. Still,those big green patches on the Sahara and Australia are a bit of success, to say nothing of the green altiplano," Frank argued.

        "The real solution to the greenhouse problem is to stop spewing carbon into the air. People have been working on that for 50 years. As of this year internal combustion engines for cars and factories are banned. Things like the ocean levels are just the clean up," I inserted.

            "I think your deluded. The tundra is melting and emitting methane. Already half the carbon added to the sky is from natural systems like trees dieing. Once one forest dies it makes others die," Kryptonite argued.

       "When a forest dies because it's too hot and dry a new forest grows back,with different species," Frank countered.

        "Becky and I are going to check out the second gallery," I said as we took our leave.

        "It's not that we don't like sitting and listening to you guys argue," Becky added.

        Two hours later Kryptonite and Frank came and found us in the second gallery.

 

Geostatica 19

     "Did you finish your arguement?" I asked Kryptonite.

         "It wasn't an arguement. It was a discussion," Kryptonite answered.

        "In a very loud voice,"Becky added.

        "We were talking about the third gallery which you haven't even been to yet," Frank said a bit icily.

        "We went by the entrance, There was a big sign that said 'The Ezekial Project," I told Kryptonite and Frank.

        "What do you think of gallery two?" asked Frank.

         "I think you have to research the relationship between endangered species and national parks. When i think of the province in Canada I came from the marbles muralet and the spotted owl come to mind. One likes old growth forests and the other, dunno, but the truth is our parks may not help. Quite often species are endangered because their habitat is being destroyed  not because they live in a park,"I answered.

          "I met a woman who suggested I make a list of endangered species and save habitat from there," Frank agreed.

         "Lots of national parks are more great places to hike than animal habitats. I think of pacific rim national park in my province. Not too many animals but great beaches to walk on," I added.

        "Still a work in progress. I hope you like the Ezekial project more," he said walking away.

        And so we found ourselves heading to gallery three.

        "Ezekial saw a wheel a' Rollin," hunmed Becky to herself.

       "Way in the middle of the air," I added tunelessly.

        "Glad you could make it," Kryptonite said as we entered and started looking around.

         The gallery was amazing. It struck me as paradigm recalibration  material. The kind of total change of the fundaments of design  that only an artist like Frank would be capable of. 

.        "This is kind of like switching from sculpting in feathers to sculpting in bricks," Becky commented.

        "We're talking brick and mortar in space," I decided.

       "The plan is for one of these wheels to go with each tank," Kryptonite added.

        "But not connected. Floating in space nearby,"clarified Frank.

        "So we're talking six huge wheels in steel structure, like a bridge. But the land is in cement like a high rise," I summarized.

        "Total artificial gravity. Like ring world," I tried.

        "There are cars on the streets and fish in the seas," Kryptonite told us.

        "Just what diameter is one of these wheels?" Becky asked studying a picture,

        "Right now we're using a ballpark figure of one hundred kilometres," Frank answered.

       "I can see how the tanks can supply water for your seas but what are you going to do for fresh water?" I asked.

        "Condensation. The wheel is basically a great big spinning greenhouse. We're even hoping to export some water to be used on earth," Frank answered.

        "We're hoping to replace the  solar panels giving them much more power  to sell," Kryptonite added.

        "So six new sources of fresh water for the world. And ice cubes to be stored at the poles?" I wondered. 

        "We've made a resolution to stop treating the symptoms of global warming. It's not about rising oveans or dieing coral," explained Kryptonite.

        "I guess it's about carbon build up in the atmosphere,"I tried. 

        "There are a few companies with excellent technologies that take carbon out of the air. But the air at the surface isn't the problem. With six tanks we were able to use that technology on air much higher up," Frank told us.

         "So the tanks are providing counterweight that allows you to suspend carbon capturing machines and they're allowing you to to bring materials to build huge wheels in space. How can you suggest that they still haven't proven Their worth?" Becky asked.

        "Sometimes I work from intuiton. I till don't see why we're not doing desalination on earth and sending solar generated power down to it. But with the large bodies of water in the rings and I mean seventy five percent of the space and the suspension of the carbon machines in the stratosphere I'm starting to understand ,"Frank admitted.

       "I guess those machines will need to run on clean energy," I supposed.

        "Couldn't have them spewing carbon into the air. There's a team working on it right   now. We can send solar power from the arrays up in space or we can do high altitude wind power which is an important new direction," Frank told us.

        Tnat evening Becky and I slept in the third Flip called 'the guest house' amongst boxes of supplies stored up for the evening's party. 

        "A whole Flip to ourselves," Becky said glad to have some privacy for a change.

        "Have to make the most out of it," I replied thinking of Judy for some reason.

        "I even found a tiny double bed in one of the rooms upstairs," Becky said wrapping herself in my arms.

    "I suppose we can find a use for that," I said enjoying her touch.

        "It's kind of nice  being the sister of the designer of the world," Becky bragged about her brother Frank.

        "It's kind of odd. You'd think such important work would be done by the president of the United States or at least a comitee  in the UN,"I offered.

         "Mostly he's building Seasteads in international waters or stuff in space where nobody has jurisdiction," Becky said defending her brother.

        "Do you think he cut Geostatica loose? I asked her abruptly.

        "Yes,"Becky answered softly.

         "The reason people follow him is that he's a visionary. An artist with a vision worth following. But he may also be a madman who's dangerous," I decided.

        "Geostatica is coming home. There's talk of housing all the workers needed for the Ezekial project there," Becky said glad that her brother's gamble was coming to a close.

        "I'm getting little messages from Judy. Sounds like her relationship with Ichabald Sprout is in trouble," I told her.

        "That's convenient timing. I guess you need to give that a try...." Becky said not showing jealousy at all. 

         "First we have to have a party, then I consider my life situation," I said putting off thinking too much.

          There were certainly events between then and the start of the party the next night. Becky and I made love like a couple that knew it might be their last time.

 

introduction

      Merry Christmas 2016. This book,my ninth, is perhaps my most commercial to date. I'm looking forward to the movie, although it would be big budget and difficult to make.

       Last year I said it should take two years to write a book but this was done in just a year. This is probably due to my new partner in Hawaii Chris Miller. He's taken on some of the grunt work that slows me down. In fact we have five books polished and more on the way. I'm planning on doing a ten book boxed set for 2018.

         That said it is only September as I write, and I still don't know if Geostatica will end. Both Chris and I are Netflix people and a sequel is already planned. Like Hindu mythology we seem to believe in reincarnation.eveything is episodic.

         Had fun this summer when twenty family members dropped by.lets do it again next year.

Geostatica 20

         The next day was the party. Ryan  flew in with six or eight already drunken yachties from stepping stone two and flew back to Kevin's for more.

        Luckily amongst this first group of newcomers was Kevin himself. He'd spent years as a social lubricant in his career in music and naturally fell into the roll of host. 

          That left Becky and I in the role of party mother and father. An agenda was proposed where we'd tour the flipstead and it looked like we'd have enough skiffs to do the job.

        So we all jumped in to the boats and went over to the home flip to look around.

        We expected to find Kryptonite,Reginald and Frank but when we found the place deserted I called them on my cell phone.  

         "It turns out they are adding a third room to the gallery," I told everyone when I came back in off the porch.

        "So we've got this place to ourselves," said a fellow called Babbler who had been drinking all morning.

        "Frank said we should make ourselves at home. Have a look at the place," I suggested.

        "It shouldn't take very long to see this place. It's really quite small," said a woman named Emma who I still find distasteful.

        "Really, it should just take a half an hour or so. The only place of interest is Frank's room. It shows how an artist and his drawings have given rise to the entire Crystal Sky movement," I offered.

         "Is this table of victuals for the guests?" Babbler asked. 

        "I'm not exactly sure but since Frank is my brother I say yes. Help yourselves and enjoy," Becky answered.

        And so we ran a small tour with myself as guide. It was odd how these seasteaders from behind a breakwater were fascinated by the kitchen and bathroom in this open water Flip.

        "This fellow has an excellent brushstroke," the woman named Emma commented when I showed them Frank's bedroom.

        "I thought I was just taking a trip on my boat but I find myself in the company of geniuses," Babbler said a bit in awe.

        "It's important that we don't hold Becky's brother in too high regard. I'm impressed by his painting but his group 'The Crystal Sky' may be out of control," I suggested.

         "I've heard he may be behind the Geostatica release," Babbler tries.

         "My brother isn't a leader of that group. He holds no political power except as 'chief visionary'," Becky made it known. 

         "A lot of what we're going to see today are more detailed drawings of this room. Apparently there's a new gallery that I'm going to see for the first time," I added.

        "So that's where they are. Hanging "stepping stones from Quito to the intersection'," Becky  ascertained. 

         "Ya that's the new show. The whole route has a train overhead," I told everybody.

       It's kind of a Blurr what happened next. I remember getting in a boat and heading to the galleries. After that a party favour Reginald gave me distorted things. I kind of don't remember the next two days but I've seen pictures. One important fact is the weather changed on Sunday not with a storm but a one meter chop that made it impossible to land a plane except within a breakwater.

   So while the party peaked at twenty guests,  groups of four or six had to fly out starting just after midnight. A full group of eight headed down to my place and were talking about a train ride addition to Ecuador

       But people like Becky were heading to Kevin's. I have some fragments of torrid sex behind a flat in Ezekial's gallery. Promises were made of reunion in the near future.

        Behind those images loomed a picture of Judy. In my very near future. Which might make future plans with Becky impossible. 

        Frank had spoken in an offhand manner when he told me about Geostatica's big acceleration Apparently the city's three month trip was being turned into one month when three lasèr arrays on earth were pointed towards it. 

        So I had to get down to the intersection and make it welcoming in a month. I was excited to see what the work crew had done and see if some rumours were true.l Like the fact that the elevator was working as of this week. So in about a month I would be able to walk out my door, walk 100 meters and catch an elevator up to my house in space. 

        The other rumour was that the three other owners of sites at the intersection were starting to show up. I had the northwest corner but the north east corner was populated by a crew from America dedicated to capturing solar on the pacific. The southwest corner was property of Frank's group, the Crystal Sky  and there were rumours of a hundred square mile city that was planned. The last corner was claimed by Starvation Incorperated a charity trying to create food and shelter for poor people.

        Ryan flew in at around four am just as the wind was making it a slightly difficult take off. There were a half dozen partyers from stepping stone two that came along and they made it an energetic flight even if the sun rose as we landed.

            It was a sunrise on my new life as well and I greeted my new home with enthusiasm. It was a bit surreal to find Will and Melissa on site , and Rodriguez and his crew already at work on their next project. The Main Street at intersection. 

        "Couldn't stay away, could you?" I said to Willl when we met.

        "The boys were getting bored so we put together a second job. Putting together a whole downtown core behind a breakwater," Will explained.

           "So that's where they went after doing such fast beautiful work for me," I said thankfully.

        "It turned out really well.."started will.

         "One of the buildings in the new downtown is the world's biggest Flip," interjected Melissa.

         "It's outside the breakwater. Kind of a high rise in the sea," Will bragged about his architect's design," 

        "Before I go down and see how the new downtown looks I have to take one more walk around my place," I told Will and Melissa. 

         Mostly just the breakwater was done on my huge, like twenty acre, Seastead. But there was a sidewalk on the inside of the wall and six flip  towers to climb up in and get a view. 

       All that was on the inside at this point was my sailboat, four barges that Will seemed to have magically procured, and some sections of commercial marina wharfs with an underwater droids being serviced at one end.

      There was a hallway that linked my raft to downtown. It was about15 meters up in one of    the Flips. I contacted the others and told them to meet me down there. 

        

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

        Mortimer understood reason, laughter, and the logic of everything. He understood when to update windows on his laptop. He understood the infinite wisdom of a crow.

Mortimer understood.

     After that she didn't bring over bread anymore. All wrapped in red and white checker board tea towels

        Mortimer didn't understand her absense or the scar from her operation.

        In the aftermath there's mention of filibustering senators and leaders distracted by fancy. 

        Mortimer mentioned none of that. Just the infinite wisdom of jest. As he stood before the elders recalling the event. The accident that damaged his understanding. Caused her scars.

Geostatica 21

        Will and Melissa met me on the ground floor level of the new Main Street. There was a hundred meter circle with strands all around it leading up to outer space.

        "Are those cables tied to the raft?" I asked Will.

        "Those are just holes. The cables continue to the bottom of the ocean," Will answered.

        "I noticed you were working with underwater drones. Foolishly I thought you were anchoring rafts," I admitted to Will.

        "We spent a few days on tieing down your raft. Then we started drilling in hooks for cables," Will told me.

         "So what's the plan? Add a few more strands every year for fifty years?" I wondered.

        "More like five hundred years. The tank is quite empty right now," Will pointed out.

        "And each year the elevator gets a few more strands and the tank gets a little bit fuller," I guessed. 

        "Exactly. All six tanks around the world are kept at the same level," Will told me.

        "For. now the only fields held up by those tanks will be rice paper aeroponics like eq3," Will suggested.

        "I heard the Australians kind of hogged the Indonesian elevator, and all the Asians are at Eq3," I added.

        "The Australians are just excited about a new source of fresh water. In fact I heard they are even increasing the flow," Will said passing on hearsay.

        "As long as they don't add any seawater to their tank they can desalinate all they want," I surmised.

        After that we walked down the street and looked at the buildings that had been built. 

        "It's mostly Canadian pine. The only wood I could find that's light enough," Will said when he saw me studying the wood.

        "While that old growth Brazilian stuff is beautiful wood it's heavy like rock. You needed something that allowed you to ship prebuilt panels out here on a train," I guessed.

        "Rodrivuez and his crew only has a little time. Mostly they specialize in putting together kits  not stick framing," Will added.

        "I.guess they're used to building Holiday Inns or McDonald's not main streets in the sea," I posited,

         "Rodriguez reads plans well. The face of the Main Street went up in a couple of days Preuilt panels from Canada.

        "I guess you have a crane of some kind," I wondered.

        "I've only put up these kits before with an excavator. Too heavy for this job. So we rented a lightweight arm to lift the panels. It worked fine once the boys got innovative," Will explained.

        Then we came upon a restaurant. It had started as a canteen for Rodriguez and his crew but now it was open to anyone who passed by.

         At one table I saw Finkly from the American solar project sitting with Dunbar who works for Frank, and Jones who's with the Starvation project. I wanted to join them and have a first meeting of the four quadrants but I had a phone call from Judy.

        "We're going super fast now. We should be arriving in a week." Judy told me.

        "The elevator is finally installed. You'll be able to come down and see the new raft," I said back to her.

        There was a lot lingering in that conversation. Like would Judy come down or would I go up. Would we try and live on the Seastead or would we be up in space 

        Maybe that's why I couldn't comcentrate when I met with the other stake holders in the restaurant .

        "The most important thing we need is a reef around this whole complex to turn huge rolling waves into breakers," said Finkly pretty early in the meeting.

        "Sorry I just talked to Judy, now my head is split between a billion dollar property on the sea and one up in space," I admitted.

        "I guess you have to sell one," suggested Jones.

        The conversation rambled after that, with a lot of the focus going to the Starvation Project's contraversial plan to transport hundreds of hungry kids on the railway from Africa.

        I was left all alone for a week then, when Will and Melissa and even Rodriguez and his crew headed home to Ecuador to rest for a while.

      For three days I was fine sitting in my sailboat dreaming of the house I wanted to build, on a barge. then on the fourth day I wanted to move. 

        I found myself on the Main Street and I was pacing back and forth the entire length of it. I measured about three hundred meters and I was imagining how quickly it'd become like jail.

        Then I was on a kind of freight elevator that had been installed to reach the hoola hoop railway about one hundred meters up.  When I got there a lot of things had changed. While the original hoop had been lightweight inter triangulated aluminum bars it was now more like an ALRT with cement sections linked together to create a solid base.

        At the intersection a platform had been installed where passengers could wait. Beside it there was a small shed and when I explored I was surprised to find an elderly Ecuadorian man.

       Ola," I said to him unsure if he spoke Englis.

         "Good day," he answered.

        "I guess you work for the train company?" I wondered.     

        "Si," he answered divulging no details.

        "There are two of us. My partner, Cervantes is up by the water tank in space. I'm Vasquez. We're employed by the Crystal Sky," he added.

        "I guess they didn't want random individuals showing up and causing havoc," I proposed.

        After that I had the insane idea that I had to go to space and meet Judy. I took the freight elevator back down to Main Street and inquired at the restaurant about the elevator to space. There was a car waiting and I was one of the first customers. Everybody that owns a place in Geostatica was going to get three free return trips but that wasn't set up yet, for now I had to pay a large sum of cash. I didn't mind since I hadn't spent a cent in months and I'd given my half billion from the sale of the Hawaii line Seastead  to a money manager and he was earning 10%. It was building up.

        The capsule was scheduled to leave in the morning so I headed back to my sailboat to sleep.

     In the morning it was only a 200 metere walk to the capsule. It eft shortly after I got there  

        "My name is Cervantes, I will be controlling your ascent today," said a voice on the little screen next to me.

        "I heard of you from your partner, Vasquez. I guess your up by the water tank in space. I'm on my way to see uou..." I said into the air.

        " Bienvenidos amigo," he said which even I knew meant welcome.

      Then there was an incredibly boring incredibly slow ascent through atmosphere until the air thinned and things could speed up. 

        Outer space was fairly boring, especially by myself with no one to talk to. Still, I was able to talk to Cervantes even going an improved speed of twelve hundred miles per hour.

        "How did you learn to speak English so excellently?' I askèd him.

        "The ad in the paper was for anyone with a phd," he explained "They didn't care that I'm a Doctor of medicine."

         "Let me guess. You were practicing, and you lost a few gambles. A few people died because of your decisions. So you thought you'd try something else for a while,"I tried.

        "I've always wanted to read Joseph Heller," Cervantes added.

        "Catch 22 is one of my favourite novels," I told him sensing a kindred spirit.

        "Good as Gold," he responded.

        "Something Happened," I countered.

        "God knows," he came up with reminding me of a book I'd been meaning to read.

        "I'll see you in a few hours " I said signing off.

       For the last couple of hours in the elevator ride I napped.

        

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Geostatica 22

         I thought it  was Cervantes I was excited to meet but all I could think about as I approached the seawater tank was how close I was to Judy.

        "Isn't this just a ski cabin kit?" I asked as I entered.

        "That's your buddy Will and his creative contracting," Cervantes told me.

         "I've definitely been in ski cabins on cold days  where opening  a door or windos  caused the air to rush out," I said.

         "This building is pretty tight. I have identified two places where air leaks out a bit," he admitted.

         "I remember when I was a gopher doing construction. Did you use a six millimetre vapour barrier?" I asked.

         "We used twelve millimetre poly. That and a lot of this," he held up a tube of caulking with the words 'space caulk' on it.

        "So how sure are you that this cabin is a valid solution," I asked.

        "There are twenty thousand people on Geostatica that want to get down to earth for a vacation. Is this structure good enough to become a busy terminal? No I don't think so," Cervantes argued.

        "Probably space needs more than a layer of Poly to be inhabited safely. Even if it messes me up with my plans to meet my fiancée," I voted.

          "The city  has a perfectly good terminal attached to it we can use. It even has ten capsules,"he offered.

         "I'm thinking this cabin would do really well in Geostatica itself. There's oxygen to breath, and water to drink. Although it's probably bad tasting water made from ice on Mars," I suggested.

        "Can't taste worse than this stuff made from seawater I've got," Cervantes said sarcastically.

        And then the weekend slipped by as we waited for the city to arrive. Time spent talking about Joseph Heller and sipping some fine brandy I had procured from the restaurant on the raft.. 

         Then, drunken on Saturday evening, sitting in an arm chair, he said : "I don't know how you're going to meet up with your fiancée," 

         "We're in contact on our devices," I said patting my phone in my shirt pocket.

        "It's going to be crazy. They borrowed some capsules and even with that they're thinking they'll be able to move 100 a week." he told me.

      "So 5000 people a year. That'll take four years to move all 20000 people," I calculated.

        "Your fiancé will be in one of  the first groups. There is a priority system and she meets all the criteria." he reassured me.

        "On top of that there's talk of a new kind of people mover capsule that holds 20 people,"he added.

        "For when the tanks are full. When there's enough counterbalance, then really large loads will be possible," I guessed.

        Suddenly I realized that now was the time to use the elevator. While there was no traffic. As I explained to Cervantes it was to get 50% of the problem out of the way quickly while Judy made her way down to earth.        

         "Good by my friend," Cervantes shook my hand as he reached into my capsule.

         "I expect you to move that cabin  into Geostatica. I neglected to tell you that I have a place there too. Me and Judy might stay down on the raft for a month or two but after that we'll be up there," I told him. 

        "Maybe we'll be neighbours," he said hopefully.

        The trip down was uneventful  except in the excellent reception I got on my phone. It allowed me to talk to Judy for three hours.

        "Not only can I talk to you but I can read up on the seasteads that are getting built," she told me.

        "What did you find out?" I asked.

        "The Asians are doing interesting work on eq3. They are doing airoponic rice with rice paper mist boxes," Judy informed me.

        "So that's the next station west of here. Their farming is just prototypes. The real farming gets possible when the seawater tanks are full,"  I told her.

        "I want to catch the train over there. I want to be there when botony changes everything,"Judy told me.

        "Again."I enthused.

        And later:

        "My clitoris is calling you," Judy said forlornly.

        "I'm going to be on my sailboat thinking of you," I replied.

        "At least we'll be on the same planet,"she offered.

        And then:

        "You have to know about Vasquez." I opened.

        "They're saying I'm scheduled to go on day 17," she told me.

      "Maybe ill go up and see Vasquez  during those 17 days,"

        "He lives by the train station?" she guessed.

        "In a little cabin that is the train station," I answered.

        

Geostatica 23

        When I got out of the capsule a few things had changed on Main Street. There was a second enterprise to accompany the restaurant, a general store where Ecuadorian food could be bought. I went home to my sailboat with fresh fruit and vegetables to bring  my kitchen alive.

        On top of that there was a house being built on one of my barges. I detected Will making moves back at the hotel. 

        There was a crew there but not Rodriguez. This fellow was unfriendly so I left him to do his work.

        It was quite miraculous watching a building get finished to lockup in three days. Even though there was lots of Spanish chatter from the workers, it was only in the evenings that I would hear Kechwa as people slipped into Native tongues to make important points. 

        So I stayed three days to watch my house get built, then I went to see Vasquez.

      "Esta caliente hoy," he said wiping his brow.

        "Ecuador," I replied.

        "Si,"and then after a pause:

        "The first elevator arrives tomorrow."

        "Only 17 days til my fiancé gets here," I added.

        "A romance across space," he called it. 

        "You just have to be here," he told me.

         "I may take one small trip," I said carefully.

        "On the train? You might find it difficult to set up a return trip," he warned.

        "It's just judy has been reading about eq3, I had to admit I've never taken the train past here," I admitted.

        The Asians are doing stepping stones from eq3 to here,"he told me.

        "Maybe that's my trip. To visit one of the stepping stones and come back," I proposed.

        "It's only a three hour trip to gthe nearest stepping stone. To go all the way to eq3 is a 24 hr trip on the train. 8 stepping stones 3 hours apar," Vasquez told me. 

        "I might do that, sleep on the train and wake up to a different stepping stone every 3 hrs," I tried. 

        "It only travels east every other week," he warned.

         And that's how I found myself  on a train coming into Equatorial stepping stone eight. There were little screens with writing in Chinese and all the stepping stones were marked.

          This place was called 2.1 in another nomenclature. I decided that made sense if the intersection was eq2 and eq3 was ahead. Whatever, they were another neighbour about as distant as Frank if in a 90 degree different direction. 

        They had used lots of brightly coloured fiberlass in their construction. So walking around was a bit like walking around an amusement park. At the very least it was Disney-like in its feel.

        It was a traditional marina type architecture inside  a sea wall from Californi

         "Judy I'm heading away from you,"  I said over my device.

        "You mean literally?"she asked.

         "Ya just physically. I'm still very on board with you emotionally," I confirmed

         "But you got bored and hopped a train heading for Africa," Judy guessed,".  

         "I stopped at the Seastead stepping stone.Then I realized I could make it all the way out to eq3 and still get back to see you in two weeks," I told her proudly.

        "You should keep going. Go Round the world if you need to," Judy urged.

        "I kind of hoped we'd go around the world together,"I proposed.

        "That would be nice too," she said softly.

           "As of right now I'm heading back to see you. If other things come up I'll contact you,"  I told her.

        "It sounds to me like you built a big house that needs an interior. That'll give me something to do while I wait," Judy said cutting me slack.

        "I like the idea of you filling the place with Judy ness. Maybe I will extend my trip a little," I suggested. 

        "I think I'll have to contact Will and Melissa to get some help," Judy proposed.

         "Will is an outstanding contractor. I've never seen his interiors but his exteriors are excellent," I said to Judy.

        "And you've got it covered financially?" Judy wondered.

        "I've got to pay when that interior gets done if it's me or you who does it." I maintained

        "You think we will live on the Seastead or up in Geostatica?" asked Judy.

        "I'm in favour of selling the Seastead and keeping the house. Then I can give Grandpa a bit of money for the place up in Geostatica,"I Answered.

        "So we'd just have a lot in a subdivision in the Seastead. That could work," Judy enthused.

     The train is coming in to the final stepping stone. I'm going to get off and stretch my legs," I interrupted..

       "I read about that railway. 100 meters up in the sky. It has little pull-outs for people who walk on it. So every 100 meters there's a little station on the side with a com panel you can check to see where the train is. Rather than discourage pedestrians it tries to make it a safe place to walk," Judy told me.

        "I might just give it a test right now," I tried.

        "I'm excited to try it myself. You may find me wandering over the sea," Judy agreed.

        After that I didn't talk to Judy for a while. It wasn't until her elevatlor ride down to earth that she contacted me.

        

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Geostatica 24

        Out on eq3 I spent a few days looking around. It was a pan-Asian market that went on for hundreds of acres. Ancient junks with barbecues on their sterns were lashed onto fiberglass yachts with brightly coloured clothing for sale. Thai dishes with lemon grass and galanga root competed with peanut Satays from Indonesia and chow su from Yunan. 

        I came upon a section with hardware stands lashed together and watched when the cutthroat competition transformed into cooperation when I asked to buy an American style Alan key set for use on my sailboat. Runners were sent to distant vendors who specialized in arcane artifacts and they returned with several options from which I could choose.

         I met a guy from Conneticut  siurping noodles in a smokey Tibetan momu stall. 

         "So this is the predecessor to ravioli?" I poked at the momus.

        "The Asians had noodles hundreds of  years before chef boyardee,"  he said.

        "I'm sensing yak butter," I added.

        "It's only ghee," he said.

        "And that's a kind of butter made from yak milk," I insisted.

        "Much lighter than butter," he told me.

         After that I went back up to the railway at one hundred meters to look at the farming. Not that there wasn't excellent farming down at sea level but it was the rice paper aeroponics that was famous.

        "It was a much larger train station than a shed with Vasquez in it. There were even vendors selling dried mixtures of pretzels, snowpeas, and chickpeas.

        I was kind of surprised to meet the guy from Conneticut there.

        "I was hoping to find you. I'm doing my thesis on the railway. I'm heading to your place next," the guy called Ray revealed.

        "I'm heading back there tomorrow. We should ride together," I told him.

        "It'll be good to have a companion on that ..24 hour trip," Ray agreed.

        "It's only 3 hours between stepping stones," I maintained.

        "After that I'm finishing my trip around the world. Back to Ecuador where I started," he told me.

        "So you've been around the world on the eq train. What are eq 5 and 6 like?" I wondered.

      "6 is in the Atlantic off the coast of Liberia. It has a west African feel. 5 is on the border of Kenya and Somalia. One of the  few points out of six on dry land," Ray answered.

    "But disputed land too,"I added.

     "The station is clearly in Kenya. It's just that Somali shifta bandits have been coming down for decades,"Ray told me.

     "I want to travel east from Evuador too," I said wishfully.

        "But getting back to the here and now, what are uou going to do on your final day on Eq3?" Ray asked.

        "I need to look at the aeroponics rice farming," I answered.

        And we would take a tour with Mr.Chang who Ray found in the train station. 

         "The first thing you have to understand if you're looking at eq3  agriculture is that it's all about the space elevator cable. We've become known for our aeroponic gardens hanging from the railway but when the water tank is full the elevator cable is everythong," he started.

        "So what we'll be looking at today is kind of a prototype of future gardens to come " Ray guessed.

         "We'll start the tour in just a minute,  the gardens we'll see are perfect for hanging from the cable," Mr Chang told us.

        Finally we were looking at the amazing system. We had to walk a hundred meters down the railway to a scaffold they'd built with a staircase going down.

        "I'm not afraid of this scaffold. After all building structures in the sky is what they're expert in," Ray said a bit nervously.

        As it turned out the scaffold was both safe and frightening. On the first two levels we had an excellent view of the gardens hanging from the railway. Then, for those who dared, there was a third and fourth level more improvised in nature.

        That's where I met Mr. Yin. Standing in a corner eating dried peas.

        "You two are leaving tomorrow," he said in perfect unaccented English.

        "How did you know?" I asked.

        "My nephew works at the train station. He showed me the passenger list for tomorrow," he confided.

         "This structure is a dangerous place to stand," Ray said changing the topic.       

        "Danger and I are old friends," Mr.Yin said with a slight British accent.

        "I think Mr Yin is a spy. He reminds me of a James Bond character," Ray divulged as we walked down the railway back to the train station.

        "He works for the association of south East Asian  nations I saw a crest on his jacket," I told Ray.

God damn, Marlowe, you’re still alive!

Indeed, you are still here.  Everyone else is dead.  You must realize that by now.

That girl, it was special to see her dance.  I was there too, remember.

But not to have.

You must move on.  We all should move on.

The artisan understands her soft footsteps.  Cocaine is like that.  But you succeeded.  And I went away.

An artisan would understand the sound of cracking rock, the sound of resurrection in a real world.

But our publishers are all bought, and so am I then.

If I’ve taken a number of lives, I don’t know it’s fiction. 

We fight the art bots, and we were up by so much!  The AIs rocket, but it’s not quite art.

Marlowe, are you listening?  Damn all computer writes and paradigms.

Hold the pen like a person for the two minutes, and let her go.

It’s over.  Or at least it was.

Helen is beautiful.  And I am lustful.  You can understand.  Seriously lustful.

Fucking ‘bots are getting too good.  Dance and turn, look and don’t smile.

Hello, Marlowe.   

Geostatica 25

         On the train back to eq2 I reached Judy while she was wizzing through space on the elevator.

        "So you took the train all the way to eq3?" she wondered.

        "I should get back to the raft before you," I postulated.

        "Ya we're only on the first hour of the twenty fast hours in space then there's the eternity in atmosphere," Judy told me.

        "Still it's great to have the city hooked up to an elevator again. I wanna head up to our house and see how it is," I let Judy know.

         "There's something I wanted to tell you about that. All of the four artificial gravity houses have been made into dormitories. Everybody sleeps in artificial gravity every fourth night," Judy informed me.

        "So what's the deal? Do we get our houses back now that the trip to Mars is over?" I asked.

         "There's large debate over that. Everybody wants to give the four houses back but how to make the money to build four new houses is a problem. One faction wants to build real estate developments to pay for them but another wants to transport a huge tank of oil to Mars,"  judy told me.

       "I must be my grandfather's offspring but I'm I'm in favour of the real estate option." I admitted.

        "Me too. It's not like I want to go back to Mars," Judy voted. 

        "The idea of shipping oil to Mars is paradigm forging. I mean you want it to warm up, so a few greenhouse gases are welcome, so welcome that governments  might even be willing to pay for pollution," I admitted.

        "Most of the gases needed to build an atmosphere are available locally. While I was there the Triton project started, they'll be importing gases for years," Judy said bringing up her stay on Mars for one of the first times.

         Nothing much else of note was said, I wouldn't talk to Judy again until I was at eq2 and she was a few hours away. 

        In the meantime we had Mr. Yin to talk to. Ray had found him in the next boxcar and invited him to come and sit with us.

        "I'm headed to eq2 also. It occurred to me that in my line of work I had a learn as a basic tool," he said.

      "What exactly do you do, Mr. Yin?"  Ray asked.

        "I'm in information gathering for the ASEAN,"he answered without pretending.

        "So what are you working on?" I asked.

        "I'm writing a report on Frank Sanders and his group 'The Crystal Sky" he answered.

      "I know Frank quite well. I've even been to visit him where hie lives at the black anchorage," I submitted.

        "Perhaps you can help me arrange a meeting," Mr. Yin wondered.

        "There's a guy called Kryptonite who books most of Frank's appointments. He'd be the guy to talk to," I tried.

         "Superman was affected by Kryptonite.i hope I have better luck," Mr. Yin said worried.

        "You'll be ok. You don't seem much like superman," Ray told Mr. Yin.

        "These guys are intuitive geniuses. It's almost insulting to ask them to think self consciously. I never asked Kryptonite about his name," I offered.

        "Perhaps like you never asked Frank if he was behind cutting Geostatica free," Mr. Yin proposed.

         "Perhaps,"I said. Then I added: "Geostatica is back now."

        "So let bygones be bygones.  Calamity comes to those who ignore history," he advised.

        "I'm not ignoring what Frank did. I still haven't proven that he did it," I stated.

        "Perhaps that's my job," Mr. Yin responded.

        "I'm just stopping for a month or two on my way to Ecuador. That's my last station. That will complete my trip around the world " Ray felt like he should say something.

        "You'd be an excellent detective in the 'who freed the city' quest. What can we do to help you?"   I wondered.

         "I guess I've made interviewing Frank my job," admitted Mr. Yin.

         "You should go to his web page first. Background yourself on his art and his group's achievements," I recommended.

         "I've done my homework a bit. I've been reading up on his Ezekial proposal," Mr. Yin offered.

         "The really important work is his earth 2.0 stuff. Where he proposes to duplicate all the states of the world over the ocean. Solved over population  endangered species and a whole bunch of things in one fell swoop," I said as I stepped off the elevator to join him. 

.

 

 

 

Dance, dance it like a secret, like a syntax lost on a wrestler.  Secrets, and may I shake your hand?  Dance like the secrets at your feet, the melody of lost alphabets.  Because counting zeros will never get you to, the one half decent comment on her leg span.  Such a fascination with winning. 

She shaved her legs in the bath with a simple razor, never quite realizing yet the truth of superiority.  Because, magic man, you are dead of locusts. 

Secrets, like the itch in the barrel of cement, sometime round Nixon.  Dance like the funky pellets in a half-eaten sandwich.  The Maestro died.  We care just about the movements.

Erase this, like a mistake of ten thousand secrets behind a quarterback.  Smile, and know for certain, that the world would be a different place if, and only if, Joseph Kahn had filmed, “Neuromancer”.

Shake my hand like I’m a ghost.  My signature is yours.  Parley.

Geostatica 26

        Ray fell asleep and Mr. Yin went back to his seat at the other end of our carriage . I fell asleep too and when I awoke we were just coming in to eq2.

        "Finally the sixth station on the diamond. I left from Ecuador. Took the train east to two stations around Africa, got to Indonesia next. I met you at eq3,and now I've made it to eq2, Ray enthused.

         "If your really going to talk about the trains, you should go around the poles too," I said egging him on.

         "I've thought that too. I guess this is the place to do it," he tried.

        "Mostly that line is used for cargo. I just heard a while back that they're doing one passenger train a week now," I told him.

         "I read an article on that. I guess the line goes indoors for a while near each end," Ray submitted.

       "The passenger line only runs four months a year. When it's not worth yet at either of the poles," I told him.

        Then it was time time to get off the train. We found ourselves in the platform outside of Vasquez's place.

       "This wins the second place award for most rudimentary station on the eq line," said Ray nodding at Vasquez's shed.

        "Who's the winner?" I asked to satisfy my curiosity.

          "The station in Kenya is just roughed out with poles from a mangrove swamp. Very rustic and crude." Ray answered. 

         "Sounds like it has lots of character. Do they have a new one planned?" I asked.

          "They cut bricks out of coral. It's a local tradition. They plan on making a new station on the ground," Ray answered.

        "But killing coral is discouraged now that 97% of it has died becuse of climate change," I guessed.

          Then we found ourselves on the cargo elevator down to main  street.

         "How long before Judy arives?" Ray asked me.

         "Eight hours until she gets down here," I answered.

          "So we'll have a few hours to look around before she gets here," Mr. Yin said as he stepped out of the elevator.

        "We'll have to be quick. First we can look at Main Street, then we can head over to my unfinished house, where I can give you each an unfinished bedroom to sleep in," I said stepping off the elevator myself.

         "So this is Main Street at the cross roads at the center of the world," said Ray stepping out of the elevator.                                     

        "Only if you realize there's another crossroads on the other side of the earth," I said to Ray as I picked up my luggage and started walking to the restaurant.

        "So this is where the space elevator is tied down?" asked Mr. Yin as we walked by the big circle.

        "Really the nano-strands are tied to the bottom of the ocean. They're just passing through up here," I answered.

        "I hèard all these anchorages were done with an underwater drone," Ray said 

        "It's one of the only jobs we farmed out to an external company. Those guys mostly work for oil companies so they were glad when we hired them. They left a drone on the dock over at my place," I told Ray.

        Then we were outside the restaurant talking before we got into our table. 

        "There are refugees everywhere," I noted.

         "When I was in Africa everybody was talking about going to eq2," Ray added.

        "The neighbour to the east is focussed on providing habitat to the underprivileged," I added

        "...and the neighbour to the south east is into solar on the ocean. The fourth neighbour is Frank's group, The Crystal Sky," Ray added.

        "Perhaps I don't need to make a dangerous journey to interview Frank but simply  wait here," Mr. Yin said hopefully.

        "I've never seen Frank around here. He's not much of a hands on leader, more of a visionary who waits in the wings," I suggested.

        "So this is the local eatery. 'The Pacific Crossroads'. Let's give ita try," urged Ray.

        "I just want to stop in at the place next door. It's a general store and it looks like they've done some expansion," I told everyone.

        A few moments later we had crossed the street to the general store and I was talking to the woman behind the counter.

        "It looks like you're getting into hardware," I started.

         "A guy called Will in Ecuador  donated all the hardware," she responded.

        "He's my friend. Some of the things he sent might be for my new house. Uh, I'm the guy in the bottom right corner," I told comher.

        "I heard the north west corner was up for sale," she said conversationally.

        "So what did that woman you blew off mean about you selling your place?" asked Ray when you were at the restaurant later.

        "I have it on the market but the price is too high. Haven't had any offers yet," I responded.

        "So you plan on keeping your house and selling evergthing around it," Mr. Yin wondered.        

 

        

      

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     

Geostatica 27

        At my place we realized that we only had a few hours before Judy arrived. 

        Luckily the store was very efficient at filling orders and also at hiring guys from the refugee camp to bring over the stuff.

        As to Will, he was up to his old tricks as a contractor extraordinaire. The idea of putting insulation in a hot climate home was strange to me, but that was his intention. So six Africans entered the house with bags of toxul over their heads, and returned for a second trip.

       They also brought fixtures for a couple of barhrooims. toilets, sinks, and showers.

     It was excellent news to find out that amongst the porters who had delivered materials for our project was a Kenyan plumber and electrician.

        "We might actually do this." I said to Will over my device.

        "There's two jobs. What you can get done before Judy arrives and what you might  get done in the following couple of months," Wlll advised me.

        "These two tradesmen that arrived are going to be a lot of help in the next four hours," I said optimistically.

        "So you've got a plumber. You can probably get a bathroom and a kitchen sink done," Will ventured.

        "That's what you sent parts for," I noticed.

        "And an electrician. If you give the ok I  can send a plane out with a solar system right now," Wlll offered.

        "All we really need is a bedside lamp, and maybe a small light in the bathroom. I was talking about buying power from the solar farm," I told him.

        "Which will require a few poles. Which will take a few weeks. I think you should do both. A simple system at first, and something more elaborate later," Will suggested.

        "Then we can use the simple system for emergencies," I brainstormed not knowing how necessary such a contingency would be.

        So the hours before judy arrived went by. Small miracles were performed by the Kenyan electrician and plumber allowing her some comfort in our bedroom and some privacy in the house in general. The toilets worked although they flushed using seawater, and there was a freshwater shower to get clean.

        The electrician provided simple lighting in the bedroom and bathroom. Luckily the batteries that Will got and sent out  on a seaplane were already charged because by the time the solar system was installed it was getting dark.

        As to Judy she had a panic attack and caught a train to eq3. At the time of arrival I headed up to Main Street and met her fellow passengers. They said she had disembarked by Vasquez and was thinking of catching a train.

       Vazquez was apologetic when I found him. He was sitting outside his shed on a bamboo chair someone had brought from Evuador, drinking pisco sours, and listening to an ancient radio.

     "She was willing to travel in any direction. I think she was stalling before she  gets home," he told me.

          "Judy, you had a moment of doubt," I said when I reached her.

         "Got cold feet," she answered.

         "That sounds like something that would happen before a wedding. I propose that we put off the wedding and go into a period of courtship," I proposed. 

        "Ichabald has to use Viagra but he has a much larger penis than you. I had an orgasm most times we had sex," Judy revealed.

         "And you're panicking about spending the rest of your life anorgasmic?" I guessed.

         "It's  2050, women are taught um, workarounds in school," Judy said a bit embarassed.

         "But..." I prodded.

          "I guess I'm a bit lazy. I like it when the man does all the work,"  Judy replied. 

         "If you come home we can work on it together," I offered.

        "At least you don't need Viagra," Judy tried.

        "Im a young guy. So Judy are you going to come home, or are you going to study iltra light rice farming?" I asked.

         "This is exciting stuff. There's a guy called Dr.Yang doing all the research. He figures that with an ultra light crop growing all the way around the equator he can eliminate hunger," Judy enthused.

         "What happens when people get tired of rice and beans?" I wondered.

        "That's what I'm working on. We think we can do potatoes and tomatoes and even corn. They all depend on an increased counter weight though  because they're heavy crops and will have  to be suspended off the cable," informed Judy.

         It sounds like that could take a while to design," I said a little hurt by Judy's priorities.

        "I'll be comimg home to meet you in a few days. I've been working with these guys for about six months on my devive. I just had to meet them in person, sign a few papers," Judy answered.

        

        

        

 

        

 

 

 

      

 

Anyone else notice that just when that second William Gibson board happened, the world started sucking more?  I mean a significant portion of Democrats in every state except California just happened to go Trump?  BS.  Anyway, the point is writing threads are great, when they can be short or long, and just kind of happen.  Process stuff.  I mean twitter might be great for normal people going off on things, but if you write, the writing thread itself can be a charm against any of this IRL.  Let it scroll.   

So, who knows about a new book, whoever publishes it, and what internet support it will have where. 

And I’ll write something now, right after I mention that I will indeed, IRL, be in Florida at Disney the middle weeks in April coming, if nothing messes up.  Four days parks, one convention, and, help us, the space program.  Anyone around, beers or such, on me.  My brother is helping with a small podcast, and I am playing pinball, will probably be intoxicated, in a corner somewhere.  I will be representing with a ‘Los Ingobernables de Japon’ cap. 

* * * * *

TYRANT would remember the SWIMMING POOL always; GREEN GROSSNESS WET with CHEAP, PLASTIC CHAIRS trailing DEEP WANTS of REACHING SIDE, a STOLTEN TABLE in a POPULATION of MIXED DRINKS, the HIGH RATE of empty bottles that sprouted at the GRASS ON EITHER SIDE, the INSECT-SIZED WARPS of GARBAGE JUNK and CAMP FIRE THROWN LIGHTERS, and the SMELL of TYRANT’S PERFUME.

FUTURE the TRAILER COMFY NEXT was BED, through PAST RANDY RHOAD’S GUITAR on A WALL showed a COFFEE MAKER, UNUSED, and TYRANT WOKE, ENGULFED by a sudden stir of GOLD, a scurrying, the steady LOOPING OF MUSIC.

MELBORNE raised her BUICK.  A LOUD ENGINE of VERY QUESTIONABLE ORIGIN AWOKE a MORNING FAMILY of BREAKFAST-MAYBE TIME, then QUICKLY DIMINISHED.

EXITED until THEY found HER SCHOOL at the END of the ROAD, TRUE ACADEMIA, an IDEAL LITERARY HERITAGE that TYRANT mistook for JR KINDERGARTEN.  Near its GRADE were the FLOCKS of HALL PASSES, a LOST MODERATOR PRINCIPAL filled with LATE BOOK REPORTS, a MISSING of MIDDLE FINGERS, and an elaborate, multiarmed PROTAGONIST drawn in what appeared to be SIMPLE BASIC ACTION. 

MELBORNE stepped forward, HER POINT POINTY POINT, and TYRANT saw that the MISSING FRIENDS was RECESS into the GLOAT OF massive BOOKS.  “ASHITA?”

A rapid E-MAIL of BOGART JOINT from a HONG KONG SUBURB. 

“YO, ASHITA, DUDE…”  An OBLIVIOUS HEART-DISEASE ON her FOOT…

“MEL.”  A CRAPPY DINER, as if through a broken TIMELINE.  “What’s with the FREAK?  You still got STAMPS in?  Getting’ old, you can’t HEAR in the LOUD so MUSH?”

“For my FREAK.”

Something CRANKED behind the SLOT-MACHINE, its color the STAGNATED CANADIAN of PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND in HOT AUGUST, and TYRANT’S face was washed with a SHUTTER of LATITUDE. 

“Yes,” said the FREAK, “so PLAY TECHNO?”

“TECHNICAL’S daughter.”

“No SHEEPHERDERS.”

MELBORNE lowered the light.    

Geostatica 28

     So I found myself on another frantic quest for the next two days, this time trying to update our bed from a foamy to a proper matress. The kitchen also would get roughed out.

        Will was up to his paranormal activities once again, to the point where a trip to the hardwear store revealed a new inventory supplied by him containing everything I needed. Ok he just guessed very well, no magic.     

          "There's even drywall and an air conditioner for the sitting area," Mr. Yin enthused.

        "This isn't just a mattress, it's a complete bed frame," I agreed. 

        "And these kitchen counters won't be hard to install," Ray put in.

        As the hours passed we came to realize a couple of unfortunate truths. The house was on the equator and brutally hot, except for the three insulated bedrooms. These were now cooled by three amazing devices, small enough to fit in the palm of your hand that Will sent out.

        "Some kind of heat pump, I think," I told Judy when she arrived.

        "Some kind of magic," she voted enjoying the wonderful cool in our room.

        At the end of the two days there was a nice bed in our room  and a new set of counters in the kitchen but only a hot plate to cook on and for a fridge there was only cool seawater.  

       The main thing we didn't get done was the drywall in the main sitting room. There was insulation  in the walls under plastic sheets and some rustic furniture that Mr. Yin fashioned from pallets he retrieved from the hardware store. On top of that there was a large functioning air conditioner and a functioning flat screen tv with an ancient DVD player.

        So when Judy arrived the next day she found many of the comforts of home if in a rudimentary fashion. 

        I found her at Vasquez's train station sitting on the porch outside drinking tea. 

        "A very nice shed," she told me when I arrived.

        "The best of sheds," I agreed.

       "There are plans for a larger station but first we have to get the passenger count up to a few hundred a day." Vasquez told us.

       "I hear they are putting in a boat from the Queen Charlottes off B.C. out to the polar line. That'll bring a lot of traffic,"I said staring at the intersection between the equatorial line and the polar.

        "That thing is only taking passengers once a month right now," Vasquez said staring at the intersection too.

        "My buddy Ray wants to take that train. When's the next one?" I asked Vasquez.

        "There's a train heading North a weèk from Monday,so ten days from now," Vasquez answered.

        After that Judy and I headed down to the house on the freight elevator. It was after dark and we paused a moment in the moonlight to feel the warm night  air and enjoy being on earth. We didn't kiss but held hands as we stared out on the calm water inside the breakwater.

        "The weather report says we're in for a storm tomorrow night," I admitted sadly.

        "I just need one night to rest before the trials begin," Judy said forlornly.

        Back at the house Mr. Yin and Ray had a fresh pot of tea waiting. They had transformed the sitting area with cushions they created from our old sleeping foam. So we sat up til midnight talking and listening to music from the tv.

         "Now we have ten days before Ray leaves to go north. I talked to Cervantes up at the station shed and the next train is a week Monday," I told everyone.

Geostatica 29

         "This room has an excellent climate," said Judy slipping naked into bed.

        "That's because its insulated. Will's a Canadian," I answeted.

        "Are you going to join me?" Judy asked not completely covered by the bedsheets.

        "The other thing the insulation does is sound proofing," I said walking in to our bathroom and turning on the light.

        "It's nice that the moaning and screaming doesn't echo through the big empty house," Judy said thankfully.

        "I haven't even had a chance to make you scream," I said getting into the bed naked beside her.

        "It's only been years and years and about a zillion miles,"Judy said giving me an erotic hug.

        "I'm thinking it's the end of a chapter. You know, boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy regains girl," I said hugging her back.

        "Like gains burgers," Judy said sarcastically. 

       "That's the structure of a lot of plays and movies,"I insisted.

        "We aren't actors and this isn't a play," judy responded."Although I was a bit robotic when I stopped taking birth control a couple of months ago."

        "I left my condoms in the bathroom." I admitted.

        "So we're ok with bringing children into the world but we don't know if we love each other,"Judy summarized.

        "We're commuted to the relatiomship. We just have to work on the details," I formulated.

        And that night our attention to detail was excellent. Indeed, when morning came and we met Ray and Mr Yin for breakfast, they remarked on the rosy colour in Judy's face.   

       "I don't believe that America has the right to destroy the planet because its good for stock markets," Strident argued.

        "95% of scientists say climate change is real. Still the majority of Americans deny it," added  Calm.

         "The ambassadors from every country were in a lifeboat sailing over the sea. It became fashionable to charge cell phones with solar panels. Then the Americans found they could drill a small hole in the boat, and create a geyser that could be harnessed by a turbine," started Strident.

        "Assholes! the Europeans cried,"  contnued Calm" You're sinking us," it was a story telling game they played a lot. 

       "What are you going to do about it," the American ambassador asked "we have more weapons than all other countries combined. That was Strident's bit.

      "You don't like being called assholes," the Bhutanese ambassador advised. "and the idea of sinking to the bottom of the sea doesn't thrill you either," he added.

        "I propose that we pay the U.S. a fee if they stop drilling a hole in the boat," the Chinese ambassador said.

         "Ya we'll call it the asshole fee," the Canadian ambassador said.

        "Seriously, cash is the best motivator for North Americans," the French ambassodor voted.

        

“It’s a remote control for a television.  I know!  You point it at the aliens, and it changes the channel.”

“See?”

Yamafuji bowed deeply, as if in pain.  The name was an invention he did not bother to google before taking.

“This actually is over achieving.  It ain’t easy.  Primo work, and I’m slightly surprised.  How about this channel?”

He pointed the remote control at an alien, and the channel flipped.

“The year is next year plus a bunch.  *clears throat*  Hell.  Willie Nelson smokes.  That might actually work, if you write it.  Oprah?  Suck it, all you morons out there.  I’ll personally supply free product to anyone who doesn’t have a daughter under the age of 13 smoking the tobacco.  I mean it.  I understand the setup.  There’s more to it than that.  Only works to 15, then everyone meets their devil.  What I’m saying is that I ain’t never supplied the local high school, but your government might, after a take or two.  Suck.  It.  I personally love Chong, man, and the song ‘Earache my Eye’ actually works with the guitar, but who’s kidding whom?  Everyone knows the game is fixed.  Legalizing pot, from what I hear from street talk, will only take money away from black individuals, and redistribute it to whites.  How, who knows?  But believe it.”

Yamafuji attempts to change the channel, but it flicks to the same take, and he remembers an old television with individual screws to fine tune channel reception, something done with a screwdriver, when handy, or a finger nail if appreciated.

“Seriously, I get it.  What I’m saying is I can’t stand nazi scum bags.  And you know who sells to nazi scum bags?  No one who doesn’t want to get busted.  Because dumb ass is catching.  And I hate Nazis.  Seriously.  So Nazis can’t get their shit from anywhere.  Except the government.  Nazis who will promptly vote Trump.  Anyway.  So why give them smoke?  I remember hash, not Drano.  But now the Nazis might get something better.  Think about it.  I’m with the definition of liberty thing, that pass it on to the next generation, so you make your own choices.  Cancer sucks.  You, over there, need help.  You need to mellow out.  You over there, are fine.  You, friend, get none.  You, however, need actual help, not jail.  Help might be worse.  Bio-genetics is everything.  It is that interesting.  But I know that.  Those Nazis don’t, and screw them.”

“Truly, half price for anyone who can talk without saying something insulting.  Normal, from now on.  Anyone else, wait in a government line for two days.”

It’s okay, actually, Yamafuji thought, and clicked the channel elsewhere, shooting an alien.

“The stock market crashed, and everyone has no income, except for the ‘Steam’ mini-golfers, who sell small digital purchase upgrade items.  General Motors is toast, but live mini-golf on Thursday night now has more viewers than the NFL, never mind the USFL reinstatement.  Really.  You ain’t never seen this before.”

“I’m being genuine.  I’ve been there.  Still am there.  Like a girl.  Except the girl is ‘Cocaine’.  Who had none.  A friend, you say?  Not a good friend, but a friend.  So you thought it was no big thing, which it wasn’t.  But she turned into a monster.  And you told her to fuck off.  A different person.  Who sold people out.  And I have to take the blame.  So she got thrown out of an airplane.  I loved her.  The point is, you can never tell how people deal with things.  And people can be wrong.”

Like you are god.  And you don’t ever want to lose being in the middle of it, and nothing else matters, until it is gone, and you are viciously mad.

Then don’t lose it.  Too late for that.  Then throw it to the street, by putting it in its place.  Easy said.

“I’m wrong here.  I need to keep reading.  I will.”

The monster girl, I

Washed her feet, shot her clean dead.

She should never had.

I’m to blame.

 

 

Narrative 1       Spartathenia

 

In the end, across light years and the long walk to the black hills, epic battles with alien wildlife, festering carbuncles bursting from skin, children in dozens, livestock and crops by the container load, after a lifetime together with her, when I sit down to write as an old man, the story is irrevocably about, and for, the woman. Anna.

          Passing on the legends. Handing down the tales.

         

We were born on a two hundred and fifty year fusion powered flight to the new worlds, multigenerational and ongoing, when the ship from the future contacted us. We’d been flying for 100 years since 2030. This ship from Earth in 2120 only took 10 years to catch up with us!

          So it’s 2130 and we hitch a ride to this planet, Spartathenia, that we hadn't even known about when we left. Had an atmosphere even when the robot explorers first got here. They did gardening, and now it’s verdant, we can breathe this air.  2030  seems so long ago.

Worked in the town for a few years and then against the advice of the elders you and I set out on our own. A wagon train to the open territory where putting down stakes and starting a new life was going to be possible for us. I never would have started on this new life if you weren’t beside me, Anna. A man and a woman together and young can do a lot.

           "I want to live for a while without a schedule," she said one morning after we woke up at the new farm.

          "I mean things have been pretty locked up in all the mission critical getting to the new world, spreading out across the planet, building the farm."

She poured cereal from an old-school box like we were making down at the co-op in those days.

          "I might do some drugs," she said "clear out some chakras."

"Stay away from that stuff Danny has," I warned her.

"That's where I got this," she said, "Supposed to be the latest in neurostimulators. Direct from Earth."

          "I want to try too," I said.

          And we spent the afternoon out in the meadow by the pond in a science fiction fantasy. Clearly a few things had been learned in 100 years. The chemistry was exquisite. So clear and pyrotechnical too. There were discreet messages embedded in this code. The dark events that had taken place on Earth in our absence were hinted at. The victories too, though sporadic, incredible celebrations of a whole new humanity. A million ideas and their spinoffs came into my head, the montage summoned, so I grabbed a notebook and started working on design...

"We are going to have to go see Danny tomorrow," I said to her.

          When the humans from 2130 flew into deep space and swept us off to a new planet, they left five of their crew behind. One is a special advisor to our leader, another is a special advisor to our doctors, the engineers also got a special advisor. But the last 2 are flakier positions. Beth Fromm is kind of an advisor to teachers and priests, but she also is spearheading athletics on our planet, climbing the peaks, swimming across the seas. Pretty inspiring lady really. Then there's Danny. Advisor to the alternagencia, psychedelic landlord of cyberspatial realms that we only dreamed of in our day.

"I am a legitimate person back on Earth," he told us when we got to his ranch and had a cup of tea.

          "There is a new respect for mind explorers."

          "From your gadgets it looks like we're talking about virtual worlds that are uh, psychedelic?"

          "There's been a merging of the externally projected and the internally projected," said Danny.

          "Trippy," said Anna.

          People were moving to Danny's end of the planet, or moving away all because of his psychedelic teachings.

          We were home then for a few weeks.

          I was assembling machinery, swearing at the primitive stuff we'd brought from the past.  I mean I'd seen stuff at Danny's that made mine seem stupid.

          I ran into Beth Fromm on a supply run I did to town, and I learned a few things about Danny.

          "You have to understand, when a bird builds a nest or a beaver builds a dam they are animals acting under instinct to do architecture. Danny believes that there is a human instinct with regards to the stars. Not like a general waging a war, but like a bird making a nest or more like a beaver building a dam because we are creatures preparing a habitat that we can best thrive in. There are about 1000 people from Earth in 2130 arriving here in 3 years time, people that at least on some level, agree with Danny. "

          "I hope they bring some farm gear to sell.”

          "I'll put that in the next message. Our mail takes about 10 years to get to Earth so it will be too late to tell the 1000 before they leave, but it will probably be picked up at the half way station by where we met you. Lots of commerce goes on in near space."

          When I said we walked across the planet to the Black Mountains, I was kind of exaggerating. We drove trucks, flew small airships and walked beside the animals a bit. The animals walked the whole way. So on this trip to town I was flying, and I was back home with Anna before I knew it.

          "There's another ship coming from Earth, with 1000 settlers on it," I said to Anna as we were going to sleep.

          "The more the merrier," she said.

          And years had a way of going by.

**

Was that 20 years that passed? Anna you raised our children with excellence and when the time came you fought to not have the last 2. It was our grandparents who signed the agreement that we would have 12 children, before we were even born.

You made your point clearly "I want to paint, 10 kids is enough," and in truth those last few were mostly raised by their elder siblings while you looked at image through the ages...

          It was the cave art that took you, wasn't it Anna? Five years, you studied and replicated the cave art of Earth in your studio, and then you left the farm and set out for the caves of Spartathenia. You did 10 galleries in all, the early works of our planet. Site 1 is primitivist, pigments derived from plants and animal fats splashed on rock, and by site 10 you polished the stone on the wall of the cave using buffers and etched photorealistically with laser in the reflective surface.

          Those who will follow will see that the first ones drew on these cave walls. And your paintings tell a story. About an epic journey across the stars, days spent studying mathematics and physics while  staring out the window at Earth. Watching the far away ball of blue and green light get smaller and smaller each day.

          Our kids are having kids these days, and I like to go over to their places, sit in a big armchair and tell stories of our early days on the starship. I don't think they really believe me, they seem to think that we've been here forever, but they like their grandma's cave paintings. They get it when you tell the story.

And your pictograms tell other stories, robot settlers arriving fully fifty years before the humans, building the ecosystem from lichen to Earth-like. Huge devices like snow making machines blowing genetically modified seed into the wind. Rock mulchers grinding rock to blow topsoil across the planet in a fine dust. Succession occurs, alders turning to evergreens, soil gets built, some animals are introduced, especially herbivores to eat the green stuff and leave fertilizer, but there are wolves to control the rabbits too, and we arrived on a lush and forested paradise...

The trees are young but the planet has lungs. We can breathe the atmosphere because the robots succeeded planting seeds. Everything is genetically modified and way beyond anything those of us from 2030 tech really understand. Beautiful though...

I remember those days. You were working on the robots-terraforming history painting and I was writing about farming. I went over to Danny's and got him to show me farming like the 22nd century does it.

Danny had pot from the future and we lit one up as we drove his sci fi Massey Ferguson tractor out to the fields to have a look.

"Cowabunga," I said.

"Prost," said Danny.

"The first thing you have to understand is how we build a field. So rather than looking at the crops I have in, we should go to an area of untouched planet. Mostly rock a little lichen, a little topsoil,” said Danny.

“We start with an ecosystem that will take 1000 years to gather complexity and we add the complexity now. Old wood organisms, 1000 year forests, animals that live for hundreds of years…"

“Sounds like you’re making Earth before the chainsaw,” I responded.

When we got there Danny had his rock grinder set up. There was a hopper so we just had to turn it on and the rocks would start loading and getting chewed. It shot the powder across the zone with a blower exactly like a snow maker. Pretty soon there was a foot of powder built up.

"Then we wet it down," he said.

This was the first time I really got to see the amazing 22nd century knowledge of hydrodynamics I'd heard about.

He got some water and shot it into the air with something like a mist making machine

But this cloud he built had some amazing properties. Integrity- it wasn't breaking apart. He seemed to be able to control its movements too because it dutifully settled above the field and delivered a light rain.

"This doesn't work very well if there's wind," said Danny.

Then he blew seed across the moistened field with the same snow machine.

"This is not monoculture," he said. "We're planting an ecosystem of a dozen cooperating plants. Every frequency of light is used."

"I know about corn and squash being a good combination," I offered pathetically.

"It's a genetically modified ecosystem that will deliver tomato-like things, potato-like things, Corn-like things, and a variety of other plants like cabbage and squash... "

"I guess no weeds can compete."

"Since we filled the air with the weed seeds here we made them so they can't grow if our vegetables are nearby."

"So no weeding, no pesticide, but did you use fertilizer?"

"Ya I stirred in a bag of powder when we made the soil."

"Must be nutrient rain too..."

"Almost like hydroponics, mostly mineral soil and moisture that delivers plant food."

 

I haven't really introduced myself. Tom Robbins, is the name, son of Mark Twain. We came from a period in history where the fashion was to name oneself after a historical figure. I mostly write for pretty utilitarian journals, I do not live inside a magic realistic fantasy like my namesake. Still I am in outer space. He'd like that I think.

 

          So then we were 80, expecting to live the average lifespan of 120 years. Our kids were about 60 and they all had brilliant careers in fields other than science. Historians, artists, entertainers, farmers, poets. With Anna as their mother they all document an intense subjective vision.

 Our crew was born here, and they weren’t really interested in the nuts and bolts of space travel or all the technical issues that absorbed us when we were young. I mean lots of their generation did high tech stuff. Asteroid mining, exploration, but our brood were home bodies. The grandchildren even more so, were SA people, only a little interested in that far away place called Earth that they’d heard so many stories about.

Then Lotsco invented the faster than light internet, and all of a sudden we were connected again to the rattle and hum of the ball far away. In the 23rd century, space dissolved into hyperspace. I mean, for not much money we could take a portal walk and be back on the home planet in a few seconds…Our grandkids were aliens from this jetset age, hopping back and forth from Earth to its colonies, at will.

 

So now we’re in our end days and I’m going through the shelf of papers I saved from when we were 20 and I had so many ideas, I was overwhelmed. I wrote them down and saved them for when I was an old man and that’s right now. Kid had insight, but I’m afraid nothing amazing…Looks like I’ll just read over these docs and die…

          And then of course Andy, our grandson came into our life. He studies gerontology and we are his test subjects. A whole new story began for you and I Anna when we were a dozen decades old…

These kids are weird. Taught by the new teachers from the 22nd century who arrived a few years after we got here, Andy seems to display god-like powers from the point of view of this mere mortal. Like the way he got you an entire planet to do cave art on. No air out there, but lots of rock to paint on. Navigating the arcane bureaucracy of the mesh he was putting his gerontology to work, giving you something to live for. Andy’s a good one.

 But you got him too didn’t you Anna? A guinea pig with attitude. You were supposed to paint the glorious story of human kind’s journey to the stars, and instead you told the stories of our family. Panels throughout the planet describing the time little Robert got carbuncles and kept us awake for 3 months screaming in the night. Or when little Jennifer was tracked by a pack of mutant wolves, and the three nights her and the boys, coms down, fought them off with rocks and sheer will power. Of children and grandchildren and now great great grandchildren, an exponential surge of life from our 10, now several hundred and spread across the sky.

“It’s universal,” you say, and that seems to be your angle, that detailed local information somehow telescopes to be meaningful to all. They’re meeting new species now. Do our family stories cross species lines?

 And I’m telling the stories too. In a little book I want to leave for the grandchildren’s grandchildren. This little book.

Passing on the legends. Handing down the tales.

Narrative 2:

360360

Introduction(360360)

 

This piece is composed in three-unit groups I've been calling 'triads'. I’m thinking about renumbering it so it's 15 triads, not 45 chapters. It’s odd. Journalism in one thread, interspersed with science fiction set in 2348. And Omar Algebra, Ahmed Alchemy, and Abdullah Alphabet in 800 AD. So we’re jumping around in time by thousands of years and between literary forms too.

 

The first thread follows our 3 Moorish heroes as they travel from Andalusia (a name for Spain in 800). I really have to deal with how 3 black guys travelled through France and Italy without getting arrested in those days. Probably things were open enough that all manner of exotics were seen in the cities. But the countryside…hmm they need disguises.

 

The second thread is on planet Spartathenia in 2348. One of the M-class orbs that are just being discovered real world as I write, orbiting nearby stars. Within our lifetimes ships may leave. Book 1 is a short story that talks about the early days of colonization there.

           It is a future that is shiny and new but ultimately a little sterile and suburban for Rob and Cindy, our heroes. Timeline alteration not only occurs, but occurs a lot, with narratives being engineered by several species with different agendas. Cindy and Ken get into it too. A temporal free for all.

The third thread is as close as I could get to 'the truth'. First person. Bill Meikle.  A real story about my journey across Africa in 1989. It only turns into a lie in the gift shop in Naimey for a moment. Well, maybe a few other places where I needed to splice it onto the other 2 threads, but travel writing, and travel living was my focus for like 20 years from 1983 onward. 80 countries. This is some of that. I mean to do more.

 

 

…so you think of the number line and you think of sine waves travelling out across it, like snakes wiggling at a frequency, and you notice that at some points the waves converge like at 12, all the sine waves at a 1 2 3 and 4 frequency  converge, and you think of 360360 where all the waves at all the frequencies to 15 converge, and you understand what a singularity really means, a convergence of all the frequencies at a single pre calculable value, and this kind of lining up is happening all the time and it never means anything, or does it?

 

I want to talk about the opposite of prime numbers…while prime numbers are notable because they can only be divided by themselves, the numbers I’m talking about can be divided in multiple ways. This is the sequence:

 

Weird symmetry everywhere and the mathematical beauty is clear.

 

1 1          divisible by 1

2 2          divisible by 1 and 2

3 6          divisible by 1, 2, and 3

4 12          divisible by 1, 2, 3, and 4

5 60          divisible by 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5

6 60     divisible by 1, 2, 3, 4,5, and 6

7 420        divisible by 1, 2, 3, 4,5,6, and 7

8 840        divisible by 1, 2, 3, 4,5,6,7, and 8

9 2520      divisible by 1, 2, 3, 4,5,6,7,8 and 9

10 2520    divisible by 1, 2, 3, 4,5,6,7,8,9 and 10

11 27720  divisible by 1, 2, 3, 4,5,6,7,8,9,10 and 11

12 27720  divisible by 1, 2, 3, 4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11 and 12

13 360360 divisible by 1, 2, 3, 4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,and13

14 360360divisible by 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,and14

15 360360/1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14and15

16 720720

17 12252240

18 12252240

19 232792560

20 232792560

21 232792560

22 232792560

23 5354228880

24 5354228880

25 26771144400

26 26771144400

27 80313433200

28 80313433200

29 2329089562800

30 2329089562800

31 72201776446800

32 144403552893600

33 144403552893600

34 144403552893600

35 144403552893600

36 144403552893600

37 5342931457063200

38 5342931457063200

39 5342931457063200

40 5342931457063200

41 219060189739591200

42 219060189739591200

43 9419588158802421600

44 9419588158802421600

45 9419588158802421600

46 9419588158802421600

47 442720643463713815200

48 442720643463713815200

49 3099044504245996706400

50 3099044504245996706400

51 3099044504245996706400

52 3099044504245996706400

53 164249358725037825439200

54 164249358725037825439200

55 164249358725037825439200

56 164249358725037825439200

57 164249358725037825439200

58 164249358725037825439200

59 9690712164777231700912800

60 9690712164777231700912800

61 591133442051411133755680800

62 591133442051411133755680800

63 591133442051411133755680800

64 1182266884102822267511361600

65 1182266884102822267511361600

66 1182266884102822267511361600

67 79211881234889091923261227200

68 79211881234889091923261227200

69 79211881234889091923261227200

70 79211881234889091923261227200

71 5624043567677125526551547131200

72 5624043567677125526551547131200

73 410555180440430163438262940577600

74 410555180440430163438262940577600

75 410555180440430163438262940577600

76 410555180440430163438262940577600

77 410555180440430163438262940577600

78 410555180440430163438262940577600

79 32433859254793982911622772305630400

80 32433859254793982911622772305630400

81 97301577764381948734868316916891200

82 97301577764381948734868316916891200

83 8076030954443701744994070304101969600

84 8076030954443701744994070304101969600

85 8076030954443701744994070304101969600

86 8076030954443701744994070304101969600

87 8076030954443701744994070304101969600

88 8076030954443701744994070304101969600

89 718766754945489455304472257065075294400

90 718766754945489455304472257065075294400

91 718766754945489455304472257065075294400

92 718766754945489455304472257065075294400

93 718766754945489455304472257065075294400

94 718766754945489455304472257065075294400

95 718766754945489455304472257065075294400

96 718766754945489455304472257065075294400

97 69720375229712477164533808935312303556800

98 69720375229712477164533808935312303556800

99 69720375229712477164533808935312303556800

100 69720375229712477164533808935312303556800 divisible by all integers to 100

  1. My Travels

 

1989 and Sue was in third year med school and she got an internship in Ingwavuma a tiny village in South Africa. I had like $500 but I somehow wanted to get there. I had been on the road playing music and I'd left this too late. I needed to go fast, without money, by myself. Caught a cheap flight to London for $300 and started hitching from Calais a month or two after she left. Tried the bank of mom from outside Paris.

"Where are you?"

"Just popped over to Europe for a minute. Heading down through Africa to meet Sue for Christmas near Joburg.”

"Oh that nice doctor girl, I like her. Get a job if you need money."

The sad fact was I had worked in London and Paris before, but there was no time, it was November and Sue was off for Christmas in a month.

So I left Paris with like $200 in my pocket and started hitchhiking across southern France. Then Spain, and then the Sahara Desert. The whole trip was spent in Capitol cities trying to get Visas for the upcoming country. I remember I puked in Rabat, felt the lonely hell of the traveler on his own without a friend to pat them on the back...

Crossed Morocco with a young couple from Harvard. They had a story, I think they were aid worker off to Nigeria to do goat husbandry. All I remember really is sitting on a mountaintop with them sampling the fine local hash and the guy, a biologist, told me about speciation. I was probably carrying one of my unfinished novels in those days, a grim tale of mass extinction and an unheard of phenomena called global warming. He told me about a lake not far from there, where a non-native fish had escaped. In only a few years, the fish had mutated into several new species to do all the jobs in the lake. He talked about new species as family groups that specialized then mutated. It could happen quickly, all the jobs would get done...

Algeria was real desert. I remember a ride with a probably gay Algerian guy with a state of the art CD player, nice dude, who got me half way to Tamarraset. There was a moment where I shared my hitching spot with a couple of travelling Black guys who talk about how wonderful it was that Saddam Hussein was showing the western infidels some justice. This was 1989 before the first Gulf War. I was hoping the Iraq war wouldn't start while I was hanging in Muslim territory.

So then, as the desert got deeper, and the rides fewer I was picked up by some Dutch Rastafarians in a van that said 'one love' on the side. It was a long slow ride, and we ended up camping in the desert. You don't smoke hash in Algeria, might get your hands cut off, but these guys had a secret frame on their truck. It was way out in the middle of nowhere so I joined them. Took my sleeping bag out in the sand, fearful of scorpions, but lied down and looked up at the incredible stars...

  1. Travels 2

 

1989 was supposed to be Buckminister Fuller's 'Design Science Revolution'. This is when he predicted mankind would spontaneously evolve into a better species. All I could see was the U.S.S.R. was dissolving, and Saddam Hussein was about to get his butt kicked.

 I had been working on a book called 'Bucky's Day' about this upcoming event for 3 years since I finished my English degree.

I think when I hit the road that fall I knew history wasn't going to change so much, and my book was a flub. I did have one Xeroxed page from a copy of Bucky's book called 'Synergetics' that I'd stolen from the Sedgwick Library at UBC. He was talking about geodesics and on this page he had a series of values that somehow represented his geometry. In red pen I'd circled the part of the number series that included 360360. Now I carried it with me.

  1. Deep Sahara

 

I turned 27 on that drive across the Sahara, sat with the posse of madmen Euro drivers, with their bandanas around their necks, brown dust on their faces, drank smuggled-in-beer and tried to keep up with the way-too-fast French.

 Guy, who was my ride, was telling a story, and there were lots of gestures and sound effects that I could follow even if the language was too much for me. The bottom line was that when whizzing across the desert we would often fly off a rock sheet, get some air time, and then bottom out loudly on landing. On these occasions I would say “boof” like a sound effect from Batman and he would think I was exclaiming “boef” the French word for Beef. That was funny. Ay. Cheers to the Canadian on his 27th. Bonne fete a toi.

15.N iger Algeria Border

 

I parted company with Guy when we got to the Algeria/Niger border. He was going to take a week off and rest and I had to make time if I was going to spend Christmas with Sue. My birthday is November 13 so I had a little over a month to get to South Africa. I walked across into Niger, one of the poorest countries I’d ever visited. After customs, I found a bus and waited while it loaded. People came to the bus window selling pineapple slices and Indian sweets. There were American surplus t-shirts from carnivals in Kentucky a decade earlier, and Mickey Mouse hats from long ago.

That was when one of the most memorable figures I have ever encountered in my travels came forward. He was a beggar with a horrible disfigurement. His eye was hanging out of its socket. He seemed to lead a fairly normal life otherwise, but I gave him money to go away. Too vivid, as Tom Robbins would say.

To Niamey, ancient Desert city, where I found an excellent and aged book store. Hand copied treaties in Arabic script, World War 1 colour comics, next to copies of the Koran. And then, in a dusty book of mathematics, amidst geometric diagrams and compass needled notations, I found the sequence. 1,2,6,12,60, etc. leading to 360360. I pulled out the Buckminster Fuller pages I was carrying, and compared…this was the same stuff…Eureka!

  1. Naimey 1989

 

After the bookstore I hit the street for a while. Excellent weird hybridization of ancient African folkways and inexpensive Asian high tech devices in the calculator the fish monger uses at the market, and the cell phones the taxi drivers talk on. Aromas exotic and delicious tempt my senses.

After a while I come upon a small antique shop. In the back there is a shelf with the word “Phabet” on a small sign underneath. This has assorted curios on it and it was here that I found the amber rock that I purchased, and it is on the shelf before me as I type 25 years later.

It was also here that I found graffiti or some kind of writing carved into the wooden cupboard.

 

1001x360=360360

2002*180=360360

3003*120=360360

4004*90=360360

5005*72=360360

6006*60=360360

8008*45=360360

9009*40=360360

10010*36=360360

12012*30=360360

15015*24=360360

20020*18=360360

24024*15=360360

30030*12=360360

60060 *6=360360

720720*5=360360

90090*4=360360

120120*3=360360

180180*2=360360

360360*1=360360

 

 

  1. Travels: night run to Lagos

 

I bribed someone at the Nigerian embassy in Niameyto get me a quick visa for Nigeria and I was out of there in a few days. My bribe was a sandwich; even the bureaucrats in Niger were hungry.

The night drive to Lagos was about 8 hours in a funky box shaped taxi (Vauxhall?) I hired at the border. The driver looked to be 12 years old, and the white guy got the passenger seat in the front, because he was probably the only passenger, out of a dozen, paying full fair. The white guy got to choose the tunes too and Fela serenaded as we headed for the coast.

Hours of sleepless dream state, crossing densely populated villages without electricity yet, surreal candlelight, and lantern imagery, a TV over in that stall, powered by that way too loud genset in the market. Firelight.

The kid didn’t brake when a cow jumped in front of him but gently swerved, passing women in Kanga with water jugs on their heads and bicycle taxis with tremendous loads of sugar cane.  Through a mud puddle and avoiding a mud hole, we went on in our silent and elegant dance through the crowded streets.    

Nigeria has people, after a fairly deserted desert journey, teeming masses of sweating, dancing, selling people surrounded our car.

Lagos was far friendlier than I thought it would be. I stayed at the Y. Hung with some Japanese who were kind of losing it after spending 6 months in the jungles of Zaire to the south. For the most part I find the Japanese radically conformist, but the few free spirits like these…Played basketball and got defeated by a local Nigerian kid and his coach.

 

 

24.Addis Ababa

 

 

          Then in a weird moment I met Terry David Mulligan and Tom Cochrane in the lineup for the plane to Ethiopia. They were doing Ethiopian famine relief and were flying into Addis to do press. I told Tom that I’d been on the road with Idle Eyes a few months before and Terry David Mulligan treated me like an interview as we sat on the plane together. I had embarrassing dirty feet and alligator sandals and must have been disheveled from hitching the Sahara.

          I remember talking about African bass lines with Tom Cochrane, the primacy of the one drop, but not much else. I remember speaking some Swahili  for them when we got into Nairobi, a language I learned on an earlier trip.

          To Mama Roach’s my standard crash in Nairobi. 6 or 8 different Landrovers who drove from London were camped in the yard, bush doctor mechanics under way… So many beautiful white traveler girls, the older ones with the drivers of the cars but the younger ones free and experimenting… I was still in rush mode but I remember I fell in love with an American girl from San Francisco in one night.

          She had been in Africa for 3 months and she held me in some esteem for having been to Niger and Nigeria. She had long blond hair, and sharp intelligence, big American force of personality, and was on her way to Bombay… what a beauty, but the days when I would just buy a ticket and follow random beautiful women across the world, were gone. I was fairly sure I was heading to Tanzania, in the morning. Following a non random beautiful woman across the world...

 

 

  1. Tanzania

 

The Tanzanian Border is just a half hour south of Nairobi. I thought it might be faster travelling through Dodoma, in the centre of the country than going down to Dar Es Salaam on the coast. This was a mistake. Just because something looks closer on the map, doesn’t mean you should leave the highway and travel bone crushing dirt roads. Shortcuts are rarely short. Still, the next borders down, Zambia and Malawi, were inland, didn’t that mean that cutting across the interior was faster? No.  The highway went to the coast and I should have gone there too. The dirt tracks that crossed the centre of the country were slow and dusty.  The people were unused to tourists, "mzungus", on their buses.

    6 or 8 hours in a pounding bus, overhearing Swahili, maybe threatening, the angry looking guy carrying a panga is definitely talking about the mzungu, and he doesn’t like him on his bus…

       Delusional from sleeplessness, at the rest stop, doing PR, showing the alpha mama that you understand Swahili, telling jokes, handing out cigarettes.  Ya I told them I was a doctor, perhaps thinking that might grant me some amnesty. Whole thing was probably in my mind. The going rarely gets heavy in Tanzania.

Poor market at Dodoma, catch a matatu to the next town, shared by 3 English business students who I’d travel with for a few days. They were the first white people I’d seen in a week or 2 (?) on the Dodoma crossing and I probably glommed onto them as they were going to Malawi and that seemed fine for me.

          A truck ride, a dust cloud, a paint-like coating of dirt on our skin as we cling to the lowbed and enjoy the scenery. An elephant on the road, the truck driver toots his horn in salute.

 

          These guys were high priest on the travelers scale,

seen it all, took this in stride. Because they’d been to India, their stories were laced with words like Brahmin, that I thought were cool. I had never been but wanted to go. 

 

 

  1. Tanzania hills/Malawi swimming

 

          There is a green moist mountainous region in the south of Tanzania that I came to next. Like Rwanda, farmers till the steep red earth intensively. There is abundant water, livestock and cheerfulness, compared to the drought-stricken lowlands below. Or maybe that’s my Canadian bias creeping in to celebrate the wet, cool regions of the world.

Like the hill stations of India, the mountains of Africa welcome the white man. Certainly I enjoyed that climate. And to find it in Tanzania, home of the Serengeti, thundering herds and clouds of dust was a revelation.

      To Malawi then, another truck ride with my guru business students, with children waving in every village at the white men on parade on the back of a truck.

       The lake in Malawi is the only fresh water in Africa that is swimmable. For some reason the bilharzias snail that is endemic is most water bodies on the continent gave it a miss, and a great outcome that is.

          Colorful tropical fish are all over the place, even in the fresh water. No earth tone trout or camouflaged catfish here, where shocking yellow angel fish can be seen even without a mask. This whole damn trip was too damn rushed. The best I did was take note of some highlights to return at a future date and rush on, to see my girlfriend. I bid the three Englishmen adieu and caught a bus to the Zimbabwe border.

 

  1. Border Crossing to Zimbabwe

 

 

The first time I tried to go to Zimbabwe was 1984. I was disallowed entry. This time I was put in jail. My last name is Meikle.  The name of one of the most powerful white families in Zimbabwe is Meikle. (Not related) The big hotel in Harare is called the Meikle Hotel. I was in the shit.

 

  1. Harare

 

 

Mrs. H was a friend of my Moms who was in Zimbabwe visiting her daughter, a nurse working over there. Mom had given her a check so I could survive the last half of my trip. I had cut open the lining of my backpack and taken out my emergency travelers checks back in Lagos to pay for the flight to Nairobi and they were almost gone. I wouldn't get into the country with the money I had left.

I could see her in a line at the other side of the customs officer. I was at the back of a lineup on the opposite side waiting to do passport control.

In a surreal moment we each walked to the side of our respective lineups making gestures at each other.  She easily handed the check to me over the wall. Clearly, years before 911, security was looser. What a cool lady.

Too bad they didn’t recognize Canadian International Money orders. I was sent to the seating lounge called ‘transit jail’ where I had to wait for someone from the Canadian Embassy to help get me into the country.

 

  1. Bulawayo.

 

It took me 6 hours to cross the second largest city in Zimbabwe.  To get to the outskirts using rapid transit where I might hitchhike or catch a ride in a paying matatu going to the Botswana border.

Hitchhiking in Africa.  Ya sure, might have been possible before Mugabe. When this was still the racist empire of Rhodesia. Now these people just look scared of me, scared of everything. Now it was the fucked up Empire of Mugabe. Wouldn’t cash my check, won’t give me a ride, gotta get to Joberg, gotta make this stretch without money…

The guy from the Embassy was good though. Had me through customs in 15 minutes. Dropped me at the Meikle hotel, red carpets and assholes all around, when he departed I left too… to a cheaper place down the street, to a country I had been trying to visit for so many years…

     The bank next morning was disappointing. The check for $3000 was too large. I would need collateral or a local sponsor to cash it. Phoned Sue and she lined up a sponsor at the hospital. Now I just had to get there on what was left of my emergency funds…

 

 

  1. South Africa Blur

 

 

Now that I’m nearly fifty and a parent I get that my romance with that doctor I was going out with in those days was being encouraged. I mean I didn’t really get that the skies would part sometimes and it would rain money for some of my ventures but other times I would be very poor man for years on end. Drought.

So Botswana went by quickly and they recognized my check at the South Africa Border. I was still pretty penniless until I could get it cashed though. I remember a shopkeeper let me sleep in his shop in the first South African town I stayed in. I remember I rode in the Matatus full of black people crossing the country from Botswana to the Coast, and in Apartheid South Africa that was considered odd for a white person.

On one occasion the van got a flat so everybody piled out on the side of the highway. There was no jack, so as a group we lifted the vehicle by hand. There was a weird moment where, the spare tire installed; I yelled that everyone should keep lifting until the bolts were on.

Some people listened to me because I was the white guy, but others let go and rolled their eyes at me. The tire would sit on the bolts just fine without the nuts holding it on, I was just wrong. In fact I had zero experience at the South African art of hand lifting vehicles so should shut up.

Thank you very much. Oops.

That was a long trip across South Africa. I remember sitting on a roadside with 3 enormous mamas comparing numbers in Zulu and Swahili. Pretty darn similar, they were both bantu dialects.  I had my first encounter with an ANC revolutionary as I got into the Drakensbergs. Apartheid was still in power. Nelson Mandela was still in Jail. I was hitching to see my girlfriend, a white doctor working in a black village, so I was suspect.

 

 

  1. Love.

 

I mean it was pretty damn romantic, crossing a continent to see you Sue. Through clouds of dust and tsetse flies, a desert of stone, and highland jungle, in Matatus and lowbed Leylands, buses and a Vauxhall taxi, I came to you with bright eyes, biting at life. Got a car in Joburg, a hotel room for Christmas, alone under the sheets in five star luxury, our backpacks in the corner, our boots drying on the balcony. We exchanged presents under our pineapple Christmas tree, and you kept the African wrapping paper. Still give me something wrapped in that paper every year 22 years later...

We went to Kruger, been there with the kids now, but that was my first time driving in the game parks. Came head to head with my first elephant.

In the Drakensburgs we climbed up a creek bed and made love in a waterfall. I still have pictures of you playing naked in that place.

And you talked to me about my writing and I talked to you about your medicine and we were interested in each other.

"I have an idea for a story about this amulet," I said.

"Cheap tourist dreck you picked up in North Africa somewhere," you said.

"Not in my story, it’s one of the glyphs handed through time by the Solons to the ancient wooden city of Phabet. It's going to take me 20 years to let the story simmer."

"I think you should just write down ideas now, write the story when you're an old man."

And today I’m fifty and my windowsill has a rock I found near Banff with seashell fossils in it, a mask from Borneo  where I had a job shooting video...Both of those are stories I need to tell.

...and an amulet from the ancient wooden city of Phabet

in the Sahara desert. Saved from the all-destructive fires by a time machine in a classroom in the future taught by Ken Stallman, a friend of Rob and Cindy’s, it is a symbol in a glyphic sequence passed to mankind by the Solons long ago and made into our alphabet and number sequence.

Oh and also on that window sill: some jelly beans and a box of thumbtacks. Pretty sure they’re from this time and narrative.

 

 

Dialogue

 

Friend: What’s with all the first person?

Me: You mean the travel writing in 360360?

Friend: And the dialogues…

Me: It’s Meta fiction. Stories about stories. I’m a character in Narratia.

Friend: Journalism is refreshing.

Me: As close to the truth as possible.

Friend: Go.

Me: My name is Bill Meikle. I am a multiple sclerosis patient.

I am smoking myself to death ingesting fifteen or sixteen legal full joints of marijuana a day and writing shitty novels as fast as I can before I die. I can barely walk. I’m afraid I won’t be able to type someday…My right hand is numb already. I’m afraid. My father was a wealthy industrialist.  I’m a multi-millionaire thanks to an inheritance from him. I feel guilty for his death because he had a heart attack after learning that I was at home smoking pot rather than at the hospital with my 2 year old daughter who had been bitten by a dog. I feel guilty about that, and a lot of other things in my life, probably the reason I came down with multiple sclerosis. Fuck off.

Friend: Feel good?

Me: I don’t think it’s great art.

Friend: Fuck’em if they can’t take a joke.

Me: Narratia is about my line isn’t it? Will I smoke myself to death never writing a commercially acceptable piece of work or will I quit smoking, polish prose, and realize my happy ending?

Friend: Keep smoking.

Me: At least ‘til this book is done.

Friend: Ya.

First person

 

I don’t have to hide behind dialogs or journalism from my youth. The first person is exposed now, I have the talking conch, these words are from the center.

 And if you had a stump to stand on and speak to the world what would you say? Time rushing by might pause for a moment and allow you some words.

This book is weird. I don’t have an outline I don’t know how it ends, but I keep going.  I’m like that. No outline but I keep going. I guess I know that Orton and La are going to make it to Phabet, and find Alphabet Abe. I’ve been singing a little jingle about the three dudes: Omar Algebra, Ahmed Alchemy, and Alphabet Abe, which in this case is short for Abdullah, not Abraham as it usually is. I don’t think it’s hit material but it sticks in my head. A cartoon, the 3 could be a cartoon, that’s it! And on and on, endless schemes, endless variations…

So what? I am not dying, multiple sclerosis is not a fatal disease, but shit, what if I fall down one more time, but this time it kills me? The amount of wipe-outs and accidents that occur in my days, and the nasty reactions I might have if doctors get ahold of me, makes me think, “I probably won’t die but maybe I could.” And it would bug me if I didn’t get a chance to say it.

          I love my girls. Jasmine and Meridy and their mother, Susan. Let that be known. The natives around here had potlatches, and they’d pay witnesses to attend naming ceremonies, coming of age stuff and so on. My witnesses as I speak are a bunch of punk ass literati on a discussion forum for William Gibson, but it’s the same principle.

Let it be known.

 

Minister’s Garage

 

The Minister of Narrative Integrity had an outfit on that made him look like he was going duck hunting in Vermont.

“Excellent weather,” he said to Orton as he opened the garage door.

“Yes,” answered Orton, wondering what was going on.

There were others there. Abdullah, Rob, and a tall bald guy who walked funny.

They walked into the back of the garage.
“I have it right here!” said the Minister, wheeling an ancient engine out from in front of a workbench in the back. It rolled on a stand, and welcomed them with its shiny red top, and blue undercarriage.

“This is the original one,” he said, brushing some dust off it with a rag.

“The conflict engine,” said the bald guy.

“Still powers most narratives,” he said.

“Old and crusty,” said the bald guy.

“Had to show it to you,” said the Minister.

 

And things devolved a bit, the Minister showing us around his garage, old photos on staircase walls to attics full of junk.

“Shit, I get a little tired on tours like this,” I said.

“I noticed you are walking with a cane,” said Orton, “what’s up?”

“MS. Had it for 10 years but it’s gotten a little aggressive since November 2009,” I said.

“What happened?” asked Orton.

“Stressful job as a 360 cinematographer in Hollywood,” I said. “I don’t know, my 10 year free pass ran out. Time to fuck him up a bit. Should work out.”

To Moira Wally:

Adress unknown please forward

Dear Moira

You wrote some episodes of 'breaking bad' so you're one of the most accomplished pepple I know. When I came to writing a tenth book in first person, I thought I'd make it a letter to you.

 

Here's a thing I'm reprinting from Narratia the weirdest of my books :

 

My Travels

 

1989 and Sue was in third year med school and she got an internship in Ingwavuma a tiny village in South Africa. I had like $500 but I somehow wanted to get there. I had been on the road playing music and I'd left this too late. I needed to go fast, without money, by myself. Caught a cheap flight to London for $300 and started hitching from Calais a month or two after she left. Tried the bank of mom from outside Paris.

 

"Where are you?"

 

"Just popped over to Europe for a minute. Heading down through Africa to meet Sue for Christmas near Joburg.”

 

"Oh that nice doctor girl, I like her. Get a job if you need money."

 

The sad fact was I had worked in London and Paris before, but there was no time, it was November and Sue was off for Christmas in a month.

 

So I left Paris with like $200 in my pocket and started hitchhiking across southern France. Then Spain, and then the Sahara Desert. The whole trip was spent in Capitol cities trying to get Visas for the upcoming country. I remember I puked in Rabat, felt the lonely hell of the traveler on his own without a friend to pat them on the back...

 

Crossed Morocco with a young couple from Harvard. They had a story, I think they were aid worker off to Nigeria to do goat husbandry. All I remember really is sitting on a mountaintop with them sampling the fine local hash and the guy, a biologist, told me about speciation. I was probably carrying one of my unfinished novels in those days, a grim tale of mass extinction and an unheard of phenomena called global warming. He told me about a lake not far from there, where a non-native fish had escaped. In only a few years, the fish had mutated into several new species to do all the jobs in the lake. He talked about new species as family groups that specialized then mutated. It could happen quickly, all the jobs would get done...

 

Algeria was real desert. I remember a ride with a probably gay Algerian guy with a state of the art CD player, nice dude, who got me half way to Tamarraset. There was a moment where I shared my hitching spot with a couple of travelling Black guys who talk about how wonderful it was that Saddam Hussein was showing the western infidels some justice. This was 1989 before the first Gulf War. I was hoping the Iraq war wouldn't start while I was hanging in Muslim territory.

 

So then, as the desert got deeper, and the rides fewer I was picked up by some Dutch Rastafarians in a van that said 'one love' on the side. It was a long slow ride, and we ended up camping in the desert. You don't smoke hash in Algeria, might get your hands cut off, but these guys had a secret frame on their truck. It was way out in the middle of nowhere so I joined them. Took my sleeping bag out in the sand, fearful of scorpions, but lied down and looked up at the incredible stars...

 

 

Travels 2

 

1989 was supposed to be Buckminister Fuller's 'Design Science Revolution'. This is when he predicted mankind would spontaneously evolve into a better species. All I could see was the U.S.S.R. was dissolving, and Saddam Hussein was about to get his butt kicked.

 

I had been working on a book called 'Bucky's Day' about this upcoming event for 3 years since I finished my English degree.

 

I think when I hit the road that fall I knew history wasn't going to change so much, and my book was a flub. I did have one Xeroxed page from a copy of Bucky's book called 'Synergetics' that I'd stolen from the Sedgwick Library at UBC. He was talking about geodesics and on this page he had a series of values that somehow represented his geometry. In red pen I'd circled the part of the number series that included 360360. Now I carried it with me.

 

 

I think that piece gets weirder and weirder. 
I'll just pause a moment to answer "who the hell are you?"
My name is bill Meikle and I went to highschool with you albeit two years behind. 

More weirdness:

 

 

 Deep Sahara

I turned 27 on that drive across the Sahara, sat with the posse of madmen Euro drivers, with their bandanas around their necks, brown dust on their faces, drank smuggled-in-beer and tried to keep up with the way-too-fast French.

Guy, who was my ride, was telling a story, and there were lots of gestures and sound effects that I could follow even if the language was too much for me. The bottom line was that when whizzing across the desert we would often fly off a rock sheet, get some air time, and then bottom out loudly on landing. On these occasions I would say “boof” like a sound effect from Batman and he would think I was exclaiming “boef” the French word for Beef. That was funny. Ay. Cheers to the Canadian on his 27th. Bonne fete a toi.

 

 

Moira, my brother Jim died in 91. You might remember him from the 1976 production of 'where's Charlie' where he played 'prez'. All I remember from that show was a number called 'steam heat' where a chorus girl called Moira Walley stole the focus with her extreme beauty and excellent dancing.

 

 

Niger Algeria Border

I parted company with Guy when we got to the Algeria/Niger border. He was going to take a week off and rest and I had to make time if I was going to spend Christmas with Sue. My birthday is November 13 so I had a little over a month to get to South Africa. I walked across into Niger, one of the poorest countries I’d ever visited. After customs, I found a bus and waited while it loaded. People came to the bus window selling pineapple slices and Indian sweets. There were American surplus t-shirts from carnivals in Kentucky a decade earlier, and Mickey Mouse hats from long ago.

That was when one of the most memorable figures I have ever encountered in my travels came forward. He was a beggar with a horrible disfigurement. His eye was hanging out of its socket. He seemed to lead a fairly normal life otherwise, but I gave him money to go away. Too vivid, as Tom Robbins would say.

To Niamey, ancient Desert city, where I found an excellent and aged book store. Hand copied treaties in Arabic script, World War 1 colour comics, next to copies of the Koran. And then, in a dusty book of mathematics, amidst geometric diagrams and compass needled notations, I found the sequence. 1,2,6,12,60, etc. leading to 360360. I pulled out the Buckminster Fuller pages I was carrying, and compared…this was the same stuff…Eureka!

 

 

Jim died and in 2014 Margaret my sister died too. So two out of four kids in my family passed. 
And I have multiple sclerosis. All of this is countered by my brother al's extreme success in running dads engine factory. He's been having hundred million years now for almost twenty years. He was in your grade. Your student counsel guy too. He's on this Facebook page too, might be annoyed at me for talking too much. Bottom line is two of my siblings died and I'm sick too. Desperation makes me stupid.

 

 

Naimey 1989

After the bookstore I hit the street for a while. Excellent weird hybridization of ancient African folkways and inexpensive Asian high tech devices in the calculator the fish monger uses at the market, and the cell phones the taxi drivers talk on. Aromas exotic and delicious tempt my senses.

After a while I come upon a small antique shop. In the back there is a shelf with the word “Phabet” on a small sign underneath. This has assorted curios on it and it was here that I found the amber rock that I purchased, and it is on the shelf before me as I type 25 years later.

It was also here that I found graffiti or some kind of writing carved into the wooden cupboard.

1001x360=360360

2002*180=360360

3003*120=360360

 

 

night run to Lagos

I bribed someone at the Nigerian embassy in Niameyto get me a quick visa for Nigeria and I was out of there in a few days. My bribe was a sandwich; even the bureaucrats in Niger were hungry.

The night drive to Lagos was about 8 hours in a funky box shaped taxi (Vauxhall?) I hired at the border. The driver looked to be 12 years old, and the white guy got the passenger seat in the front, because he was probably the only passenger, out of a dozen, paying full fair. The white guy got to choose the tunes too and Fela serenaded as we headed for the coast.

Hours of sleepless dream state, crossing densely populated villages without electricity yet, surreal candlelight, and lantern imagery, a TV over in that stall, powered by that way too loud genset in the market. Firelight.

 

The kid didn’t brake when a cow jumped in front of him but gently swerved, passing women in Kanga with water jugs on their heads and bicycle taxis with tremendous loads of sugar cane. Through a mud puddle and avoiding a mud hole, we went on in our silent and elegant dance through the crowded streets. 

Nigeria has people, after a fairly deserted desert journey, teeming masses of sweating, dancing, selling people surrounded our car.

Lagos was far friendlier than I thought it would be. I stayed at the Y. Hung with some Japanese who were kind of losing it after spending 6 months in the jungles of Zaire to the south. For the most part I find the Japanese radically conformist, but the few free spirits like these…Played basketball and got defeated by a local Nigerian kid and his coach.

 

 

 

So I guess you're wondering 'what does he want?' Well I wrote ten books and by Christmas I'm
going to put out a boxed set. What I want is to send you a few of these and get you to leave them in production offices and waiting rooms where they might get read.

 

 

Then in a weird moment I met Terry David Mulligan and Tom Cochrane in the lineup for the plane to Ethiopia. They were doing Ethiopian famine relief and were flying into Addis to do press. I told Tom that I’d been on the road with Idle Eyes a few months before and Terry David Mulligan treated me like an interview as we sat on the plane together. I had embarrassing dirty feet and alligator sandals and must have been disheveled from hitching the Sahara.

I remember talking about African bass lines with Tom Cochrane, the primacy of the one drop, but not much else. I remember speaking some Swahili for them when we got into Nairobi, a language I learned on an earlier trip.

To Mama Roach’s my standard crash in Nairobi. 6 or 8 different Landrovers who drove from London were camped in the yard, bush doctor mechanics under way… So many beautiful white traveler girls, the older ones with the drivers of the cars but the younger ones free and experimenting… I was still in rush mode but I remember I fell in love with an American girl from San Francisco in one night.

She had been in Africa for 3 months and she held me in some esteem for having been to Niger and Nigeria. She had long blond hair, and sharp intelligence, big American force of personality, and was on her way to Bombay… what a beauty, but the days when I would just buy a ticket and follow random beautiful women across the world, were gone. I was fairly sure I was heading to Tanzania, in the morning. Following a non random beautiful woman across the world...

 

 

Tanzania

The Tanzanian Border is just a half hour south of Nairobi. I thought it might be faster travelling through Dodoma, in the centre of the country than going down to Dar Es Salaam on the coast. This was a mistake. Just because something looks closer on the map, doesn’t mean you should leave the highway and travel bone crushing dirt roads. Shortcuts are rarely short. Still, the next borders down, Zambia and Malawi, were inland, didn’t that mean that cutting across the interior was faster? No. The highway went to the coast and I should have gone there too. The dirt tracks that crossed the centre of the country were slow and dusty. The people were unused to tourists, "mzungus", on their buses.

6 or 8 hours in a pounding bus, overhearing Swahili, maybe threatening, the angry looking guy carrying a panga is definitely talking about the mzungu, and he doesn’t like him on his bus…

 

 

Delusional from sleeplessness, at the rest stop, doing PR, showing the alpha mama that you understand Swahili, telling jokes, handing out cigarettes. Ya I told them I was a doctor, perhaps thinking that might grant me some amnesty. Whole thing was probably in my mind. The going rarely gets heavy in Tanzania.

Poor market at Dodoma, catch a matatu to the next town, shared by 3 English business students who I’d travel with for a few days. They were the first white people I’d seen in a week or 2 (?) on the Dodoma crossing and I probably glommed onto them as they were going to Malawi and that seemed fine for me.

A truck ride, a dust cloud, a paint-like coating of dirt on our skin as we cling to the lowbed and enjoy the scenery. An elephant on the road, the truck driver toots his horn in salute.

These guys were high priest on the travelers scale seen it all, took this in stride. Because they’d been to India, their stories were laced with words like Brahmin, that I thought were cool. I had never been but wanted to go.

 

 

Tanzania hills/Malawi swimming

There is a green moist mountainous region in the south of Tanzania that I came to next. Like Rwanda, farmers till the steep red earth intensively. There is abundant water, livestock and cheerfulness, compared to the drought-stricken lowlands below. Or maybe that’s my Canadian bias creeping in to celebrate the wet, cool regions of the world.

Like the hill stations of India, the mountains of Africa welcome the white man. Certainly I enjoyed that climate. And to find it in Tanzania, home of the Serengeti, thundering herds and clouds of dust was a revelation.

To Malawi then, another truck ride with my guru business students, with children waving in every village at the white men on parade on the back of a truck.

The lake in Malawi is the only fresh water in Africa that is swimmable. For some reason the bilharzias snail that is endemic in most water bodies on the continent gave it a miss, and a great outcome that is.

Colorful tropical fish are all over the place, even in the fresh water. No earth tone trout or camouflaged catfish here, where shocking yellow angel fish can be seen even without a mask. This whole damn trip was too damn rushed. The best I did was take note of some highlights to return at a future date and rush on, to see my girlfriend. I bid the three Englishmen adieu and caught a bus to the Zimbabwe border.

 

 

Moira I'm supposed to intersperse words to you 
But I can't type very well today and I'm liking reliving my travels. Sorry.

 

 

 

Border Crossing to Zimbabwe

The first time I tried to go to Zimbabwe was 1984. I was disallowed entry. This time I was put in jail. My last name is Meikle. The name of one of the most powerful white families in Zimbabwe is Meikle. (Not related) The big hotel in Harare is called the Meikle Hotel. I was in the shit.

 

 

Mrs. H was a friend of my Moms who was in Zimbabwe visiting her daughter, a nurse working over there. Mom had given her a check so I could survive the last half of my trip. I had cut open the lining of my backpack and taken out my emergency travelers checks back in Lagos to pay for the flight to Nairobi and they were almost gone. I wouldn't get into the country with the money I had left.

I could see her in a line at the other side of the customs officer. I was at the back of a lineup on the opposite side waiting to do passport control.

In a surreal moment we each walked to the side of our respective lineups making gestures at each other. She easily handed the check to me over the wall. Clearly, years before 911, security was looser. What a cool lady.

Too bad they didn’t recognize Canadian International Money orders. I was sent to the seating lounge called ‘transit jail’ where I had to wait for someone from the Canadian Embassy to help get me into the country.

 

 

 

It took me 6 hours to cross the second largest city in Zimbabwe. To get to the outskirts using rapid transit where I might hitchhike or catch a ride in a paying matatu going to the Botswana border.

Hitchhiking in Africa. Ya sure, might have been possible before Mugabe. When this was still the racist empire of Rhodesia. Now these people just look scared of me, scared of everything. Now it was the fucked up Empire of Mugabe. Wouldn’t cash my check, won’t give me a ride, gotta get to Joberg, gotta make this stretch without money…

 

 

 

The guy from the Embassy was good though. Had me through customs in 15 minutes. Dropped me at the Meikle hotel, red carpets and assholes all around, when he departed I left too… to a cheaper place down the street, to a country I had been trying to visit for so many years…

The bank next morning was disappointing. The check for $3000 was too large. I would need collateral or a local sponsor to cash it. Phoned Sue and she lined up a sponsor at the hospital. Now I just had to get there on what was left of my emergency funds…

 

 

 

South Africa Blur

Now that I’m nearly fifty five and a parent I get that my romance with that doctor I was going out with in those days was being encouraged. I mean I didn’t really get that the skies would part sometimes and it would rain money for some of my ventures but other times I would be very poor man for years on end. Drought.

So Botswana went by quickly and they recognized my check at the South Africa Border. I was still pretty penniless until I could get it cashed though. I remember a shopkeeper let me sleep in his shop in the first South African town I stayed in. I remember I rode in the Matatus full of black people crossing the country from Botswana to the Coast, and in Apartheid South Africa that was considered odd for a white person.

 

 

 

On one occasion the van got a flat so everybody piled out on the side of the highway. There was no jack, so as a group we lifted the vehicle by hand. There was a weird moment where, the spare tire installed; I yelled that everyone should keep lifting until the bolts were on.

Some people listened to me because I was the white guy, but others let go and rolled their eyes at me. The tire would sit on the bolts just fine without the nuts holding it on, I was just wrong. In fact I had zero experience at the South African art of hand lifting vehicles so should shut up.

 

 

 

Thank you very much. Oops.

That was a long trip across South Africa. I remember sitting on a roadside with 3 enormous mamas comparing numbers in Zulu and Swahili. Pretty darn similar, they were both bantu dialects. I had my first encounter with an ANC revolutionary as I got into the Drakensbergs. Apartheid was still in power. Nelson Mandela was still in Jail. I was hitching to see my girlfriend, a white doctor working in a black village, so I was suspect.

 

 

 

Ya Moira I'm a little embarrassed as I write on. The truth is I kind of give up on selling my writing.

 

 

 

I've only had one short story rejected and the bookstore in my town closed.
Lulu dot com prints books on demand for about five bucks each. That's good enough.

 

 

 

Love.

I mean it was pretty damn romantic, crossing a continent to see you Sue. Through clouds of dust and tsetse flies, a desert of stone, and highland jungle, in Matatus and lowbed Leylands, buses and a Vauxhall taxi, I came to you with bright eyes, biting at life. Got a car in Joburg, a hotel room for Christmas, alone under the sheets in five star luxury, our backpacks in the corner, our boots drying on the balcony. We exchanged presents under our pineapple Christmas tree, and you kept the African wrapping paper. Still give me something wrapped in that paper every year 22 years later...

We went to Kruger, been there with the kids now, but that was my first time driving in the game parks. Came head to head with my first elephant.

In the Drakensburgs we climbed up a creek bed and made love in a waterfall. I still have pictures of you playing naked in that place.

And you talked to me about my writing and I talked to you about your medicine and we were interested in each other.

"I have an idea for a story about this amulet," I said.

"Cheap tourist dreck you picked up in North Africa somewhere," you said.

"Not in my story, it’s one of the glyphs handed through time by the Solons to the ancient wooden city of Phabet. It's going to take me 20 years to let the story simmer."

"I think you should just write down ideas now, write the story when you're an old man."

And today I’m fifty five and my windowsill has a rock I found near Banff with seashell fossils in it, a mask from Borneo where I had a job shooting video...Both of those are stories I need to tell.

...and an amulet from the ancient wooden city of Phabet

in the Sahara desert. Saved from the all-destructive fires by a time machine in a classroom in the future taught by Ken Stallman, a friend of Rob and Cindy’s, it is a symbol in a glyphic sequence passed to mankind by the Solons long ago and made into our alphabet and number sequence.

Oh and also on that window sill: some jelly beans and a box of thumbtacks. Pretty sure they’re from this time and narrative.

 Chapter 2

         Demyelination is where the coating gets stripped off on the wires in your brain. Oddly memory is also lost when demyelination occurs. Ms is all about demyelination. I havn'f researched it but remembering trips I took as a young man in detail might be good for me.  

       I can't really talk about my first trip to Europe for six months and then on to Africa for six more months when I was twenty without talking about the drive across America that started it off.

         Dear Moira:   

The other thing I want is for you to make a 360 video

here are my shots:     http://www.vrhotwires.com/spherical.html

 i haven't looked at Facebook for a few years  but now I'm at 3600 friends just processing my friend requests.

 Sure one or two hundred are old school friends or musicians but mostly it's 360 video people. 

Fred looked at Balance.

Balance was not holding up well.  He had yet another martini touched on a hero mix.

Fred spoke in digital offset, “Serra Angel does not tap to attack.  You need to understand this.  You don’t understand this fully.”

Balance simply drank.

“May I be rude?  It’s about a girlfriend I once had.  At least to me.  It’s about orgasms, real ones.  You keep drinking more, you’ll understand this better than I do.”

“Fraud.  Fake.  You faker.”  Balance threw a glass.

“It’s about God, dumb ass.  And lies.”

“The computer checks the rules.”

“You, friend, are convention consumed out.  You know Starslay3r?  Yet another famous person this week.  I always wanted to make her smile.”

“You say, dude.”

“No.  Listen to me.  What you understand, 15 years ago, sure, that’s what I mean.  Ten years ago, I would say in secret, laughing at realizing the joke behind it, sure, that’s good.  Sure, would like to.”

“A dancing lady.  I need a drink.”

“Two year ago, I would have meant neither by it.  Void.  Now, I mean a smile, like how ‘Still in Hollywood’ from ‘Concrete Blonde’ can be sung, when it’s on.  See?  Serra Angel does not tap to attack.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Reality is a bummer.  You remember being young?  Having all those beers with other people?  We were all good.  We all just wanted to have fun.  You know we can’t go back, right?  Just want to have a good time.  It was so fun back then, making the parties, with all the music.  What changed, as years went by?  We all grew older.  There was backstabbing.  That got worse, in volume, and intensity.  Serious mark up problems.  We only did bad things to each other, trying to gain an up.  Really.  Reality.  More up, and out.  That’s how it is now.  You realize this, right?”

“Sure do.  Yes, you’re right.”

“No.  This is a bit.  It’s the same bit that’s been running for the last forty plus years.  The now is true, has been true all long.  The badness, that’s true also, and it never has never been.  That’s the lie.  When we were young, the beer, it was alright, even funny good, but the background noise you know…  It was true back then, what it’s like now.  I’ve had to put down almost everything and everyone I’ve ever loved since, without exaggeration, had to.”

“My angel attacks, and doesn’t tap.”

“Taps.”

Squamish in the future

        It seems to me that Squamish has always been formed by water. Be it the floods that used to flow down the Main Street,, or the new neighbourhoods high above flooding. 

        So my proposal is a place with a few more accesses to bodies of water. Ocean fromtage is a lot of it but also lakes and we already live near rivers.

 

This is the third piece I started on the wgb today but my phone has zero k available and I don't think I can erase very much. iPhoto seems jammed with images and it won't let me erase. I tried to delete some apps but the app that drives my backup flash drive wouldn't let me? 

      This is blog number four and maybe you can't tell I'm reading from the screen because this shot is from a camera built into the top of the screen...

“A moment of silence, please, before we officially start this meeting, just to separate things a bit.  Where is Judge Masterson with the beer?”  Judge Kino Blankly looks displeased.

“Always late.  He’ll be here.  This is a very serious business we need to discuss.  We don’t get to do this sort of agreement very often, Judge Kino Blankly.”

“What do you say, Judge Comedy?  None of what you ever do is actually funny.”  Judge Kino Blankly sticks out his tongue.

A knock on the door is followed by the entrance of Judge Masterson, with cases of beer.

“Order the pizzas yourself.  Or cake for that matter, as always.”  Judge Masterson sits down at the table and opens a beer for himself.

“I say let’s ask Judge Rhino Sukit!  She’s more quiet than normal,” Judge Comedy states in non-funny fashion.

Judge Rhino Sukit is obviously ready, saying, “This is as serious as anything we have ever done.  So let’s gas it around first, before we get to it.”

“This is useless.  Fine.  Let’s start with the crap first.  Judge Franky, hit it,” says Judge Masterson.

“Funny, funny.  Nazis.  We kill them.  Sure.  But effectively?  Are we quick enough, or too slow?  What are the greatest problems facing us?  Do we really know our enemy first, to defeat them?  Or are we pretending, feigning death to come.”  Judge Franky lights a cigarette, and smokes.

Judge Chief Once Love speaks right up.  “We address their low arguments, dealing with their mental midgets, for self-esteem.  That is dangerous bull.  We need to hear their real arguments, and not fake regress before the coming onslaught.”  She kills a beer.

Judge Sukit returns, “Say it.  Speak it.  Don’t keep the silence.  What is it that they are telling each other, when we can’t hear!  What do they say?  What do they pray?”

“We kill Nazis.  Period.  No doubt about it,” Masterson backs Sukit up.

“Holocaust denial.”  Judge Tight Lips speaks and knows.

Masterson comes right in, “I am deeply in debt to you in a very real way, Judge.  Thank you.  Not the Nazi munchkins with their pron mustaches, but the big ones, what are they saying?”

Judge Comedy speaks, “Genocide is defined as essentially racial.  They say Jewish is cultural or ethnic, that World War II is a white on white thingy, therefore no genocide as racial.  If you define genocide non-racially, fine, on the weaken in a way.  But then you can feel it as the smallest creep in.  The necessary evil argument, as a management take, to do a greater, eventual good.  They make you decide your definition of genocide.  I think I am going to be sick.”

Judge Kino Blankly adds, “We don’t want people fighting, but being Jewish is racial, and more to the true power.  So what?  It can be said.  Say it!”

Judge Comedy continues, “If Genocide is defined racially, if you mean World War II as anything else other than racial, say ethnic, then by definition it never happened.  By definition.  If you mean ethnic, and not racial, I also feel a real sickness, want to puke, and the Nazis follow with evil for a good.  Then good for a good.”

"And some Judge in attendance here wrote the screenplay we've all read, the fantasy where Germany and the EU militarily attack Britain to liberate it from the Nazis, a hush hush WWIII.  We all get a large percentage sure, and both sides currently hate it, but that's sci fi for you."

“We recognize the racial.  I’ve got the practical implementation of law right here!  Suck it!”

Judge Sukit speaks, “We also escaped the munchkins by using a psychological definition of, given the current understood model, homosexuality, heterosexuality, and bisexuality, as being a vector, natural, the vector not arising from environment, but able to progress and supporting evolution.  This lead to the joke of the heterosexual not being able to understand that the homosexual exists, while the bisexual has trouble understanding that true homosexuality and true heterosexuality exist.  This ruling outright led to the acknowledgement that it is truly un-natural for one of these groups to try and become the other, something that can and indeed is attempted, generally through hate, our topic tonight.  This attempt results in self-violence and mediates often to violence to others.”

“Stupid crap.”  Judge Masterson gets another beer.

Judge Sukit continues, “We predicate on love, like it or not.”

Judge Masterson adds, “And we judge on predication, predicting.”

“And we’ll get the Ninja Stars again.  Ninja Stars, followed by more Ninja Stars, followed by a lot more Ninja Stars.  More Ninja Stars.  You ban Swastikas, you get Ninja Stars instead.  I know nothing.  You didn’t hear it from me, but it’s true.”

Judge Kino Blankly adds, “So we kill the Nazis.  Really.  None of this don’t reason with Nazis.  We reason with them to show and support superiority, and not inferiority.  We then kill them, really.  Seriously.”

Judge Sukit grabs a beer herself, “And screw it.  Anyone who hates, dies.  I have no room for it.  It predicates poorly, and loses in any outstanding model over time.  So hating Nazis also brings death, as we agree.  No hate, period, to death.  You don’t need to hate Nazis, stupid!  Simply kill them.  That grants them and their idea no power over you.”

“We’ve had this argument before.  I don’t think this is what most people mean by don’t argue with Nazis.”

“It’s what I mean.  Seriously, dead on.”

“We’ve ruled for good choice.  None of this sounds good.”

Judge Masterson stands up, “And this nonsense and comedy brings us to our real question tonight.  Seriously, upon death, we make decision.  Judge Kino Stinky, give us your go.”

“That’s Judge Kino Blankly, Judge.  We now move from green babies to the real question.  Pizza, please.”

“I think I recognize this pizza, like I ate it before.  Some girl gave it to me.”

“You must eat this pizza a thousand times, in order to escape it.”

“Suffering is pizza.  Accept the pizza, and you will find it.”

Judge Masterson bangs a gavel from nowhere, then throws it against a wall.  “The Dalai Lama, I’m told, being human, will die.”

Judge Frankly decides to speak, “We also ruled that it is okay to spoil the ending of a movie if the behaviorism involved meets the criterion of a justified, true belief plus a fourth, in regards to harm or hate.  Actually, not only is it okay, it’s required.”

“Behaviorism is movie making.  We know it!”  Sukit stands up, then sits down.

“Master.  Master.  Puppets,” Judge Frankly trails off.

“No more nonsense!  This is serious time!  The Dalai Lama, being human, will die, sometime.  We then must mandate a course of action, in all the world’s love, say fuck it, love then, to find him again.”

“Free Tibet.”

“Look at me.  Free Tibet.”

“I love you.  Free Tibet.”

“All a course hopefully without racial hate in China, what would be a lot of people killing each other.  He has to be found again, young.  We need to ID him.”

“ID him.  With objects.”

“Without mass killing.”

“Much in retaliation.”

“For real.  He has to be found, and re-established.”

“I would like to drink to the Dalai Lama.  Sunday night, sailor’s delight!”

All the judges drink, even those who did not speak.

“The way of a politician is secondary to…”

When the Lamborghini is the dime.  We continue to understand the question.

So it is with Wednesday night “Writing” thread.  Because if you want to write, it’s important to know who the professionals are, and that isn’t us.

The professionals out so easy.  Worries about the way of things, editors, publishing contracts, friends.  Try and bring a non-neutral conversation to the street, and the level just means no real participation.  That’s okay.  We all understand feeding our families, and more expensive houses, snap cars.  We got to get along.  It’s like a chess movie, to understand the opening, just have the memory of a thousand experiences, all detailed out, a book, and play the line.  But BS, like a chess movie, how do you cope with something off line, and sincerely unexpected.  You fight.  BS.

Like a killing floor, with thumb lasers that slice flesh and burn, smoking the burnt flesh.

Writing needs, for people to learn, a community where no one sincerely gives a crap.  Where a person earns thirty cents over minimum wage.  Cyberpunk.  Where there are no rules, actually.  Seriously.

If writing were to be mixed martial arts, then imagine the ground and pound.  The kind you use to create controversy, the unblocked punches that bring blood and broken face.  I don’t mind the blood and broken face.  I mind the defenseless nature, as truly defined.  I don’t mind the referee wave, if the referee ain’t crooked, if the position is simply won.  Set ‘em up, let’s go again, time down the line.

Writing.  Professionals have to be ego, even if they ain’t.  By ego I mean Buddhist like.  Like a thousand each lived a life to gain exit from the cycle.

The professionals, which base everything on ego, may not have it.  Perception is a play.  Recently, I sat in a radio play, that silly podcast voice which has an inner ear miss-proportioned.  Warwick Davis, a midget in term added whatever passes for honor these days, a great person actually, walks by, to a hotel room.  Ground pound, wave.  Actually he was more professional than any person I could imagine.  Timothy Zahn walks by, and does that take probably practiced in front of a mirror, the oh you ‘assholes’ I know doing your thing take.  Better executed than I could have done it.  And right, meaning correct.  And Chuck Wendig, a missed panel, but I got the publishers instead.  Cyberpunk.  Wait a second, what?  Shoot to thrill.  Probably at another hotel.

Creativity means people should just write.  There should be a place where people forget about professors, grades, and nonsense.

You know.  Where the winner of fight Wednesday night gets nothing but the arm raised.  It doesn’t matter.  Let’s go again.  One more time.  For greatness.  Salt to a sumo match.  Power over nothing.  Name.

No one cares.  If you want to write, just write.  I don’t care about other reasons.  Let the professionals do themselves.  Write, and bleed like a cut open loser.

Someday, you will learn that ego is nothing, and us over you will diminish to the universe of actuality.  And that is the question of prose.  A ‘Journey’ song, someday love will find you…

To be professional you must give everything up, your money in order to support your family, and you will lose your brother in order to gain your brother, lose your sister for your sister.

You will be seventh samurai asshole, with no hair.

And so be it.

Broken ribs God damn hurt.

What do I have this Wednesday?   Write something.

About the difference between writing books, and writing for acting.

Acting is a fill in, like active sex.  Crap and nonsense in, then crap and nonsense out.  But the potential, sweeter than all of us.

People like reviewing movies.  From twenty to eighty.  What are we really talking about?

I just watched through ‘Evil Bong 666’ drinking, um, Yuengling Black & Tan, after which I might call it ‘Evil Bong NOB’ for ‘Number of Beast”, but there is no need to pirate it, as it’s up on the majors.

All I can say?  Flashes, like a blade.  This is Charles Band, who is older than the eighties.  In fact, and I mean for real, Marilyn Monroe baby sat for him, when he was an infant.  Absolutely true.  Now I figure that makes him old as fuck, even for an Italian, old as Satan, I figure.

Listen to Charles Band, before you find the real trouble.  His moves for ‘Full Moon Studios’ indeed hold a special spot for those of us who remember, I can’t even say it with a straight face, movie rental places, VCR, that whole thing, which came into being when the only place to see a movie was a physical movie theater.

Say a subspecies still to be made, the right way.  What you get now is perfectly good, makes me smile every so many months, in scenes created for actor performance.

But that’s the point.  Things written for actors to perform.  (Not thoughts in books, say.)

Hell, they’re unlikely ever to get on a real screen again, but that’s the partnership.

Now softness pointed at faces, when I could do without the toe cutting, snipping off on exploitation films, for a half decent face with feeling, occasionally met.

I die hardcore.

Someone send him a girl over, one he would actually look at, that being a hard thing to do.

Figure he’s older than Satan, but who would know that by looking at him lately.  Hope he never dies, like the ‘Rolling Stones’.     

Write it, and let’s see how it works, where we end up.

Only fights tonight.  Ten bucks entry.  Winner at the end gets two hundred.  All welcome, none turned away.  Pussy up.

Blood from a rock.

Hull, Quebec.

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