Retreat, Part 3

The $598 Billion Defeat

Jews Jaws Eight Up

Shark America Two Down

Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 173 (Watching for a Rapid Fall)

Virgil's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923

Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008

George W. Bush Will Destroy the World

Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event

Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Retreat (3)

Today's code is "89th Day, Last Year".

At the top of the news today, the faux-president of the United States of America, George W. Bush, was booed when he threw the first ceremonial pitch from the mound of a new baseball field.

It is a comfort to know so many American baseball fans do not appreciate fascism wearing their democracy's colors.

The confrontation I expected today and reported on yesterday took place. You may recall, "I smell a great wickedness; I smell a great evil coming my way".

It will continue tomorrow...and likely further on.

Unfortunately the attacking factor thus far is only the American government, which always attacks in cowardly ways and has legions of bureaucrats, government pigs and citizen volunteers to do its evil bidding.

"Our name is Legion: for we are many", as the evil spirit said to Jesus; and as American psycho-fascism says to me.

This is hardly worth boring you with, since attacks on me by the American government have been constant since at least 1967; and it is like I am a mouse being sat on by the fattest man in the world; it stinks, it oppresses, and there are no vital organs within reach.

Since this attack is likely to continue into tomorrow and beyond, I will not fully translate the code I gave you in Japanese yesterday. That code was: "Jibun no uchi kara kuru. Tegami no basho de".

I will translate only the second sentence, "Tegami no basho de". It means "At the place of the letters"; not the real Japanese word for "post office", but clear enough for encoding purposes; and that is where the fat man who is the American government sat on me today.

To fill you in on a sub-tedious level, of the thousands of knives with which America cuts God's One True Telepath one of them involves tampering with my mail.

I have not received a personal letter in over four years, but until recently bills were allowed through. Now I receive nothing; and important mail, such as my car insurance and registration is "taking the scenic" route, as one of the Morro Bay, California, post office jokesters told me over the phone two weeks ago when I tried to get them to stop playing this game.

Now it seems that bemused-hostile attitude has moved from Moro Bay to the current city I am attempting to establish a home in; at least that was the indication the government fat man in the local post office gave me today.

But you know, Dear Reader, as the only audibly telepathic human being in history, I do not have the right to have a home; I do not have the right to have a wife; I do not have the right to father children; I do not have the right to work in journalism; I do not have the right to attend a movie or a church service or a baseball game without being constantly harassed; so, relatively, how important is the loss of the right to receive censored mail?

Oh, yes, when I am not too homeless to be able to register, I do still have the right to vote for some politician who does not give a damn about my human and constitutional rights.

Looking at the iron blanket of American evil under which I live; and understanding as I do that the back of that evil will be broken by July 15; I wonder, how is God going to pull this one off?

Tomorrow, unless something bigger is breaking, I would like to talk to you about the insanity of American Christianity.

Now let's return to our third story in our series, Retreat, where we find Tea, some 15 years older than he was at the time of the seance, deep in the American wilderness preparing for an attack by The Not-Forgetting Society.

Retreat, Part 3

Tea finished eating the last salty, scorched, juicy trout.

His morning quart of English breakfast tea was steaming on a cookie sheet set on rocks and weighted by rocks so that it formed a stove top over his campfire.

Tea loved mornings in the mountains. Waiting for the sun to crest a ridge was compounded pleasure upon compounded pleasure as he watched the sunlight moving down the western hills, eastward along the valley floor, and finally touching him, warming him, as the sun peeked through the hilltop trees to the east.

Tea poured his first cup of tea into his large West German surplus army canteen cup. He added heaps of brown sugar and turned the tea light brown with powered milk.

His algebra of terrain and possibilities was telling him this was no place to wait for Matsushita's move. The little lake was over-camped during the best of seasons, it being the first lake after the trail head parking lot, but all the other lakes would be blocked by snow for at least another two weeks, and every backpacker coming in would be stalled here unless prepared for deep snow trekking.

The inevitable campers would keep Matsusiita away. He and his men would want either no people or a city of people. Murder was easier in cities because self defense in most cases was illegal in cities. Tea could pack a piece in the wilderness, but not in a city. That was one reason Tea loved the mountains. He could fight well in them; and if he came out alive he need not answer police questions unless he opted to.

The Japanese would be ritualistic in their planned murder of him. That was the way of the Not-Forgetting Society. Matsushita would present himself, hardwood bokken in hand, planning to say whatever speech he'd have prepared, wanting very much to kill Tea hard with that hardwood samurai practice sword he was master of.

Only one line of thought would occupy Matsushita's mind as he walked slowly along the mountain trail leading to Tea's lake. His son had also been a master of the bokken, and had intended to kill Tea with it, but somehow Tea had instead killed him, apparently with a bokken. It didn't seem possible. Tea must have been hiding in the bushes in that little park where the body was found, and hit his son from behind, or maybe he had help.

All the Japanese with Matsushita would be carrying guns, but most likely no one would shoot Tea. They would want to force Tea to duel Matsushita, just to teach him one last lesson.

That wasn't a situation Tea wanted to find himself in.

The sweet, brown tea made Tea a little high. He was facing nearly due east, still in the morning's cool shadow. With pleasure, he knew the sun line was moving down the mountain behind him toward his back. Mountain mornings were a warm sandwich of anticipation.

Tea had enjoyed killing Mastushita's son.

The sun crested, warming Tea's face. Tea smiled. He closed his eyes to add to the absorption.

Pouring his second big cup of tea, Tea looked around his camp. Its disarray told him how punchy he was. Tea was a born mountain man, the son of a born mountain man. His Irish-side ancestors had been fur trappers with the Hudson Bay Company six generations back. He was an expert camper; yet his camp that morning was a scattered jumble of equipment.

It had dewed heavily that night and all his clothing except for his emergency, plastic-bagged thermal underwear was too damp to wear, so he was hunkering before his fire in the long johns he had slept in. His backpack had been left uncovered and was soaked with dew. His mess kit had been left out; and he had been awakened by a doe in the middle of the night licking out the salty reside of last night's soup.

Tea's mood, too, told him how punchy he was as he prepared for battle. He was by nature a happy person, but these days aching blue spasms of sadness tormented him. He had piled up too many days on the slag heap of spying's mining, and he had too many more days slated for the same.

Sometimes Tea loved this profession which had chosen him like a lonely dog looking for a man; sometimes it got him down.

(To be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 89th day of its last year.

Retreat, Part 2

The $597 Billion Defeat

Jews Jaws Seven Up

Shark America Three Down

Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 189

Virgil's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923

Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008

George W. Bush Will Destroy the World

Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event

Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Retreat (2)

Today's code is "88th Day, Last Year".

I smell a great wickedness; I smell a great evil coming my way.

If my nose for news is right, and if I am still alive and I.C. News is still intact after this evil cloud passes over my torture chamber here in the God-damned (literally) United States of America, I will report on it for you.

Monday seems to be the day. Me, I always like a good fight. Hurry, Monday!

I thought I would put down something of what I know about this approaching evil.

Since the attackers are typical American cowards, if I say too much about this it could block the attack; and in that case I would miss out on the fun; so therefore I will encode a description of what I expect to take place.

Since only a few thousand of my Dear Readers read Japanese, I will use that language for the code. Bad Japanese, certainly, but what do you expect from a nearly 69 year old man whose prescription for long life is booze and pot and wild, wild women in copious amounts, with a touch of courage and luck on the battlefield.

The attack, then, "Jibun no uchi kara kuru. Tegami no basho de".

I know the cowardly weasels who are planning this attack read this work (hardly understanding a word of it so blinded by hatred for me are they) so this mention of this attack and this accurate naming of the date of the attack might send them scurrying back into their dark places. Damn, I hope not; I so do want to fight them.

Now let's return to our third story in our series, Retreat, where we find Tea, some 15 years older than he was at the time of the seance, deep in the American wilderness, waiting for the Not-Forgetting Society to attempt to kill him.

How much like real life is this work of fiction; how much like the rockets' red glare of God's Space War seen over the distance of Time is the coincidences it contains.

The writer's protagonist in a story written some 15 years ago is in the exact same situation the writer is in today. You American Dear Readers, too, are in the same situation as the Americans in the story, hated profoundly and targeted for atomic revenge.

When we get to The Secret Story, the next story after this story, Retreat, which I have not yet written and will write fresh every day, the coincidence factor will become as thick as soup, and hot as soup served too hot to slurp.

Retreat, Part 2

It was like Spring in the Marble Mountains of northern California, though it was July.

Passes to the high lakes were still closed by snow,

The deer were ragged and hurting for food. Coyotes were having their way with them.

Militarily, Tea favored the draw play; and he was working out such a play as he moved through his morning camping activities.

It was an easy morning. He cooked and ate his remaining trout slowly, hunkered by the fire, his arms set on his knees nearly to his armpits, his buttocks hovering just above the ground, his back to the snow-blocked mountains, his eyes traversing the wide, granite slope he had climbed the night before.

A half mile below him was the little lake he had fished the previous evening, though it could not be seen because of a forty foot hump of granite just before it, and the pines that surrounded it, and the stunted little pines that grew out of cracks and spaces in the granite.

Tea's mind was going over the algebra of the fight he thought would come as surely as yesterday had come and gone. Tea was the winter-ravaged deer. Matsushita, the master fencer, and the men with him, were the coyotes.

Matsushita was old now. What a laugh. Tea was no spring chicken.

Tea had set up this battle because he, not Matsushita, was getting weaker, getting more punchy with each year of abuse the Americans dished to him.

If Tea were 20 and Matsushita 90, Matsushita would still win any sword, stick or fist fight with Tea unless Tea waylaid him, and Tea couldn't make that stoop.

Tea's cover, that of being the Golden Ass, had suited the Americans superbly, too superbly, and by the time Tea had figured out what the Not-Forgetting Society was up to the cover had frozen over. Once the American public had tasted legalized torture there was no turning it back from the trough of public sadism.

Tea's troubles with his own country were not trouble enough as far as Matsushita was a concerned.

While Matsushita liked the idea of the hated Tea suffering at the hands of the hated Americans (they were shitbirds of the same feather pecking away at one of their own who was down); and while he knew how improbable it was that Tea would ever escape from the American altitude toward him and its ritual torture-murder of him, Matsushita did not want to miss out on his own vengeance on Tea.

Sure, Matsushita liked the cruelty of the American attitude toward Tea. It fit that keen edge of cruelty the Japanese had historically appreciated.

And, sure, it was funny watching the Americans torment and slowly murder the only American who knew about those A-bombs in the San Francisco and Los Angeles harbors; but, there were times when Matsushita worried that Tea would die in the gutter, die some typically American death, death to robber, death to despair, death to meaningless murder; and when wondering about this he would feel a pang because while there was satisfaction in envisioning the miserable death America had planned for Tea, that was Western satisfaction, and Matsushita wanted to decapitate Tea; Matsushita wanted Japanese satisfaction.

Also, as the time for what was called the "Great Revenge" got closer Matsushita started wondering again of Tea wasn't a mole, wondering if the whole bizarre American captivity of Tea wasn't some kind of U.S. intelligence ruse. Had it been too easy, putting those A-bombs in those harbors, dropping them from the keels of Japanese freighters owned by Mastushita, held in place by strong electromagnets until released, to settle into the harbor mud?

Were the Americans really totally unaware of the existence of the Not-Forgetting Society?

It was past time, though, for second guessing. The sword was in motion. Revenge against Tea was most desirable; and reason enough for the taking of a "Kill Vote" among the living members of the Not-Forgetting Society. Kill won. Kill won easily. The dead members' representatives had not been seanced in for the vote.

It was a deadly game now. Damn deadly game, Tea mused in his aloneness in the wilderness, where he was waiting for the inevitable duel with Matsushita and his martial arts bodyguards to take place. Damn. Damn. Hot Damn!

(To be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 88th day of its last year.

Retreat, Part 1

The $596 Billion Defeat

Jews Jaws Six Up

Shark America Four Down

Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 194

Virgil's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923

Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World

Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event

Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Retreat (1)

Today's code is "87th Day, Last Year".

There are two fundamental things wrong with America's presence in Iraq. It is tactically stupid and morally evil.

This combination spells inexorable disaster.

No matter how much speech-writer gingerbread George W. Bush mouths; no matter how many people George W. Bush sends to their deaths, those two facts remain constant: Stupid and Evil.

Any candidate for the office of President of the United States of America who does not clearly state this time and time again is bowing before the god of fascism.

Clinton, McCain, and Obama all bow before that god,

That none says the obvious, that a fascist coup has taken place in the United States, is a betrayal of the American people (who are just beginning to feel the hands of fascism around their collective throat).

The f-word, fascism, must be used by at least one of the presidential candidates so it can be put into the public debate; or fascism will continue unopposed its theft of America's wealth, its destruction of America's democracy, and its shredding of the Constitution of the United States of America.

Get brains, honesty and guts for a change; nominate Virgil Kret for President; dare to let a true voice speak.

Now, before we begin the first episode of Retreat, the final story of the three stories that lead us, like stepping stones in a Japanese garden, to The Secret Story, my Old Pal God, my Muse, has requested I give you one tip about The Secret Story.

This is because apparently God has some interest in saving you from extinction.

This is the clue I was asked to deliver:

Yesterday I told you the original Japanese language title of The Secret Story is Himitsu-No-Monogatari, and that some secret meaning was lost in the translation. Now I will tell you what was lost.

"Himitsu" means "secret". "monogatari" means "story", "no" means "of"; together "The Story of a Secret".

However, if "hi" and "mitsu" are written with different Chinese characters they together mean "Sun Three"; and in that context the title, Himitsu-No-Monogatari, means "The Story of Three Suns."

So you see in this hidden title what you had already learned from this work, that The Secret Story is a space story, in part the God's Space Sailors' view of the Japanese myth of their creation by the Sun Goddess; but you are yet to learn the meaning of "Three Suns".

Now, let us begin the story called, Retreat

Retreat, Part 1

"Wage Love," Tea, circa 9,000,000 BC.

Tea was breakfasting on four rainbow trout he had caught the night before and buried in a shrinking patch of snow to keep them fresh and conceal their scent so not invite in any bears for a midnight snack.

He was cooking them one by one on a skewer, lightly salted and peppered, and eating them like corn on the cob, getting blackened trout skin and tasty grease in his month-old mustache and beard.

It was 1982. Tea was 42. He had been in retreat from the diabolical American attack since 1971.

The American intelligence system was still unaware of transdimensional warfare.

The Not-Foregetting Society was about three months away from carrying out its revenge operation, in planning since two months before Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the atomic bombing of San Francisco and Los Angeles.

Tea knew it was a couple days away from yet another Not-Forgetting Society attempt on his life; and he knew this time it would be Matsushita himself making the attempt.

Damn, Tea mused, that man must be close to 70. No, certainly he wouldn't be alone; he'd have martial arts toughs with him, but damn if Mastushita wasn't something. Damn, Tea thought, that man sure wants to kill me. He has wanted to kill me since '67; and he's going to be pretty fucking focused now that I've killed that asshole son of his.

Tea'd not seen Matsushita since the seance, which now seemed a thousand years in the past.

Damn, sometimes Tea wished he'd never attended that seance; damn, because the knowledge it had given him made it impossible for him to drop the story. He had had no choice but to bulldog it through. Knowledge was responsibility. Damn, but it was.

Events had forced Tea out of Japan soon after the seance.

Those events had been initiated by American naval intelligence in Tokyo, which had decided Tea was up to something disloyal because his hair was getting long and he was talking against the Vietnam war over drinks at the Foreign Correspondents' Club.

A secret charge of plotting the violent overthrow of the United States government was hatched in the alcoholic mind of an intelligence officer by the peculiar name of Roger Roy; and secret punishment was planned.

Roy had followed that first error up with a second, one of those cowardly, overly complicated attempts at murder American intelligence was so infamous far in those days. In this case, it consisted of planting a rumor among those violent elements of the Japanese left Ted's met through his journalism, a rumor that Tea was not a journalist at all, but an American spy in newsman's rags.

When this crunch came down, however, the leftists believed Tea over the rumor; and did not kill him.

Roy was to die a drunken retired US naval officer in 1975, of liver damage, never knowing he'd accidentally killed thousands of Americans when he he'd "run that Commie out of Japan".

In The Land of the Dead, Roy would be shown his folly; and he would never see the light of day again. Such was transdimensional warfare.

(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 87th day of its last year.

Society, Part 15

The $595 Billion Defeat

Jews Jaws Five Up

Shark America Five Down

Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 197

Virgil's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923

Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World

Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event

Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Society (15)

Today's code is "86th Day, Last Year".

Today we read the last segment of our serialized story, The Not-Forgetting Society.

Tomorrow we begin the third story of the trilogy, Retreat.

After Retreat we begin The Secret Story, which I think I can promise you will knock your socks off.

The interesting thing about The Secret Story is that it is so secret it has never been written before. Whereas Soldier Ghost, The Not-Forgetting Society and Retreat were written about 15 years ago, I will be writing The Secret Story fresh and unrehearsed each and every day.

The Secret Story is so secret even I have not been told how it goes.

I know only three things about The Secret story.

First, that it proves the Japanese myth of their creation--in terms of God's Space Sailors.

Second, it will constantly tell you the short-term future, tomorrow's news today.

Third, it's title,The Secret Story. is a direct translation from its original Japanese title, Himitsu-No-Monogatari; and that the Japanese title contains a secret code which is lost in translation.

Many of the readers of this work are also writers, and they might understand the thrill of a story like this for the writer of the story. The story will be totally given over to the Muse, who will strum it without the writer butting in--or butting in as little as possible, since the writer's Moose-Ego likes to ride the Muse-Eagle; which annoys the Muse and makes her flight awkward and heavy.

As of today, Dear Reader, I do not know the secret of The Secret story; and likely I will not know it until just before I tell it to you about a month from now.

Let's take a look of our Time Map as we move inexorably toward The Secret Story; because since what we know about the future in July, after The Secret Story has been revealed in May, might give us a hint to what the secret might be.

Those of us who were once children will understand this is like shaking the packages under the Christmas tree on December 15.

While I have not counted the segments of the pre-written story, Retreat, it can be expected to climax about mid-April; and The Secret Story, assuming it is of the same approximate length of the previous three stories in the "Tea Rain Collection", as the stories are called by yours truly, should take us into early May.

You know we deal with Time Travel in this work, Dear Reader, and we have done a future projection up to about July 15, this year, as well as one up to December 26, 2064, when this Earth explodes; and in that short projection we have seen events by July 15 having led to the United States of America ending its torture-enslavement of me, which has been in place since 1967,

That's a pretty tall order, considering how much the United States of America loves its torture-enslavement of me; and it seems to me The Secret Story might play a role in that development.

It is a scientific fact, Americans would rather torture Virgil Kret than kill Muslim babies; and all the people of the world and God in God's Heaven know how much the American people love killing Muslim babies. It makes them feel so righteous and so vindicated.

(Vengeance is the Lord's, you psycho-fascist American assholes; but there I go again, giving the plot of God's Story away. That's exactly why I am not being told the secret of The Secret Story.)

Now let's look to the final installment of The Not-Forgetting Society, in which Tea, with great opposition from Matsushita, has been shown the secret seance technique of the Society; and Tea, hated by Matsushita since the beginning, begins to hate Matsushita in response; hatred being a foreign emotion to Tea.

Society, Part 15

Praying Mantis was gone, A dull flatness overtook those in the dream he had left behind.

The three living dream personalities stared as the place he had stood just before he vanished. They were feeling exhausted and depleted from the energy expended, from too much sake', from standing naked so long in the bath; and now the violating glare of the post-storm sun was sapping the last of their strength.

Atop the exhaustion was the strange message Praying Mantis had delivered.

"What is it?", Tazuko asked as she rejoined them, having stayed with the ghosts when Atsuko had towed Praying Mantis across the pool.

Tea was lost in his own thoughts. He turned and waded to the steps and climbed out of the bath. The others followed, Matsushita explaining to Tazuko what had taken place; that Praying Mantis seemed to say Tea was not of this Earth.

Atsuko was quiet, walking ahead of the other couple and slowly catching up with Tea, who had reached a shelf which held fresh yukatas and was putting one on. She looked into his face, searching. She tried to hear his thoughts, but couldn't. She felt that either everything was falling apart, or everything was coming together.

Matsushita was feeling a trembling. Was it age? Was it trepidation? Was it excitement? Was it nausea? Was it true? Was Tea that unique? He looked at Tea. He could see Tea was in turmoil.

"Tea-san", he asked, "did that make sense to you?"

Tea looked at the man who moments before had said he could drown him in the bath and no one would betray him as having done so. Tea wanted to say, "Kiss my ass". "No", he said instead. Then he waited another second or two and said "No" again.

All three Japanese knew Tea was lying. His being here, at this inn, on this coast, at this utterly secret, alcoholic Alice in Wonderland seance, underscored to everyone his differences. He knew the Land of the Dead like New Yorkers knew their subway system, and found it far safer and more attractive. He had been born with the knowledge. But why? And how? Answers to those questions were like snowflakes that melted on the ground before they could be examined.

Tea changed his answer. "Yes. Sometimes I think I started out as a speck of a soul on a random meteor; but maybe all freaks think that."

All four were dressed now and walking together toward their two rooms.

"I've often wondered if my soul might just be some kind of deformity; but then, it is the only one I've got, you know."

Tea had never wondered if his soul were a deformity.

Matsushita was confused. He had had Tea pegged as a fool of some sort, or a good spy acting the fool; but, yes, a deformity, a freak, that made sense...but why did he feel his life's dream threatened by Tea, his dream of great vengeance which would catapult him onto the Mount Olympus of his nation, and give Japan back its bushi, its great martial spirit? Was Tea an elaborately established mole? Had The Kai been discovered years ago by American intelligence? Was Tea's having met Praying Mantis an elaborate maneuver, a duplicity?

Strange visions were rushing through Tea's mind. It was as if a tub of photographs had been dumped on his head and he was seeing some of them as they cascaded down. Strange stars. Strange faces. Strange ideas. Strange intentions. Strange, yes, but somehow incredibly familiar. Children who were his. Wives who were his. Hopes that were his. Lives that were his...and amidst it all, a mission that was his. He struggled to see his thoughts and to scramble them at the same time so these telepaths would not hear them.

Atsuko, now walking next to Tea on his left raised her delicate right arm and laid her little hand upon Tea's left shoulder, and said to the others, "Tea is like me, a goldfish in a carp pond." She seemed to have intentionally broken the surface of the pond of their collective thoughts. She slid open the door to Spring Rain and, leading Tea into the chamber, said, "We all need sleep. Let's meet tomorrow for breakfast."

Tazuko responded to this suggestion with energy, and steered Matsushita to their room.

All four were asleep within minutes.

In Spring Rain, before she and Tea slipped off like lead weights dropped into water, Atsuko whispered into Tea's ear: "Tea-san, can you keep a secret?"

Could he ever. "Yes", he said, blessed sleep rushing in.

"Promise not to get angry with me no matter what it is."

"O.K." Beautiful sleep was kissing his body.

"Your girlfriend in Tokyo, Mitsi, she's my sister."

"Kingyo." He was swan-diving into the pool of sleep.

"What?"

"I knew it all along."

Kingyo fell asleep, smiling, knowing Tea, crass fool that he appeared to be, understood the game.

(The End)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 86th day of its last year.

Society, Part 14

The $594 Billion Defeat

Jews Jaws Four Up

Shark America Six Down

Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 207

Virgil's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923

Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World

Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event

Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Society (14)

Today's code is "85th Day, Last Year".

My Old Pal God has asked me to talk to you about Bad Luck today; since apparently America is entering into a string of Bad Luck Firecrackers.

First and foremost, it seems God is going to attack American military and mercenary forces in the Middle East; and I have been asked to point out to you, for starters, how God killed four American soldiers a few days ago.

Second and foremost, the codes about nuclear bomb explosions in the USA are running strong.

I have attempted to make this point over the years, that God has been killing some small percentage of American forces since shortly before the stupid and fascist invasion of Iraq. The reason for this is America's actions relative to Iraq are evil.

Military deaths at the hand of God are very difficult to document, but with the emergence of this Bad Luck Metaphor of Attack the evidence may be so clear I will make my point.

I have only in solid, undeniable terms documented in advance one incident in this area, the fragging deaths of some officers just before the stupid and fascist invasion of Iraq. I even attempted to warn military intelligence, and that got me just what it always gets me, more abuse from government pigs.

While the other candidates for president are playing the warmonger card to greater or lesser degree; it is my view that the US should escape from Iraq fast because America's presence in Iraq is evil, and is bringing the wrath of God down on it.

There are other reasons. It is tactically stupid, for example, but the reason we are dealing with here, and the reason God is going to be killing large numbers of American troops, is that it is evil for those troops to be there.

If my saying this ruffles your feathers, don't vote for me for president; but I alone am telling you the truth.

I don't know if you have noticed, but sometimes events in the news follow events or statements in the stories I am running, first Soldier Ghost and now, nearing its end,The Not-Forgetting Society.

This happens more frequently in my daily reports, like this report, placed above the serialized stories, The most recent example of this "coincidence factor" was my talking about a sniper stalking Hillary Clinton a week before the hullabaloo about her "sniper" experience as First Lady. In God's Space War such quiet coincidences are very important.

Because this coincidence factor will likely become quite thick when we get to the fourth story in our series, The Secret Story, it is its these stories I will focus on today, and from one of them show you a remarkable, and I say meaningful, coincidence.

When we get to the fourth story in the Tea series, The Secret Story, you may find that this coincidence phenomena becomes a little eerie.

This is because the first three stories leading up to The Secret Story were written some 15 years ago, but The Secret Story will be written "live" daily, and you will find that each day's writing of The Secret Story will reflect the next day's news, or the news within 48 hours.

I will give you an example of how this works; and bear in mind such events are currently more for my edification than yours because you are not expected to take them seriously at this point. The coincidences are not thick enough for you to grab onto yet.

Looking back to early in the story of The No-Forgetting Society, you may recall Tea noticed that four tea cups were set out with his teapot in his room at the inn in Ama-No-Hashidate; and it was explained how the number four is considered bad luck in Japan because "four" and "death" are pronounced the same; and therefore it would be rare to see four teacups set out; and Tea took it as a statement of hostility that there were four cups set out.

Recently, America took its 4000th known military death in its stupid and fascist invasion and occupation of Iraq. When that 4000th death occurred four soldiers were killed at the same time. In Japanese superstition, "4,000", "four" and "death" would add up to very bad luck indeed.

I understand that to Americans four US military deaths are less offensive than four farts in an elevator; but that is because military lives are cheap in America, and America's warriors are flushed down the White House toilet several times every day.

No matter; America is what America is; and it is not my job to improve America; it is only my job to document God's destruction of America.

I have many times in this work introduced the God's Space War concept, "Metaphor of Attack".

I am not saying God was honoring the Japanese superstitious belief about the number four when God killed those four American soldiers, but I am saying that God used the metaphor of that belief as a form of communication with me, God's One True Telepath and the only journalist in the world running with the story of God's war against the United States of America.

Consider it a news tip about Bad Luck for America.

I am telling you this not expecting you to believe me; I am just setting up the proof of what I am saying. I have not calculated exactly when that Bad Luck proof will begin, but around the third week of April is a good estimate.

That is, you can expect God to start killing American forces in Iraq at a noticeable rate about that time.

Why would God kill those nice American soldier boys and soldier girls? Because they are soldiering for Evil.

Now let's return to our story of The Not-Forgetting Society, where we find the long, strange seance in the bathing pool of inn called Swallow is coming to an end, and bringing to Tea revelations about the plans and nature of the secret Japanese vengeance group, The Not-Forgetting Society, and revelations about himself.

Society, Part 14

The sun broke through the clouds and sent dazzling, sparkling light through the salt crystals on the window.

Everyone at the party, those dead and those alive, involuntarily turned to look at it, the change was so rapid.

"Well, how about that?", Matsushita said as if his words of murder a few seconds before had not been spoken\; but they had been spoken; and something was taking place in Tea as a result.

"You know, our seance technique is in one way just the opposite of baseball.,,games get called on account of sunshine, The change in barometric pressure will make it hard for the ghosts to hold their beachhead in our zone."

There was a growing clangor in Tea's mind. Mastushita had switched from threats of murder to joking about the weather. Up popped the memory of that hot AK47 muzzle pressing against the back of his head on his 27th birthday in Vietnam just months before. The memory was like a snake, like a snake striking him. It was something akin to insanity. There was a will to kill inside him he'd never known before. He watched Matsushita's face, now turned toward the still approaching Praying Mantis. Matsushita had no idea of the line he had crossed. Matsushita was a ranking martial artist. Certainly, he could kill Tea in an instant. Next time, Tea promised himself, he wouldn't be so helpless. Next time he'd give this fucking "Sword Priest" some pain he wouldn't forget.

Atsuko and Praying Mantis reached them. Time was short. The ghosts on the other side of the bath were already fading. The luxury of ceremony was gone. Praying Mantis was fading and returning, fading and returning. The clouds continued to break and the room was growing brighter, the mist thinner.

Praying Mantis took it in with his eyes and shrugged.

Tea read his gesture and said, "Well, old friend, I was turning into a prune anyway."

Atsuko, Praying Mantis and Tea laughed at the joke, but Matsushita broke in, "Wait, please, Praying Mantis, why was this foreigner invited here? Why has he been shown these things?"

It was clear Praying Mantis was anxious to respond. The three living persons were characters in a dream to him, and elsewhere he was awakening. He had wanted to spell things out, explain subtle points, but now he had only seconds.

He spoke hurriedly.

"Don't misunderstand this, Tea seems to be a foreigner..."

He said it in Japanese, so "foreigner" was "outside person".

Something, some suddenly unbridled knowledge, rushed up in Tea, as if his spinal column were a fire hose with the first surge of water passing through it. For a moment he thought this was his dream, and not Praying Mantis', that he was about to awaken in another place, on another plane of existence, on another planet, in another solar system, in another and very different world.

Praying Mantis was saying, "...he seems to be of a soul race our ancients have never come across. He is different, but the difference cannot be seen from the living side..."

"He's dangerous to us!", Matsushita blurted out.

"Perhaps," answered the almost disappeared ghost, "but he may be more dangerous dead than alive. We don't know. He may be on our side. We don't know.

"We...just...do... not...know," and with that Praying Mantis and all the ghosts were gone.

(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 85th day of its last year.

Society, Part 13

The $593 Billion Defeat

Jews Jaws Three Up

Shark America Seven Down

Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 218

Virgil's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923

Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World

Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event

Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Society (13)

Today's code is "84th Day, Last Year".

Now Dear Reader, I don't want you to become anxious, but I want to tell you some big things are going to be happening.

God is going to destroy Republican American Fascism and American Psycho-Fascism all in one fell swoop.

This will mean hot shrapnel flying this way and that, You may think you are innocent because you love the crime, as most criminals do; but you may be guilty as sin.

I don't know. That is not my department; and the reason it is not my department I would be too easy on you. No, you have harder judges than I coming your way. Judges, by the way, who do not love you as I do. That was always my weakness, loving you.

I want you to understand this as you go before the judge; the judge does not love you.

Dear Reader, the decisions being made today in Washington Deceit about the future of your souls should not be made by anyone, not even you. George W. Bush thinks you will be happy to go to Hell with him; and it is to Hell he is taking you.

Dear Reader, God doesn't allow you to be twigs in a stream.

What does this mean in real terms? It means you have disaster coming down the pike; and you are expecting my friendly handshake but you will get God's Fist.

Now, I think I just documented an Act of God before it takes place. The codes introduced yesterday were "Tiger", "Heel" and "Moo"; and that attack pattern is running full tilt boogie. Look for the unexpected death of a rich and famous woman; then we will see if the event fills out the codes; if it does we will know God killed her as an act of poetic vengeance.

Now let's return to our story of The Not-Forgetting Society, and its plan hatched before the end of World War Two to continue fighting in secret after Japan's surrender.

Society, Part 13

As they watched the seance activity, Matsushita took up his story of the night before, of how Praying Mantis had saved his sister, and through her had recorded his precognition of the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

"I received a telegram from my sister just before the Hiroshima crime," he said as he poured sake' into Tea's cup.

"I was puzzled by the telegram's arrival because such private communications were not common in the closing days of the war; so much was disrupted by then, even though our army in Southeast Asia had hardly been touched.

"I remember the telegram verbatim, 'Brother,' it said, 'Do not eat bad oysters,' which of course, made no sense at all to me."

Across the bath there was a stir at the arrival of a new ghostly guest. He was emerging slowly "taking off his shoes" the Japanese ghosts called it. The new arrival was Praying Mantis.

Aahh," Matsushita said, "our mutual friend has arrived. It will take him a while to drink his way though that crowd, so I'll be able to finish my interminable story.

Praying Mantis waved to Tea and Matsushita. A broad smile was on his face. Then he turned his attention to Atsuko, who was saying something to him and pouring sake' through the ghost cup he held.

"I took the telegram to my commanding officer. He said he would look into it. Then, as if as an afterthought, he said, 'Hey, Kenji, I forgot to mention it but there's a little party at the Officers' Club tonight. It'll probably be the last one before we have to be civilians again. Would you please attend?'

"Of course I said I would, and you have probably guessed the rest by now. Tea-san. Oysters were served, oysters so terribly off they had to be removed from the table untouched. That get-together was the formation party of our little secret society, the Wasureinai-kai, the Not-Forgetting Society, which we generally call The Kai among ourselves."

Praying Mantis was making his way toward them, holding a ghost towel in front of him. He was walking behind Atsuko, who somehow seemed to be pulling him, as if she were somehow part of the physics of his moving through the water.

"Atsuko-san is something like you, Tea-san," Matsushita was saying quietly into Tea's ear. "She has a relaxed affinity for ghosts, nothing at all like the traditional medium. The dead of The Kai call her 'Gingyo'."

"Goldfish?"

"Yes, 'Koi no naka Gingyo, a goldfish among carp. Isn't that poetic?"

Tea felt that Matsushita, high on the seance and drunk on the sake', was almost liking him. That would never do.

"Yes," agreed Tea. Tea was moved by the name, Gingkyo. "Beauty among beauty of another sort, it seems to mean to me. Does it mean that to you?"

"Yes," said Matsushita.

"Do you call her that in public, Matsushita-san?"

Matsushita looked closely at Tea's face, pulling Tea's attention to him. He was looking deep into Tea, looking for guile in that simple American face.

"That would be a break in security, Tea-san. Gingyo is her soul name and her code name. She is always Kinjugawa Atsuko to this world."

"Do you have a soul name, Mr. Matsushita?"

"You are always the snoop, aren't you, Tea-san That would be telling; but you can surmise that I have one..."

Tea felt Matsushita's soul name rising to his own conscious mind and quickly censored it out, not wanting Matsushita to know he had probed that deeply. Matsushita's soul name was "Sword Priest."

"But you told me Atsuko's," Tea said quickly.

"For some reason, Tea-san, she has chosen you. You're o.k., for a foreigner, but I would not be honest if I didn't say again that you rub me the wrong way; and I never like to see a Japanese woman with a foreign man. It's like tea and piss in the same cup. Please excuse my straightforwardness, but I'm a grouchy old Japanese capitalist, and I didn't ger rich by holding back..."

"How did you really get so rich, Mr. Matsushita?" Tea liked probing. He did not take much note of the answers; he was looking for Matsushita's buttons. "Did The Not-Forgetting Society help your business along? All your money came after the war..."

"Tea-san," the tone was vertical, rich man to poor man, "stop snooping. Your news media is not going to buy this story. We are going to kill a lot of Americans, and that nation of straw brains of yours will be too stupid to even know we are killing them.

"You should understand, Tea-san, that but for the intervention of Praying Mantis you would have been dead three months ago, and that spy you called Soldier Ghost would be where we could keep him under pressure, and your soul, too

"Except for the vote of The Kai I would personally drown you right here, right now; and no one, not even Atsuko, would betray my having done it."

Some days, Tea thought, everything went right.

Matsushita had just handed him the Rosetta Stone of the Society's battle plan.

(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 84th day of its last year.

Society, Part 12

The $592 Billion Defeat

Jews Jaws Two Up

Shark America Eight Down

Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 225

Virgil's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923

Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World

Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event

Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Society (12)

Today's code is "84th Day, Last Year".

Here is a mystery for the mystery pile, for about a week I have been talking about a military type sniper on the move against Hillary Clinton; and in the news is the flap about her statements about coming under sniper fire in Bosnia.

Coincidence is the rockets' red glare if God's Space War; and this coincidence encourages me to stick to my guns on this story about Republican American Fascism's plot to assassinate Ms. Clinton and other ranking Democrats.

Yesterday I told you about something evil the American government planned to do, and that America would be punished for it.

The full quote was, "It looks like the United States of America is about to be hurt very badly; this is because it is about to do something incredibly, openly, evil."

Well, the snakes did it--they attempted to murder of a totally innocent person--so now I watch the news for news of God's return punishment of American psycho-fascism.

I can't tell you this whole story today because the play is motion. I can, however, give you some codes that will fill out this story nicely when it comes time to tell it. The codes are "Tiger", "Heel", and "Moo".

Now let's return to our story of The Not-Forgetting Society; as Tea learns more about the Society's plan to explode two nuclear devices in the United States of America in vengeance for Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Society, Part 12

Those in the know, know ghosts like parties.

"In this seance," Matsushita was saying as he began pouring the next round, "our friends here," indicating the women with a tilt of his head and a toast of his cup, "will be something like ghost bait. Don't you find that quaint?"

There is was. Had Tea heard the word "quaint" spoken ten times in his life? Very few things were quaint. But, yes, the quaintness of it all, that was the Society's camouflage.

Tea was tapping into something too incredible to easily to begin to incorporate, not to mention print in newspapers, but, as he recorded the experience for the history books, "It was all so fucking quaint that it was almost impossible to detect its deadly seriousness."

Apparently literally thousands, tens of thousands, of dead Japanese soldiers were very likely coming up with some kind of massive weapon, and it was all so well camouflaged by its quaintness that Tea was here tripping through the tulips like it was just a party.

Tea knew, for example, it was only the support of the Japanese dead that was keeping him alive right now; that he was drinking sake' with a man who would have murdered him if he had had the vote.

Matsushita's cheeks were red from the sake', as were those of the two women, a telltale sign of intoxication in Japanese.

Atsuko poured a round, then Tazuko, each relieved by someone so they would not have to pour for themselves.

Throughout this pouring and drinking Matsushita described the concept of the seance.

"The ghosts are dead Japanese soldiers, after all," he was saying, as if all this was absolutely logical, "and bathing with living Japanese women is high pleasure for them. Therefore, I say the women are like bait.

"The sake' is also bait," he added. "The dead can smell it, even get a little drunk on it."

The two women began to walk away from Tea and Matsushite, wading through the hip deep water toward the opposite side of the bathing pool, each carrying two containers of sake'. They looked more like Shinto nuns than geisha now, which is perhaps closer to what they were, with their long hair tied back with red ribbons and trailing in the water.

Their quiet laughter could be heard by Tea and Matsushita across the steamy bath. Their "bodies of deer" as the Japanese compliment about the form of women went, moved slowly, and glistened through the mist.

The women were excited about encountering the dead soldiers, there being no horror to it, but rather a social-ness. It would be the spirits of the fighting men they would meet, not their decomposed bodies left on distant battlefields.

The further away they waded the more gossamer they were to the eyes of the two living men.

Suddenly Matsushita sucked in air between his teeth in the way of Japanese men expressing an increase in inner tenseness.

"Look! Look to where the women are now! See how they are at the far side of the bath ready pour sake'? See how they are about half blanked out by the steam?"

"Sure."

"O.K., Tea-san, now see if you can see any odd swirls in the steam, any clear human form or part of a human form..."

Tea looked. It took a moment. The first thing he saw was a fine-boned hand holding a ghostly sake' cup.

"Do you see that hand?", Matsushita asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Yes."

"That will be the point man. He'll sniff out for traps. If he sees anyone who should not be here he'll leave, and the seance will be canceled. Same if he spots a camera."

"There he is!," Tea said, pointing.

A Japanese male of about 18 was clearly outlined in the fog next to the bath. He was naked, but held a towel in front of him with his right hand, in his left was a sake' cup.

"Aaaa, so," said Matsushita with a grin "He's saying he's a hidarikiki."

Tea knew the common expression. It meant to drink with the left hand, to be a strong drinker, an admirable quality.

The ghost was stepping into the water. The two women were waiting, holding the sake containers. They bowed from the waist in welcome.

Outside, beyond the window, a huge wave rolled in, striking the rocks and sending spray high into the air. Sea birds were flying by.

The point man, now standing in the bath, was bowing to the ladies.

Then he acknowledged the presence of Matsushita and Tea with a bow in their direction. His face was indistinct. He was thick fog upon thin fog.

Other forms began to emerge within the steam, thickening slowly as each ghost "bore down", as Tea came to call the concentration of consciousness required for transdimensional travel.

"They ride in best in this steam," Matsushita was saying, "and upon scents, their favorites being sake' and the female sex scent; and stormy weather seems best, they call it 'static liquid" and say they can 'adhere' to it better."

Atsuko began waking slowly back toward Tea and Mastushita, her furred mound was like a ship's bow in the water, her torso a ship's figurehead. She was smiling at Tea. She was returning for more sake'.

Behind her, Tazuko was going from ghost to ghost to ghost in the slow motion dictated by the depth of the water, pouring the rice wine into cups held out by the ghosts, the sake' falling through the concentrated nothingness into the water.

Atsuko took Tea's and Matsushita's cups from them and walked to where the waiting trays had been placed. Tea was surprised to see that fresh sake' and fresh cups had been brought in at some point. When she brought them the cups, Tea saw they were different in that while the first had been simply milk white, the new cups were milk white with a red dot on the inner bottom. The water-clear hot sake' enlarged the red dot when poured in.

The red dot, Atsuko told Tea as she poured, represented the red sun on the flag of Japan. This second batch of sake', she said, was brewed in Hiroshima, reminding Tea again that, amid this fanciful beauty and ceremony, revenge was the nature of the dance they were dancing, and that he, Tea, was up to his neck in the hot water of dangerous knowledge.

Atsuko poured for Matsushita, and then the men took turns giving her their cups for her to drink from; she'd long since put her own cup down.

After visiting with them for a few minutes she took four fresh containers of sake' and plowed back toward the ghosts.

Tea and Matsusita were both drunk by this time. The hot water and hot wine had cooled for a time the static between them.

On the other side of the bath so much sake' had been poured into the water that its sweet scent was hanging on the droplets of mist. There was a separateness between the living men and the dead men, as if two separate groups of inn guests were bathing at the same time. The chance looks exchanged were friendly, but except for polite nods there was no attempt to talk across the water. The social distance was needed, Tea understood, to keep the ghosts from being "awakened" by the living.

The women were on one level a bridge between the two worlds, but on another they were like waitresses in a restaurant serving drinks to unrelated customers.

Slowly, quietly during this activity, the some 20 men from the night before, came in and entered the bath, to be greeted with nods and bows from the dead soldiers.

(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 84th day of its last year.

Society, Part 11

The $591 Billion Defeat

Jews Jaws One Up

Shark America Nine Down

Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 199

Virgil's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923

Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008

George W. Bush Will Destroy the World

Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event

Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Society (11)

Today's code is "83rd Day, Last Year".

It looks like the United States of America is about to be hurt very badly; this is because it is about to do something incredibly, openly, evil.

Other than that, it is a slow news day, so let's return to Tea's examination of The Not-Forgetting Society, the secret organization of both living and dead Japanese, and how he comes to understand the Society plans to explode two nuclear devices in the hated United States of America.

Society, Part 11

Out of the swirl of Tea's thoughts Tea picked up Matsushita's words.

"Tea-san, as you are in the process of guessing, both of these ladies are members of the Society. We are not many, but we are dedicated and intelligent, and we are generally accomplished at the language of our enemies, American English.

The word "enemies" came in hard; but of course, these were mortal and post-mortal enemies of the United States of America; so Tea should get a little more sophisticated; and not worry so much about being hated.

There was a strange displacement in Time within this conversation; Matsuhita was speaking from 1943, when Tea was three and he was 23; Matsushita's spirit was the spirit of that time; that was Tea's relative softness; hard war had gone to soft peace.

Then splash Tea became aware again of the Not-Forgetting Society's plan to atom bomb the USA.

"Why an I here?", Tea asked Matsushita, both of them still chin high in hot water; "why am I being shown secret military intentions against my country..."..

"Be patient, Tea-san, as I must be. A lot of us are asking the same question; what are you doing here?

"Among the living in our organization the vote was 100 percent against inviting you here. Among the dead, however, the vote went the other way, though not a hundred percent.

"For some reason our dead members find you interesting. They see things we do not see. They say you are one of a kind; that you are a puzzle to them.

"We living members, except for Atsuko here, don't see much in you; and why she does we don't know, but she had never heard of you before the party.

(Really?, Tea wondered, what here wasn't staged so why not Atsuko being staged, too; but he liked her, he liked that rainbow nose and that tongue that tasted like green tea, so he was ready to ride the game, true or not; if for no other reason than to taste that tongue again.

"Please excuse me, Tea-san, for putting such honest cards on the table, but to us accept for some linguistic capabilities and your friendship with Praying Mantis you seem to us to be at typical American who smokes too much, drinks to much, and is always chasing after our Japanese women.

"I'm sorry to say what I am going to say because I do not trust you, for reasons we do not know our dead have decided to reveal one of our most secret secrets to you."

"Military?"

"Yes, but more; love and contact between the military dead and the military living"; then, his drunken mind going slower than his blabbing tongue, he spewed out hatred, thus spilling the beans.

"You dam Mericans," said Matasushita momentarily losing his diction, "Do you really think military action ended when your country stripped us of our uniforms? Do you think "I Surrender" means "The End"?

Drunk now, and freed from the rules of politeness by the fact of being drunk, Matsushita was pouring out anger at Tea.

What were you then? Five years old? Six? Do you realize I was an officer and a gentleman while you were still messing your pants.

(It was in every culture, superiority based on toilet training date. When you were messing your pants I was fighting krauts; and somewhere in Germany, when you were messing your pants I was fighting Americans.)

Tea preferred to let drunks talk. It was always the same, but sometimes things were revealed. Matsushita might now be proposing the age old argument that he was superior in experience because he was born first.; but he might let something slip he shouldn't, and that's why newsman Tea was there.

"We living members of the Society don't like you in the least, Tea-san..."

"Yes (you drunken old fart) you said that before."

Matsushita continued as if Tea had not spoken; he was now following the drunkards' script; but his eyes betrayed his anger at Tea having telepathically called him a drunken old fart.

"My driver and my bodyguard would have preferred to have killed you last night, as would most of our veterans at the party; they hate ketto like you..."

"Kenji!", Tazuko interrupted with a scolding voice. The word ketto was like the word nigger, only ketto could say it without insult; and very few ketto knew it. Though a very rude word, the meaning of ketto was only "hairy person".

"Sorry, Thank you, Tazuko-san

Turning to Tea, Matsushita apologized. "I am sorry, Tea-san, but it is a profound hatred we feel for your country and you people."
Then, "To answer your question, Tea-san, you are here because Praying Mantis asked that we invite you here. Why this breach in security? We don't know. We expect to learn that today."

"And Atsuko?", Tea asked, looking to her for some understanding. He felt her thigh touch his under the water.

"For the life of me, Tea-san, I do not understand Atsuko's behavior. She has always hated foreign men like you, bulls in our beautiful Japanese china shop as it were; but no, she was not obliged to be your party favor, as you are at this moment wondering.

The door to the bath slid open and two maids came in each bearing a tray with ten sake' containers on it The bowed deeply from the waist.

Saved by the belles!", exclaimed Matsushita, smugly proud again of his play on English words, but beyond that, for him to have spoken so heatedly to a guest was poor form, and he was anxious to smooth the atmosphere.

As for Tea, he knew he was hated here and he appreciated the honesty.

Tea, on his part, was needing to readjust his theories about The Not-Forgetting Society. He had expected the Society to be just another galactic of the dead--in this case with the living involved--that is, he was suspecting just another Land of the Dead military society; but suddenly coming face to face with talk of killing Americans because they hate them, with talk of military secrets, with the growing awareness that somehow The Not-Forgetting Society had as least two nuclear devices and were on the verge of using them in revenge for Hiroshima and Nagasaki required a big readjustment of Tea's theory.

His newsman's brain was wanting to get to a telephone and yell, "Stop the presses!" His spy's brain was reminding him he was surrounded by hostile Japs living 25 years out of synch with the world

The maids set the trays down within arm's reach of the tub, and bowed and departed. Mtsushita passed cups around. He poured first for the two women, then for Tea. Tea followed custom and took the little container from Matsushita and poured for him.

"Kampai!", toasted the four, still siting neck deep in the hot water, easily emptying the tiny cups. Tea then poured a second round, Matsushita taking the flask back to pour for Tea, then setting it back on the tray and taking another.

Matsushita's mood changed rapidly with the intake of sake' He quickly turned the conversation back to the subject of the seance.

(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 83rd day of its last year.

Society, Part 10

The $580 Billion Defeat

Jews Jaws One Up

Shark America Nine Down

Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 187

Virgil Kret's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923

Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World

Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event

Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Society (10)

Today's code is "83rd Day, Last Year".

Three good items on I.C. News desk today.

We have just passed through two significant events in our on-the-spot report on God's Space War against the United States of America; and also just have learned the Republican American Fascist plot to assassinate Hillary Clinton is on pause...it is paused, not abandoned.

The two significant recent events that took place were my advance documentation of the 7.2 China quake; and my establishment of the "Omegane! Omegane!" double code.

As important as these two stories are to you and to me, without a doubt the most important news story I.C. News is following at this time is the intended Republican American Fascist assassination of Hillary Clinton.

I.C. News reported the movement of the current anointed assassin (and when dealing with Republican American Fascism the word "anointed" becomes significant) but for some yet unknown reason the straight military sniper style assassination schedule was put on pause.

Why was it put on pause? I can guess; but I do not know.

Bear in mind, a fascist coup has taken place in the United States of America.

Once you factor that in...once you gird your balls and incorporate that factor, then all the dead you have had to eat and all the dead that is being cooked up for you to eat, makes perfect sense; the snake loses its protective coloration.

Knowledge is Power; the Truth Shall Make You Free; Put the Blame Where it Belongs, Liars singing Liars' Songs.

I think I.C. News put that assassination move on pause because it was so on the nail-head-hard-hitting; and that it had pointed to two culprits in conspiracy plotting horrible murder--Fox News and the neo-fascist private armies, Blackwater, and so forth.

I shined my light square on those snakes; and those snakes decided it was wiser to assassinate Hillary Clinton on some other day.

That's what I mean; the private military operation to assassinate Hillary Clinton and others in only on pause.

And on others? And on others? Of course on others; this is a fascist coup, not a meeting of the Young Republicans.

In one of their scenarios, the Republican American Fascists plan a night of murder, as in the example when the Sainted Booth assassinated the Demon Lincoln when multiple assassinations were attempted.

Different eyes have different views of history; one man's saint is another man's sinner.

Now let's return to our story of The Not-Forgetting Society, where we are about to attend the Society's seance with its dead members, a seance, as it turns out, which takes place in the huge bath of the inn called Swallow.

Society, Part 10

To Tea, both life and the dark side of life's moon, death, needed adventure.

He was just finishing his post-breakfast cigarette, sipping tea, when a light knock announced the sliding open of the door. A second kneeling maid bowed and without coming in announced that the bath was ready.

It was time, Tea knew, for a most unusual seance.

Entering the bathing room, Tea saw that the bath was oval in shape and large enough to hold at least 50 bathers comfortably.

One wall of the room was glass, the view from it being of the still-angry sea hitting the shore rocks that abutted the inn. The wind had brought spray to the glass, leaving specks of salt.

The water in the bath was extremely hot and, due to the coldness coming through a section of the window opened for that purpose, a thick fog mooded about the room.

Only three bathers were in the huge bath. Matsushita and two women were hunkered down in the hot water up to their necks. One of the women was the woman Tea'd awakened with, Atsuko. He did not recognize the other.

The three, hunkered in a little triangle, waved cheerily to Tea as he stood by the door, wearing the inn's yukata and carrying his small towel and soap, Matsushita and the second woman calling out their good mornings.

Atsuko caught Tea's eye and nodded her head in a uniquely Japanese way which might be called demure, but the word is a wooden clog describing the silken slipper of the movement.

As was the custom, Tea soaped and washed himself far away from the bath, at a line of faucets coming out of the wall and about two feet above the floor; and before each faucet was a little wooden stool and a copper colored metal bowl, the washing to be done before bathers entered the pool.

Finishing the scrub, and rinsing carefully so no soap would go with him to the pool, Tea rung-rinsed the little hand towel supplied by the inn, which served as both washcloth and drying towel, and walked to the bathing pool holding the towel in front of his genitals, as was the custom.

Steps led into the pool, the water rising to just below his navel before he reached the tiled pool floor; then he plowed through the water a distance of about ten feet and joined the others.

When he reached them and was squatting chin high among to them, Matsushita introduced the second woman, Tazuko, what had been the comic dancer of the night before.

Atsuko, who had been the samisen player, moved close to Tea.

Though both women had been dressed as geisha the night before, wearing elaborate stiff wigs, thick white facial makeup, and the classic geisha kimono, Tea did not think they were actually geisha because it seemed their whole role was a costume, that there was something not quite geisha about them...yes, of course...the puzzle came together; they were initiates in the Not-Forgetting Society. Tea had not anticipated women members.

Tea suddenly felt very alone. He was the outsider. For a while there had been the delusion that the women were outsiders, too.

That feeling of aloneness was so intense in Tea that me might as well been skin stretched across a granite statue of Saint Aloneness.

Like a fool who had rushed in where wise men never tread, Tea was suddenly in free fall and horribly aware of his folly as he sat there in that steaming tub on that seance-charged stormy day; possibly without a friend this side of Arlington National Cemetery.

In his later years, when Tea ranked the great experiences of his life. that seance would stand with his first night in combat, and the night he killed Matsushita's son, and the night he triggered the military maneuver against the United States of America known historically as The Litmus Paper Ambush.

Matsushita seemed anxious to get to the point, to begin the seance.

'Have you ever attended a seance, Tea-san?", he asked in preamble.

In their daylight nakedness Tea could see Manstushita was powerfully built and in shape. Certainly he was in the area of his late fifties, yet he was stronger than Tea at 27. A life of Japanese fencing had done that for Mastushita.

"No," said Tea, squeezing the towel as dry as he could and placing it on the top of his head, a common practice among bathing Japanese men, "I've never approached ghosts in any way other than through my dream state method, though sometimes ghosts have approached me in other ways."

Tea was lying a bit, but what the Hell.

His skin red from his neck down thanks to the bath's very hot water, Tea was precariously balanced between pain and pleasure. Ask's leg occasionally brushed his.

"Well, perhaps that's good," Manstushita said, his own towel on his head.

"The way we of the Not-Forgetting Society have seance's is extremely rare, if not unique." He smiled his boastful smile.

The conversation was in English and Tea was thinking about suggesting a switch to Japanese because the women did not seem to be following.

"Thank you for your thought, Tea-San," Ask said to him while the thought was still forming. "Adzuki and I speak enough English to follow.

Her English was solid. She was comfortable with it.

Tea found her use of telepathy--which now seemed to be a common capability among members of the Not-Forgetting Society--was remarkable.

Ask looked into Tea's eyes and smiled. The taste of green tea on her tongue came to mind. Had she put that taste there telepathically? Were these people that good at it? Or was it just a pleasant memory asserting itself?

Ask was becoming more interesting by the minute. Maybe Tea wasn't alone.

Tea remembered the story Praying Mantis had told him about his life in the 1st Century monastery, where all the initiates were telepaths.

Was The Not-Forgetting Society somehow related to that monastry? Had those martial monks become reincarnating soldiers?

And Atsuko? How did she fit in. There had been no women initiates in Praying Mantis' story.

And when it came down to it, Tea the journalist could not see how he could make this secret society into a news story It was the best damned story in the world, but too looney tooney to be published even in the New York Daily News, too crazy-true to sell even at the flea market fringe of journalism, the tabloids. If there was a chance of a story being true, they did not want it.

Not all news stories were as simple as newspeople believed. It would be hack, hack, hack through the jungle of journalism's ignorance to birth this story into light of day.

Matsushita cleared his throat. His hatred for Tea was better concealed than it had been the night before.

(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 83rd day of its last year.

Society, Part 9

The $579 Billion Defeat

Jews Jaws Zero Down

Shark America Ten Up

Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 181

Virgil Kret's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923

Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World

Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event

My Advice to You is Seek the Beauty, Beauty Heals.

Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Society (9)

Today's code is "82nd Day, Last Year".

We have a very interesting double code today. "Omegane! Omegane", it is about something very big you are soon likely to see in the sky.

I don't think there is a market for my advance documention of this event, so I will just await it with pleasure.

Other than that, it is a slow news day at I.C. News, so let's return to our story, The Not-Forgetting Society, the second of three stories that lead us to the Secret Story, the hidden history of how God's Space Sailors rescued the Japanese race in about 660 BC.

Society, Part 9

At noon there came a gentle tapping at Tea's door.

Tea's first consciousness told him he was hungry; his second that he was alone on the futon; his third that there was a rapping at his door; his fourth that the storm was still blowing.

"Please enter," he called out in quiet, polite Japanese.

The door slid open.

A maid was sitting formally on her knees and heels. Breakfast was on a lacquer tray on the floor in front of her. She rose, picking it up as she did so. She entered the room, then knelt again, setting the tray down and sliding the door closed. She turned toward him and bowed her head deeply, saying a sunny "Good morning!" in Japanese, and asked if he had slept well, also in Japanese.

Tea, still covered with bedding, returned the greeting and said yes he had slept very well.

As Tea spoke the maid rose with the tray and carried it to a low table in front of another set of sliding paper and pine doors, which were closed.

Through the paper came a soft light from the window four feet beyond it.

The diffused stormy noon light bathed the maid, setting off her checkered kimono of brick red and pale blue. A wide, silk maroon obi circled her waist and formed a large, playful bow at her back. Her hair was black and shiny and bobbed as if a bowl had played a part in the design of its cut. Tea guessed her age to be 15 and wondered if she was an apprentice or the daughter of the Swallow's owners.

She knelt by the table and set the tray on the floor beside it, then took from it dishes of food, a tea pot, a single handle less cup, and a pair of disposable chopsticks in a paper wrapper, and arranged them on the low little table before a cushion on the tatami floor.

She then rose and opened the paper and pine doors revealing the windows, allowing Tea to see the wild sea. A gull was flying into the wind, making slow progress.

Tea, naked, remained under the covers until the maid left, exchanging pleasantries with her in Japanese as she worked. Was there any damage to the inn? Not much. That's good, isn't it? Yes, isn't it? She asked if he would prefer a western breakfast. No, he said, honestly.

Out of politeness he avoided looking at her too much. She seemed vexed with shyness, and Tea wondered if she had ever come in contact with a foreigner before; few ever visiting the back side of Japan, and fewer still staying at exclusive inns like Swallow.

There was a moon roundness to her face, and an actual rose tint to her cheeks.
Having finished setting Tea's table, the maid left Tea's room, taking the empty tray with her, reversing the pattern of kneeling, rising and bowing she had performed upon entering, a pattern centuries old and as naturally adhered to as bees to their dance language.

Tea rose, put on a fresh yukata, and exited the room, visiting the communal toilet and washroom again, where he brushed his teeth again with a complimentary tooth brush which left bristles in his mouth, and shaved with a scratchy complimentary throw-away razor. Then he returned to his room to his pleasantly anticipated rural Japanese breakfast.

He found it to be much as he had expected and hoped. There was white rice at near room temperature, a raw egg to break over it and mix into it, some pickled radish, some seasoned greens, and a single broiled fish about eight inches long.

Tea sat formally on knees and heels as he ate alone. He ate slowly, viewing the stormy sea through his window.

(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 82nd day of its last year.

Society, Part 8

The $568 Billion Defeat

Jews Jaws Zero Down

Shark America Ten Up

Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 173

Virgil Kret's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923

Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World

Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event

Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Society (8)

Today's code is "81st Day, Last Year"

I note today that I.C. News' earthquake study seems to be bearing fruit. Yesterday I wrote after the daily seven-day earthquake count the phrase "Looking for a Big Quake" and soon thereafter a 7.2 quake took place in China.

As I.C. News tracks the death of this Earth expected in late 2064, it considers the earthquake pattern far, far more important than global warming as a cause for this Earth's death.

That is, we are expecting this Earth to explode, not boil.

While global warming may change the nature of life on this Earth, this Earth's exploding will...well, it's not a pretty picture.

It is remarkable to me that in less that two years of daily earthquake study I.C. News seems to have discovered something about earthquakes the professional seismologists have not. That being that they come in patterns.

I.C. News has found, for example, that when the seven-day count drops rapidly, a major earthquake can be expected. I.C. News' definition of "major" is 7.0 or above.

This work noted this rapid drop pattern Tuesday, three days prior to the China 7.2 quake, with the phrase "Fast Drops Indicate Big Quakes Coming" after the seven-day count headline.

As another example, for five of the past six years there has been a major quake on or about December 26; including the great tsunami quake which altered the rotation of this Earth slightly; and which I.C. news documented daily for nine days in advance.

I.C. News feels this December 26 pattern is a result of this Earth's tilt at that time of the year.

While this pattern was not continued on December 26, 2007, there was at that time extreme volcanic activity in South America, which I.C. News considers to be part of the same Earth-death pattern.

Pardon me for patting myself on the back, but if I don't do it no one else will; and with this fresh success on the scoreboard, this seems a good day to review I.C. News' overall theory of Earth-death.

The primary cause of this Earth's death on or about December 26, 2064, is the extraction of oil from beneath the surface of this Earth.

This causes a number of disastrous effects.

One, it creates the pollution resulting from the burning and spilling of the oil and manufacture of petroleum-based products, such as plastic.

Two, it creates great hunger of oil, which becomes a major cause of war.

Three, it creates the class of the super-rich, which progresses constantly toward the political-economic enslavement of the not-super-rich.

(Today we can see this super-rich class re-inventing serfdom, and almost totally owning the United States government and most of the governments of the world.)

Four, and this is the Big Four, the Big Death, the extraction of the oil removes it from its natural function, planet stability; and so weakens the outer structure of this Earth that the outer structure grows weaker and weaker relative to the dynamic power of the core of this Earth; resulting in planetary Big Bang. Theory? Foreknowledge?

Other than that, it's a slow news day at I.C. News, so let's continue with our story of The Not-Forgetting Society, the second of three stories that lead us to The Secret Story (with proof you can hold in your hand) that God's Space Sailors saved the Japanese race from extermination in approximately 660 BC.

In our previous episode, Tea and Matsushita had arrived at an inn called "Swallow" and were attending a geisha party with about 20 Japanese World War Two veterans, the party in anticipation of a seance with Japanese war dead the next day.

It is the morning after...

Society, Part 8

Tea awoke face down on a strange futon, lost for a time of where he might be, feeling oddly askew, nearly at a right angle to the floor, somehow adhered, like a piece of gum to a theater seat, to a wrinkled sheet.

He was hung over, and his eyes itched. They were pink, he knew this without finding a mirror. His mouth was awful and his nose burned.

Recovering his sense of location, Tea groped with his right arm, with closed eyes, along the tatami floor for his rumpled pile of clothes, and when he found them ransacked them for cigarettes. Finding a box of Hopes, he shook it and was relieved, deeply relieved, to feel little tubes bouncing inside. One of the tubes, blessed find, held a marijuana cocktail, but best cure for hangover known to mortal man, Further searching, eyes still closed, led him to a little box of wooden matches. It rattled when shaken. Some days, everything went right.

He started to sit up, eyes still blessedly closed, when he felt something across his lower back, impeding him. He rolled over onto his back and the impediment advanced to his stomach.

He opened his eyes as slightly as possible, so that he peered through his eyelashes like a rabbit through tall grass. The impediment was a foot. He stared at it blankly. He read the whorls of its print pattern, stupidly trying to discern its owner. Dully, it occurred to him to follow the leg past ankle, past knee, past muff, past navel...to her face. He couldn't place the face. Thank goodness it was someone he didn't know.

He gently lifted the foot and slipped out from under it, sitting cross-legged and naked on the tatami. He lit the cocktail, drew smoke deep into his lungs and held it there. There was only enough grass for one toke before he hit the tobacco, but it was superior Laotian weed and one toke was enough.

There was a pot of tea at the head of the futon. Tea touched it and found it hot. There were two cups. They matched the pot, swallows in flight. He poured a cup. Smoked. Sipped. He sighed with relief as the grass undid the alcohol's malice. The tobacco, too, tasted sweet.

Outside, the storm continued to tatter the coast.

Near the tea pot Tea found two starched and folded yukata, the kimono-like cotton garment Japanese inns furnished to their guests as both social and sleeping attire. These were blue and white, showing scenes of swallows in flight behind close-up views of pine trees. The swallows were over a sea.

Tea put on one of the yukata, girding it tightly with a sash called the obi, the obi riding low beneath his navel, as was the style, The loose bow he tied hanging just above his butt.

He walked across the tatami, feeling the pleasant touch of their weave on the soles of his bare feet, and eased open the sliding paper and wood door which led to the hallway he and Matsushita had walked down the night before.

The candles had been snuffed out, and dim indirect light from the cloud-covered sun found its way into the hallway as best it could (at the speed of light, of course, but in solo sorties against Darkness, and Darkness, poor Darkness, only wanted to be left alone).

Two pairs of slippers had been placed neatly in the hall in front of his door. He put on a pair and began flopping toward the toilet, stopping to turn as an afterthought to check the name of his room. It was "Spring Rain".

"I'd better call the bureau," Tea thought as he exited the toilet, his bladder happy, his teeth brushed, his face washed. There was a phone by the staff lounge next to the entrance. He dialed UPI's Tokyo number.

"News desk." It was Harry.

"Harry, this is Tea."

"Tea! You're the hero of the bureau today! How'd you know?"

"Know what?"

Broader awareness of the mystery foot in Spring Rain began to rise up in his mind, little visibilities in the London pea soup fog of his recent life.

"Know what? Tea! The storm! The biggest storm to hit Japan this century. It's a freak. Did you just wake up or something?"

Tea's mind was like a tired, heavily loaded jackass on a muddy track, somehow hoodwinked into running in the Kentucky Derby.

Then, in Tokyo, on the other end of the silent line, the truth occurred to Harry.

"Oh, man, Tea, you must be exhausted. I bet you were up half the night covering the storm, weren't you?"

Salvation. One first saw it as a distant light in the sky.

Magically, Tea's jackass was turning into a thoroughbred leading the field.

"Well, Harry, I must admit things have been pretty hectic here. People are getting knocked on their asses by the wind...but you know...on the spot you don't get much of an overview. Lights, telephones, everything's been out at one time or another."

Tea had landed on his feet and was running. The bureau thought his cryptic message from Matsushite had been about the storm! To Tea that seemed about as crazy as it actually having being about dead soldiers staying at an inn called Swallow.

On the other end of the line Tea could hear Harry typing rapidly and he spoke to him about the storm. The news desk phone would be crooked between Harry's upraised right shoulder and right-tilted head. His cigar would have gone out, and the mouth end would have been chewed to slimy brownness, and he would be holding it between his right teeth and cheek; an affectation Tea thought he'd picked up in a Thirties newspaper movie. He would be typing 40 words a minute, using only lower case keys because the teletype sent out only in upper case, and capitalization was a useless exercise.

The copy would be edited in New York, probably needled in the process. Harry would be needling it, too. America was addicted to needled news. It was the sugar additive. Harry would have bulletined the story. He would be sending it out one paragraph at a time. handing each paragraph to the teletype operator, who would punch it out as Harry wrote the next paragraph. The word "BULLETIN" at the top of the story would automatically ring the bells housed in receiving teletypes around the world. Tea's byline would top the story. Tea would be billed as the only western newsman on the spot. By the time Harry's third paragraph was out the first paragraph would have been edited in New York and sent out on the national and international wires. Editors around the world would be responding to the bells, changing front pages already set in type. Disk Jockeys would be ripping and reading.

Tea was remembering that the mystery woman he had awakened to find on his futon with him had a beautiful nose, arched like a section of a rainbow; and that she had tiny, oddly painted lips, like little rose petals. Perhaps she was one of the geisha. He had to put her identity together before he went back to that room.

He heard himself dictating to the hard-typing Harry that wind-blown litter was strewn along the streets and sometimes became dangerous missiles, that low-lying areas were flooded, that cars were in ditches, and that hot wires were down and waiting like snakes in the grass; which was always the case in storms and therefore pretty good guessing. Like football games, all storms looked pretty much alike.

Then the light of salvation grew even brighter. It took the form of the flickering television set in the staff room, which he could see from where he stood. On the screen, Japanese for "LIVE" was superimposed on a shot of a small coastal freighter that had just run aground.

The announcer was saying the ship had lost power and been driven ashore about 25 kilometers north of Ama-No-Hashidate.

On the TV screen Tea could see deck crew scurrying around, and lines being shot toward shore where 20 or 30 fishermen and their wives and children had gathered on the beach to watch and to help. Waves were breaking over the ship's stern, but she ship was nosed in straight and seemed not to be in danger of capsizing. Tea could see the wind was blowing hard enough to whip the wet sand into flight, that the waves were high enough to be eroding beach rarely touched by the sea, that children were laughing and thrilled. Tea heard himself saying into the telephone, "About 20 kilometers north of the small tourist town of Ama-No-Hashidate, a coastal freighter..."

After about 20 minutes of this dictation Dunkel came on the line. "Great stuff, Tea! Great stuff!" New York says we're sweeping the board!"

Tea, modestly, "Thanks".

Dunkel was exhilarated. Kudos were coming in from the foreign editor, even the president of the company. Editors around the world were happily setting big, money making headlines, "Ship Around in Storm/Crew Struggles for Life"; then is slightly smaller type, "Exclusive On-The-Spot Report".

Tea was remembering that the lady of the foot back in Spring Rain had extremely long, black hair. "Name. Name. Name. Give me her name, please," he begged the universe.

As if the Angels were hovering over him, he was hearing Dunkel saying he, Tea, had done enough, that he was probably soaked to the bone, that he should get some whiskey into him and get himself into a warm bed. In the background, he could hear the bureau TV playing the same live NHK broadcast he could see from where he stood.

"I guess I am a little tired," Tea was saying to Dunkel.

Salvation, sweet salvation. Dunkel was saying Tea should take a few days off, that he was a real pro, that they should have lunch when he got back. This was the same guy to planned to flush Tea's career with UPI down the toilet at the first opportunity.

Dunkel had been in Japan for seven years off and on and knew three words in Japanese, scotch, goodbye, and tit. Tea was stealing news off the TV channel Dunkel was watching, and Dunkel didn't even know it. Ineptitude had rich grazing in American journalism.

Back at the room called Spring Rain, Tea slid the door open slowly. His watch told him it was only seven-thirty and he didn't want to make noise. He stepped out of his slippers and stepped into the room, carefully sliding the door closed.

As he turned away from the door he found an arched nose close to his, and a tongue tasting of green tea entering his mouth. Delicate little arms went around his neck. Delicate little legs wrapped around his hips. The tongue was retracted, and he was asked:

"Anata no namae wa nan degozaimasu ka?"

She was asking him is name. The universe had heard his prayer.

Tea carried her back, impaled, to the futon.

Mysteriously, some days everything went right.

(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 81st day of its last year.

Society, Part 7

The $567 Billion Defeat

Jews Jaws One Down

Shark America Nine Up

Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 158 (Looking for a Big Quake)

Virgil Kret's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923

Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World

Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event

Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Society (7)

Today's code is "80th Day, Last Year"

Let's talk a little today about Time and Space; and Time Travel and Space Travel.

My Old Pal God has been asking me to talk to you about these subjects for the past few days, actually since the day before science fiction writer Arthur C. Clarke died about two days ago.

The "about" is because he died in Sri Lanka, which is one calendar day ahead of me here in California. He died on Wednesday, but it was Tuesday here.

Clarke is perhaps best known for the movie, "2001: A Space Odyssey", a movie which was very popular about the time the United States of America was just beginning its torture-enslavement of me in the early Seventies.

It is not the movie I point to today, but the published story, which had a very different ending; or rather the ending of the movie stopped short of where the published story went.

It is that ending my Old Pal God has been asking me to point out to you since the day before Clarke died; but I am slow sometimes to do what God asks me to; and God patiently prods me; so now I am well prodded.

It is the United States of America's bad luck to have tortured and enslaved the only human being in the world capable of Time Travel; because militarily one Time Traveler is worth more than the sum total of all armies and navies and air forces on this Earth, and all their weapons nuclear and non-nuclear.

Simply put, my job as God's One True Time Traveler is to prevent the human race from murdering the planet Earth. It is not my duty nor to save the human race in whole or in part.

I am not your Jesus, nor have I ever thought I was, nor would I want to be (though that was the shew bread I ate to keep Richard Nixon's bullet out of my head); but it can be said I am your executioner; and as Bob Dylan sang, my face is always well hidden.

I have explained this. If the only way to save this Earth is to place into extinction the human race, then extinction it will be.

This Earth's death is projected to take place in late December, 2064; but to prevent that death the extinction of the human race is scheduled for 2045 or thereabouts.

Signs and wonders, signs and wonders; there is always the hope that the human race will see and heed the signs and wonders God is presenting to it; but it seems the human race is as blind to them as America is incapable of being decent to me.

So, since God loves the human race much more than I do, it seems God is going to present a very, very, very big sign and wonder to the human race between now and July 15.

My thought is America will suffer great pain when this very, very, very big sign and wonder takes place; though it could be argued that is just wishful thinking on my part, I having suffered so much in the unjust, sadistic grip of America.

We shall see what we shall see.

I have referred to this approaching event a few weeks ago when I said my future projections showed me free to backpack in the wilderness without government pig or citizen volunteer harassment after July 15; and I remarked at the time I could not see how that would come to pass.

Now, with God having pointed out to me the metaphor at the end of Clarke's published version of 2001: A Space Odyssey, I am beginning to get the picture.

At the end of the movie we see the protagonist has after a number of changes become a fetus floating in space.

At the end of the written story the fetus is getting close to Earth and this apparently causes some consternation among those nations of the Earth who have missiles capable of carrying weapons into space, because they fire massive numbers of these missiles at the fetus.

The story ends with the fetus exploding the missiles near the surface of the Earth with its mind.

That's the story my Old Pal God asked me to tell you today. I would suggest that all people in favor of America's torture-enslavement of me leave this Earth quickly. Perhaps you can find someplace in this Universe where cowardly, sadistic psycho-fascists are welcome. Try Hell.

My God-prodded duty to explain this to you done, let's return to our story, The Not-Forgetting Society.

After a long limo ride through a pounding storm, during which Matsusita and Tea spoke of ghosts, reincarnation, and the Not-Forgetting Society's plan for "poetic vengeance" for Hiroshima and Nagasaki, they have arrived at an inn called "Swallow".

Society, Part 7

Their car stopped under an overhang at the entrance to the inn.

Staff rushed out to meet them.

Considering Matsushita's wealth, Tea guessed the elderly man and woman standing in the rain at the head of the welcoming line were the owners of the inn.

The driver and the bodyguard, Matsushita's son, stayed with the car as Tea and Matsushita went in; and Tea did not see either of them again until he killed Matsushita's son in San Francisco some 20 years later.

Even decades after that event, it always struck Tea that killing Matasushita's son was the oddest thing he had ever done.

He wasn't proud of it. He wasn't ashamed of it. It was just that killing a man had been something he never expected to do.

He'd had no choice. It had been fight or die; kill or die. There'd been no place to run, nothing to say, no arguments to present, no hope of another way.

Later Tea would look at his arms and wonder where the strength had come from; and consider his pacifistic mind and wonder where the intent had come from.

He would look at the moment over and over and be amazed at the timing and the skill of the killing, like a moment in Time divided into paper-thin slices of perfect coordination perhaps never to be achieved again.

It was as if he had never played the piano and had sat down to a Steinway at some great competition and played to perfection, then lost the ability as soon as the final note was sounded.

If one had told Tea on that stormy night north of Ama-No-Hashidate that the day would come when he would kill a man, any man, he would have laid back his head and laughed as he so often did when something absurdly funny was presented to him; and if he were told he would kill that particular man, hard as a rock and mean as a snake, in a nose to nose confrontation, in a duel in which he was totally outclassed, and kill him with total assurance of the outcome, he would have said, "not a chance", and bet against himself.

Tea and Matsushita removed their shoes in the inn's entry room and put on waiting slippers; then they were escorted down a long corridor lined with rooms announced by sliding paper and wood doors, each room's name calligraphed on a small pine tablet to the right of the doorway.

It was a dark and shadowed hall, and probably would have been even if the storm had not kept the electricity away. Candles burned on head-high candlesticks about every ten feet. The numbered 12.

At the end of the corridor waited the banquet hall, where several low tables pushed together in a tight line supported the food and drink of about 20 prosperous-looking men in their fifties and sixties. They sat in slouched informality on cushions around the tables, happily drunk, singing what Matsushita said was an old war song.

Seven geisha were serving them, and maids were constantly coming and going with trays.

Amid the smoke and laughter a geisha was dancing a comic dance, while another played the three-stringed, banjo-like samisen. At reoccurring passages in the song the men would call out "Iku! Iku!", and laugh in drunken unison. In direct translation it meant "Go! Go!", but it meant "Come! Come!" in the sexual sense.

Cheers of welcome greeted the newcomers. Places of honor were waiting.

Most of the men, Matsuhita told him, had served with him in Indo-China, though some had been in Manchuria, captured and imprisoned by the Soviets who came in just before the war ended.

Tea found it odd that there were no veterans of the island fighting present. Through the din he asked Matsushita about it, "They're here, Tea, but they are all dead."

Tea could feel no dead in the room.

"Relax, Tea-san," said Matsushita, "Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we may see the dead."

(To Be Continued)

Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 80th day of its last year.