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.
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.
posted by Virgil Kret at 10:21 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home