Society, Part 2
The $562 Billion Defeat
Jews Jaws Five Down
Shark America Five Up
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 212 (6.0 Off Oregon)
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 (2)
Today's code is "76th Day, Last Year"
You know, Dear Reader, I have never asked you to believe me when I tell you what I know about the nature of God's presence on this Earth; Sweet Jesus, but you already have enough skewed beliefs to kill each other over.
And you know, Dear Reader, I have never begged you to give me my rights and freedoms back--but I have said you must, damn your eyes, but I have said you must or I will fight you about this, Dear Reader, until the end of Time and beyond; and you are not up to that fight, Dear Reader, not up to that fight at all.
Now let's look at what I expect Satan's son's next attack on the world to be as he plays president in the White House, sandbox politician in a grown-up world.
As I said yesterday, I expect it to be in the state of New York--at least in the state of New York and reverberating beyond--and my first guess is it will be the assassination of Hillary Clinton.
I know the form the assassination can be expected to take, professional military marksmanship; and the shooter will be Blackwater or another one of those neo-fascist private armies.
The employer will claim "crazy renegade", but you and I, Dear Reader, will know the truth.
God bless her, I don't care Hillary all that much, and she would throw water on me if I were drowning, but I loathe murder, just loathe it, just loathe it.
My highest ambition in this life is to put an end to murder on this Earth, Foolish, you say? Well, kiss this fool's ass.
But I was supposed to begin today to tell you the Old Story, the one I don't ask you to believe, of how and why we Space Sailors came here nearly 60 thousand years ago.
How we got here is a story in itself, because we had never before sailed these seas. God pointed this way, and said Boys I got some problems, my Earth's down there in the doldrums, sail that way and see what you can do.
That is not an exact quote, so don't print it in red, but in essence that is what God said.
What did we find after light-years at sea? An Earth exploded. Flotsam and jetsam, Dear Reader, where this Earth used to be; and all the life this Earth had created floating among it and clinging to it, shipwrecked sailors in a sea of pain.
Clearly our work was cut out for us. How do we undo the done? Surely that was what God was asking us to do when we had been shown the charts to this place.
God loves this Earth; Sweet Jesus how God loves this Earth.
We're not stupid swabbies as you have in the officer corps of the U.S. Navy, we are Space Sailors of God, and our sea is Time and Space, and we sail back and forth in both all the time, so we traveled back in Time, like a movie film reversed, and saw this Earth come back together, after it having unseen--but for God's Eyes--gone from bad to worse.
You were here then. Your whole life, Dear Reader, is deja vu.
Deja vu, yes, but as no two snowflakes look the same, the second time at the same life is almost always totally unique from the first, the same but different, same soul, different bag of bones, same end game, but a different road getting there.
You might have been dead to war by this time the first time; but might you have been two inches to the left this time and the bullet missed. You may have had a different mother; you may have lived in a different nation; your nose may have been more Roman; but under the skin you were the same, pretty as a picture and mean as a snake.
I am not saying this to elicit your thanks, but were it not for God's Space Sailors sailing God's ships through God's seas you would be flotsam and jetsam here and now; and you would have been in Hell now for some 57 thousand years if it weren't for God's Law of the Sea.
Understand? This Earth was exploded when we came upon her, and it was against God's Law of the Sea to leave her that way.
So we went way, way back in Time, some 57 thousand years, to primitive man, to primitive beers (but even then they wept modern tears) and we began to figure out what killed this Earth; and we began to Box the Glacier of Your Doom.
We knew the dilemma was a matter of mass and momentum, that much was simple enough. We knew events on this earth were like a glacier moving slowly toward a mountain village, and that glacier had to be boxed or the village was doomed. The village, of course, was this Earth.
After a time we knew it was humankind that had killed this Earth, and we knew humankind would kill this Earth again; and we knew we couldn't change the nature of the human beast, no, no, no, the beast was set in its ways...but at least...but at least...we could influence; at least we could Box the Glacier of Your Doom, changing its course ever so slightly so the village, this Earth, might be spared.
Jesus, Buddha, Moses, Mohammed and all the others around the world, they were all mountains put in the path of the Glacier of Your Doom, attempts to stem the Satan in man, mountains in the path of the glacier...mountains to divert the murderer this Earth.
Sure, the glacier passed over and around the mountains, but the mountains changed the pace, changed the very nature of the human being; the human being that first time having had no idea murder was bad and slavery was wrong and gluttony was doom. Big change, yes?
It was a nasty job, but someone had to do it; and we were the only someones within 50 thousand light-years. Believe me, we all would have rather been home in bed with the mommies of our babies; but we were here instead; and that makes us testy sometimes, really, really, really testy. For the sake of your own ass, you should know that.
That testiness becomes important very soon, for while we Space Sailors are required by God's Law of the Sea to save this Earth, we are not required to save the human being.
Dig it, we have to stop you from murdering this Earth a second time; or extinct you so this Earth can live on. Extinction by 2045 should do the trick.
(You people who believe in abortion should not complain about this. It's the same idea: Save the mother, fuck the baby.)
And we always knew the end time. We always knew the day this Earth exploded, December 26, 2065, though that calendar did not exist then and we just counted the spins of this Earth and her passages around the Sun and came up with that.
We might be off by a day or two, we Space Sailors of God are not perfect.
And we always knew George W. Bush would destroy this Earth, knew it from the day he wandered dumbfounded onto the stage of human life with a silver coke spoon under his nose; we knew at first sight that George W. Bush is deja vu of himself.
That deja vu, that's why George W. Bush feels so special now; why he feels he is fulfilling his Destiny as he murders left and right; he doesn't understand he is destroying this Earth for the second time.
No, I am not asking you to believe me. I am just telling you this story as I know it.
My personal challenge right now? Just to keep Hillary Clinton alive.
What good will that do me? Sure, I'll probably never get into her good graces; but if I can prevent from happening again what happened before--and, yes, Dear Reader, she was assassinated first time around--that means I am boxing the glacier, that means I have modified to some small extent, the glacier of humankind's slow progression toward murdering this Earth and damning itself to planet-less Hell.
Otherwise it is a quiet news day at I.C. News, so let's return to our story of The Not-Forgetting Society, the second of three stories leading us to The Secret Story of how God's Space Sailors saved the Japanese race in about 660 BC.
Society, Part 2
This was the contact Tea'd heard about as he'd walked through Arlington National Cemetery a week after he'd delivered Soldier Ghost.
"Play the Dead Game, please," he'd been asked with much seconding there among the symmetrically aligned headstones, so many sparkling headstones they made the ghosts heady at times.
It had been like being drafted into a dead army, or recruited into it since Tea'd needed little coaxing and no prodding. This was what Tea had been born for; he knew that; he'd known that since childhood.
Harry's voice came back to Tea's consciousness. Harry was telling him that this man who claimed to know Praying Mantis, a ghost he had never mentioned to a living person, had left a message. "...and asked me to write down two Japanese words. Let me see, one is...", Harry began to spell out the word, "...A, M, A..."
Tea interrupted. "Ama-No-Hashidate?" That was where he first met Praying Mantis about five years earlier.
"Yes, that was it. What's it mean?"
"It's a place, a tourist village on the Japan Sea coast. It means Bridge to Heaven. What's the other word?"
"It's Y, A, T, A, N, O, K, A, G, A, M, I."
"Did he say, Yata-No-Kagami?"
"Yessss....", there was dullness in Harry's response. It was good encoding when it produced that effect. Harry would never remember the words; he would never be really interested in their meaning. Harry knew three phrases in Japanese after having been in Japan a year. He could ask for beer, he could order cigars, and he could say goodbye.
Obscure abstractions in Japanese were guaranteed to short-circuit most Western brains; they made invisibles out of visibles, not only for people like Harry but also for foreigners who knew the language well. The Japanese language hardly needed to be encoded, so many subtle passages of nuance existed within it.
"What's all that shit mean, Tea?"
Even as Harry asked the question Tea was trying to decode the shit.
Tea watched a sparrow hopping around in his little Japanese garden. Suddenly a worm was losing its life. It seemed an important event.
"It's a news tip, Harry", Tea said absently. "Tell Dunkle..."
"You mean 'What's-his-name?'"
Whatever the message meant, Tea saw immediate salvation in it; salvation being not to have to take his aching head to the news bureau.
"Tell him I will be tracking down this lead today. I'm on general assignment, right?"
"Right."
"Good. I'll see you soon. You'll want to hear about the States. It's blondes in miniskirts wherever you look; and they all want to fuck foreign correspondents; and the American people are giving each other the finger all the time."
"Sounds wonderful."
"Home sweet home, Harry. You wouldn't believe it; but I tell you even though I am feeling like shit that was a pretty good tip you just passed on to me so I'd better get cleaned up and get out of here. I'll be in touch. Sayonara."
"Sayonara," Harry said.
Tea heard Harry's end of the connection click off as he hung up.
Tea walked absently to his bathroom. He was looking into the mirror for some time, checking out the ravages of youthful folly, before he noticed the Japanese words written on it in lipstick.
They read "Ama-No-Hashidate" and "Yata-No-Kagami". It was Mitsi's hand. A surprise connection. Tea had had no idea she was involved.
The form of things were beginning to take shape for Tea. He was beginning to learn in the Sixties what the world should have learned in the Nineties, that life was round; meaning the paranormal was the hidden hemisphere of the moon of life, never showing its face but always being there.
All wars were both physical and metaphysical, normal and paranormal, flesh and spirit.
What Tea had clearly come across when he came across the Not-Forgetting Society was a normal/paranormal Japanese military society. Praying Mantis belonged to it; tens of thousands of Japanese dead military people belonged to it; and now a living Japanese man who might also belong to it had left a message for him by telephone.
Just as clearly, Tea was far too far out in front with this news, and alone, like a scout with no place to report his findings.
The American intelligence services could not conceive of paranormal warfare in the Sixties. Not only did they have absolutely no idea what was going on in paranormal Japan and elsewhere, they had no capability of knowing, and no idea there was a need to know.
There was no paranormal desk at the CIA.
Certainly, there were quasi-paranormal things going on within the American intelligence community, such as experiments with LSD focused on mind-rape, and the killing of baby animals separated from their electrode-connected mothers to see if the mothers knew, telepathically, that their babies were dead; experiments that not only fell short but missed the point all together; experiments that were sins.
And the press? It was superior to the concept. The "UFO" was a joke, something to be used to periodically con the public out of money, but not a real story. And God? God belonged only on the religion page, there was no story there.
The Americans had not only no idea of the force of paranormal warfare, they hadn't the slightest, slightest, slightest idea it existed.
(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 76th day of its last year
Jews Jaws Five Down
Shark America Five Up
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 212 (6.0 Off Oregon)
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 (2)
Today's code is "76th Day, Last Year"
You know, Dear Reader, I have never asked you to believe me when I tell you what I know about the nature of God's presence on this Earth; Sweet Jesus, but you already have enough skewed beliefs to kill each other over.
And you know, Dear Reader, I have never begged you to give me my rights and freedoms back--but I have said you must, damn your eyes, but I have said you must or I will fight you about this, Dear Reader, until the end of Time and beyond; and you are not up to that fight, Dear Reader, not up to that fight at all.
Now let's look at what I expect Satan's son's next attack on the world to be as he plays president in the White House, sandbox politician in a grown-up world.
As I said yesterday, I expect it to be in the state of New York--at least in the state of New York and reverberating beyond--and my first guess is it will be the assassination of Hillary Clinton.
I know the form the assassination can be expected to take, professional military marksmanship; and the shooter will be Blackwater or another one of those neo-fascist private armies.
The employer will claim "crazy renegade", but you and I, Dear Reader, will know the truth.
God bless her, I don't care Hillary all that much, and she would throw water on me if I were drowning, but I loathe murder, just loathe it, just loathe it.
My highest ambition in this life is to put an end to murder on this Earth, Foolish, you say? Well, kiss this fool's ass.
But I was supposed to begin today to tell you the Old Story, the one I don't ask you to believe, of how and why we Space Sailors came here nearly 60 thousand years ago.
How we got here is a story in itself, because we had never before sailed these seas. God pointed this way, and said Boys I got some problems, my Earth's down there in the doldrums, sail that way and see what you can do.
That is not an exact quote, so don't print it in red, but in essence that is what God said.
What did we find after light-years at sea? An Earth exploded. Flotsam and jetsam, Dear Reader, where this Earth used to be; and all the life this Earth had created floating among it and clinging to it, shipwrecked sailors in a sea of pain.
Clearly our work was cut out for us. How do we undo the done? Surely that was what God was asking us to do when we had been shown the charts to this place.
God loves this Earth; Sweet Jesus how God loves this Earth.
We're not stupid swabbies as you have in the officer corps of the U.S. Navy, we are Space Sailors of God, and our sea is Time and Space, and we sail back and forth in both all the time, so we traveled back in Time, like a movie film reversed, and saw this Earth come back together, after it having unseen--but for God's Eyes--gone from bad to worse.
You were here then. Your whole life, Dear Reader, is deja vu.
Deja vu, yes, but as no two snowflakes look the same, the second time at the same life is almost always totally unique from the first, the same but different, same soul, different bag of bones, same end game, but a different road getting there.
You might have been dead to war by this time the first time; but might you have been two inches to the left this time and the bullet missed. You may have had a different mother; you may have lived in a different nation; your nose may have been more Roman; but under the skin you were the same, pretty as a picture and mean as a snake.
I am not saying this to elicit your thanks, but were it not for God's Space Sailors sailing God's ships through God's seas you would be flotsam and jetsam here and now; and you would have been in Hell now for some 57 thousand years if it weren't for God's Law of the Sea.
Understand? This Earth was exploded when we came upon her, and it was against God's Law of the Sea to leave her that way.
So we went way, way back in Time, some 57 thousand years, to primitive man, to primitive beers (but even then they wept modern tears) and we began to figure out what killed this Earth; and we began to Box the Glacier of Your Doom.
We knew the dilemma was a matter of mass and momentum, that much was simple enough. We knew events on this earth were like a glacier moving slowly toward a mountain village, and that glacier had to be boxed or the village was doomed. The village, of course, was this Earth.
After a time we knew it was humankind that had killed this Earth, and we knew humankind would kill this Earth again; and we knew we couldn't change the nature of the human beast, no, no, no, the beast was set in its ways...but at least...but at least...we could influence; at least we could Box the Glacier of Your Doom, changing its course ever so slightly so the village, this Earth, might be spared.
Jesus, Buddha, Moses, Mohammed and all the others around the world, they were all mountains put in the path of the Glacier of Your Doom, attempts to stem the Satan in man, mountains in the path of the glacier...mountains to divert the murderer this Earth.
Sure, the glacier passed over and around the mountains, but the mountains changed the pace, changed the very nature of the human being; the human being that first time having had no idea murder was bad and slavery was wrong and gluttony was doom. Big change, yes?
It was a nasty job, but someone had to do it; and we were the only someones within 50 thousand light-years. Believe me, we all would have rather been home in bed with the mommies of our babies; but we were here instead; and that makes us testy sometimes, really, really, really testy. For the sake of your own ass, you should know that.
That testiness becomes important very soon, for while we Space Sailors are required by God's Law of the Sea to save this Earth, we are not required to save the human being.
Dig it, we have to stop you from murdering this Earth a second time; or extinct you so this Earth can live on. Extinction by 2045 should do the trick.
(You people who believe in abortion should not complain about this. It's the same idea: Save the mother, fuck the baby.)
And we always knew the end time. We always knew the day this Earth exploded, December 26, 2065, though that calendar did not exist then and we just counted the spins of this Earth and her passages around the Sun and came up with that.
We might be off by a day or two, we Space Sailors of God are not perfect.
And we always knew George W. Bush would destroy this Earth, knew it from the day he wandered dumbfounded onto the stage of human life with a silver coke spoon under his nose; we knew at first sight that George W. Bush is deja vu of himself.
That deja vu, that's why George W. Bush feels so special now; why he feels he is fulfilling his Destiny as he murders left and right; he doesn't understand he is destroying this Earth for the second time.
No, I am not asking you to believe me. I am just telling you this story as I know it.
My personal challenge right now? Just to keep Hillary Clinton alive.
What good will that do me? Sure, I'll probably never get into her good graces; but if I can prevent from happening again what happened before--and, yes, Dear Reader, she was assassinated first time around--that means I am boxing the glacier, that means I have modified to some small extent, the glacier of humankind's slow progression toward murdering this Earth and damning itself to planet-less Hell.
Otherwise it is a quiet news day at I.C. News, so let's return to our story of The Not-Forgetting Society, the second of three stories leading us to The Secret Story of how God's Space Sailors saved the Japanese race in about 660 BC.
Society, Part 2
This was the contact Tea'd heard about as he'd walked through Arlington National Cemetery a week after he'd delivered Soldier Ghost.
"Play the Dead Game, please," he'd been asked with much seconding there among the symmetrically aligned headstones, so many sparkling headstones they made the ghosts heady at times.
It had been like being drafted into a dead army, or recruited into it since Tea'd needed little coaxing and no prodding. This was what Tea had been born for; he knew that; he'd known that since childhood.
Harry's voice came back to Tea's consciousness. Harry was telling him that this man who claimed to know Praying Mantis, a ghost he had never mentioned to a living person, had left a message. "...and asked me to write down two Japanese words. Let me see, one is...", Harry began to spell out the word, "...A, M, A..."
Tea interrupted. "Ama-No-Hashidate?" That was where he first met Praying Mantis about five years earlier.
"Yes, that was it. What's it mean?"
"It's a place, a tourist village on the Japan Sea coast. It means Bridge to Heaven. What's the other word?"
"It's Y, A, T, A, N, O, K, A, G, A, M, I."
"Did he say, Yata-No-Kagami?"
"Yessss....", there was dullness in Harry's response. It was good encoding when it produced that effect. Harry would never remember the words; he would never be really interested in their meaning. Harry knew three phrases in Japanese after having been in Japan a year. He could ask for beer, he could order cigars, and he could say goodbye.
Obscure abstractions in Japanese were guaranteed to short-circuit most Western brains; they made invisibles out of visibles, not only for people like Harry but also for foreigners who knew the language well. The Japanese language hardly needed to be encoded, so many subtle passages of nuance existed within it.
"What's all that shit mean, Tea?"
Even as Harry asked the question Tea was trying to decode the shit.
Tea watched a sparrow hopping around in his little Japanese garden. Suddenly a worm was losing its life. It seemed an important event.
"It's a news tip, Harry", Tea said absently. "Tell Dunkle..."
"You mean 'What's-his-name?'"
Whatever the message meant, Tea saw immediate salvation in it; salvation being not to have to take his aching head to the news bureau.
"Tell him I will be tracking down this lead today. I'm on general assignment, right?"
"Right."
"Good. I'll see you soon. You'll want to hear about the States. It's blondes in miniskirts wherever you look; and they all want to fuck foreign correspondents; and the American people are giving each other the finger all the time."
"Sounds wonderful."
"Home sweet home, Harry. You wouldn't believe it; but I tell you even though I am feeling like shit that was a pretty good tip you just passed on to me so I'd better get cleaned up and get out of here. I'll be in touch. Sayonara."
"Sayonara," Harry said.
Tea heard Harry's end of the connection click off as he hung up.
Tea walked absently to his bathroom. He was looking into the mirror for some time, checking out the ravages of youthful folly, before he noticed the Japanese words written on it in lipstick.
They read "Ama-No-Hashidate" and "Yata-No-Kagami". It was Mitsi's hand. A surprise connection. Tea had had no idea she was involved.
The form of things were beginning to take shape for Tea. He was beginning to learn in the Sixties what the world should have learned in the Nineties, that life was round; meaning the paranormal was the hidden hemisphere of the moon of life, never showing its face but always being there.
All wars were both physical and metaphysical, normal and paranormal, flesh and spirit.
What Tea had clearly come across when he came across the Not-Forgetting Society was a normal/paranormal Japanese military society. Praying Mantis belonged to it; tens of thousands of Japanese dead military people belonged to it; and now a living Japanese man who might also belong to it had left a message for him by telephone.
Just as clearly, Tea was far too far out in front with this news, and alone, like a scout with no place to report his findings.
The American intelligence services could not conceive of paranormal warfare in the Sixties. Not only did they have absolutely no idea what was going on in paranormal Japan and elsewhere, they had no capability of knowing, and no idea there was a need to know.
There was no paranormal desk at the CIA.
Certainly, there were quasi-paranormal things going on within the American intelligence community, such as experiments with LSD focused on mind-rape, and the killing of baby animals separated from their electrode-connected mothers to see if the mothers knew, telepathically, that their babies were dead; experiments that not only fell short but missed the point all together; experiments that were sins.
And the press? It was superior to the concept. The "UFO" was a joke, something to be used to periodically con the public out of money, but not a real story. And God? God belonged only on the religion page, there was no story there.
The Americans had not only no idea of the force of paranormal warfare, they hadn't the slightest, slightest, slightest idea it existed.
(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 76th day of its last year
posted by Virgil Kret at 11:48 AM
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