Retreat, Part 15
The $610 Billion Defeat
Jews Jaws One Down
Shark America Nine Up
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 204 (7.1 South of Australia Friday-Saturday)
Virgil's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923
Expect a Profound Act of God Against Israel & USA on June 7, 2008
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 (15)
Today's code is "103rd Day, Last Year".
We have now seen two 7-plus earthquakes east and south of Australia in three days. This is very unusual.
While neither of these two quakes seems newsworthy to the failed American news media, even though they are in the major quake category, their relatively closeness in size, time and distance indicates to I.C. News that our New Crack in the Egg theory may have some merit. That theory anticipates a pattern of quakes between Australia and South America.
As frequently reported, I.C. News sees the earthquake pattern as the eventual cause of this Earth's death, currently expected in December of 2064; and the cause of that fatal earthquake pattern as the extraction of oil, oil needed where it naturally was for balancing purposes.
This movement of the earthquake pattern to near Antarctica is remindful of I.C. News' original statement upon its founding, that Antarctica would be key in the death of this Earth.
The very name of I.C. News was a concealed form of "Icy News", and I.C. News' original logo was an eye with the iris formed by a map of Antarctica.
All this was, of course, lost when the United States of America declared I.C. News to be an illegal news service by declaring its right to harass I.C. News out of business, and its founder, Virgil Kret, to death.
Look to Antarctica to see your doom spelled out in melting ice and quaking Earth.
It is I.C. News' suggestion that the two 7-plus quakes in the area of Australia are a more important news story than the commercial aviation crisis dominating the news recently, even though aviation story is a benchmark event in the coming sudden collapse of the United States of America.
Now let's return to our third serialized story, Retreat, which reaches its climax today.
There is one aspect of this final installment of Retreat which you might find very interesting; and whether you do or not, historians will--for those few decades historians continue to exist.
This story was written some 15 years ago, yet its final installment describes perfectly how God will defeat the United States of America; one, two, three, in the not-too-distant future.
That is, this installment contains God's Metaphor of Attack.
Once in a while I speak of Time Travel and Time Maps in this work, and while I never expect you to believe what I say about them, what I say about them is true.
I saw the Vietnam war in its totality in 1964. I saw the defeat of the United States of America in its totality before George W. Bush's stupid and fascist invasion of Iraq. I saw the death of this Earth before I was born in 1939, before I was conceived in 1938.
I know the death of this Earth, and I know how to prevent it.
Now, the exciting conclusion of Retreat.
Retreat, Part 15
Tea arose naked from his sleeping bag.
He picked up his Chinese fencing stave and began walking toward and then past the lake, following the trail from the lake to the point where it forked, and there he turned back up the other trail toward the cabin.
Tea knew from his previous explorations of this trail that the cabin in the grassy area had no door, and the door opening looked east, directly onto the trail he was walking on, so he left the trail as it neared the cabin, and began walking up the stream.
As the course of the stream moved away from the trail, it passed through a stand of pines which concealed Tea, yet where the voices of the newly awakened Japanese came dancing through the pine needles to him.
If this were a poker hand, Tea would have stood pat.
Tea stopped and looked to a point in the stream where he expected to find a place he had never seen, he expected to find it there because he wanted it to be there, a place where the bottom was pebble and sand suitable to lie down on, and at the down stream foot of the place a large rock to brace his feet against as he lie in the water.
Tea found it where he expected it to be. He lay down, taking the mummy pose and letting the cold stream wash over his head and body as if he were an extension of the rock his feet were pressed against.
He listened, holding the Chinese fencing stave to his breast, its butt end braced on the rock next to his right foot, its top end reaching just to the left side of his neck.
This lying in a stream was an old pre-battle exercise Tea had developed centuries before, the concept being not to float, but to be a pressure upon the bottom and a force against the water, always winning over the water, the water's advantage over him being it never relented, Tea's advantage of the water being Tea never relented. Sure, Tea disengaged when Tea needed to or wanted to, that's what separated Tea from the water and the stone, they seemingly forever in that embrace, and Tea free to go.
In seconds, Tea was motionless and absorbed in feeling every point of his body touched by the flowing water. Feeling the total water flow was easy, feeling each part and merging the whole was entirely different.
Tea called this exercise, Dancing the Water, and it was said that a warrior who could dance the water before battle could not be defeated.
As Tea danced the water he listened to the Japanese talking about him over their morning tea in the cabin.
They were three, the two Tea knew, and a third he could assume also to be a top martial artist. Matsushita would have nothing else around him.
Three would be too easy; a dozen would have been a better number, but three would have to do.
The one Tea did not know was saying in Japanese:
"Saa, I've heard this thing about this Tea. In Vietnam a VC put the muzzle of his AK47 to Tea's head. Some people say that's what made him so crazy. I think we should do that, too, and hold the muzzle there for a long time; and when he breaks, pull the trigger."
"No, " Matsushita said with authority, "we will garrote him like we garroted the keto's whore. Look at the intelligence we got from her that way."
"Intelligence?", the young and boisterous Japanese responded, "A name, and some connection with Tea in some previous life. What good is that?"
It was clear to Tea this young martial artist thug-soldier did not understand the game at all; he was too young to be in the envelope of paranormal understanding which had emerged among the true believers of bushi during the Pacific War.
"No, no, there is something more than that", Matsushita scolded. "There is something important about those two we don't know; and we have to know what it is."
Matsushita, a little pensive, continued, "I'm beginning to wonder if it was a mistake to have killed the whore."
"Shit, Let's just blow the bombs and put and end to this business." It was Masami speaking, the dead Maso's best friend. "Let's just go and gut that American piece of shit and get it over with."
"Patience," Matsushita said to both his young Turks, "all things come to those who wait. Tea has intelligence we need. Can he and the whore be the only two of their kind? What does he know of the Dead Side of the American military; and what has he told them about us? But most of all, who is Tea and where does he come from?"
Then it happened, the impossible and the unexpected.
The three Japanese were sitting formally on the old wooden floor of the cabin, evenly spaced around a green Coleman two-burner stove. A simple bronze-colored metal tea pot was steaming. The sun was a minute from rising over the mountain ridge to the east and shining directly into the cabin through the door opening.
All three more or less simultaneously became aware of Tea, naked and wet, holding a stave in the two-handed style of the Japanese sword, navel high at the butt and pointed slightly upward; and, overwhelming to them, holding them in a stare with eyes filled with such hatred and malice that the three were transfixed as Tea took two long, gliding steps toward them while bringing the stave up nearly over his head and then down on the head of Masami; at which time two things happened, Masami's skull cracked like a frozen watermelon hit with an axe handle, and the stave splintered, losing about a foot its length; yet the remaining two Japanese had not moved; and Tea in the same movement turned on the unknown Japanese and rammed the splintered end of the stave straight into his Adam's Apple until he felt the stave jam up against the man's neck bone, and Tea then whipped the stave to the left and the right, watching that man's tongue loll back and forth, pink spittle-blood forming a liquid arc like a twirling lawn sprinkler; then he pulled the stave back out and turning to Matsushita, raised it two-handed over his head, bloody splintered end pointing down, and stood over Matsushita, who still had not moved; and even as Tea brought the ragged point down through Matsushita's throat and into his chest cavity, Masushita was still transfixed, observing what he had always believed to exist, a Pure Sprit Warrior. Was Tea's long hair really standing straight out in all directions and moving like snakes? Were Tea's feet really levitating an inch above the floor? Was Kingyo really holding onto Tea, her arms around his neck like a child riding piggyback?
Matsushita's heart beat against the stave Tea had plunged into him, bump-bump, bump-bump; then Matsushita died.
It had taken Tea about five seconds to kill the three men.
Slowly Tea returned from Battle Status; slowly his soul returned control of his body to his mind; slowly Tea looked around the cabin, finding it delightfully splattered with blood, and none of it his own; ah, and finding a delightfully steaming pot of tea between the bodies of three most delightfully dead enemies; Matsushita grotesquely looking cross-eyed up the shaft protruding from his throat like a sword swallower's sword gone seriously off course.
"Damn," Tea whispered to the Universe, "I love War."
Tea became aware he was standing naked and blood-spattered with an erection in the bright light of the morning sun streaming in through the door. A medieval Japanese pornographic print came vividly to his mind, showing a samurai walking toward his love with a tea cup in each and the tea pot hanging from his erect cock.
Tea sat formally on his legs among the three dead Japanese. He picked up a cup and poured tea for himself, his cock throbbing and erect.
"Damn," Tatoo whispered in his ear, her little arms around his neck, her the right side of her face pressed against the left side of his, "I wish I weren't dead. I'd like to point that thing in the right direction."
(The End)
Meanwhile, the United States of America, unaware that it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 103rd day of its last year.
Jews Jaws One Down
Shark America Nine Up
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 204 (7.1 South of Australia Friday-Saturday)
Virgil's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923
Expect a Profound Act of God Against Israel & USA on June 7, 2008
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 (15)
Today's code is "103rd Day, Last Year".
We have now seen two 7-plus earthquakes east and south of Australia in three days. This is very unusual.
While neither of these two quakes seems newsworthy to the failed American news media, even though they are in the major quake category, their relatively closeness in size, time and distance indicates to I.C. News that our New Crack in the Egg theory may have some merit. That theory anticipates a pattern of quakes between Australia and South America.
As frequently reported, I.C. News sees the earthquake pattern as the eventual cause of this Earth's death, currently expected in December of 2064; and the cause of that fatal earthquake pattern as the extraction of oil, oil needed where it naturally was for balancing purposes.
This movement of the earthquake pattern to near Antarctica is remindful of I.C. News' original statement upon its founding, that Antarctica would be key in the death of this Earth.
The very name of I.C. News was a concealed form of "Icy News", and I.C. News' original logo was an eye with the iris formed by a map of Antarctica.
All this was, of course, lost when the United States of America declared I.C. News to be an illegal news service by declaring its right to harass I.C. News out of business, and its founder, Virgil Kret, to death.
Look to Antarctica to see your doom spelled out in melting ice and quaking Earth.
It is I.C. News' suggestion that the two 7-plus quakes in the area of Australia are a more important news story than the commercial aviation crisis dominating the news recently, even though aviation story is a benchmark event in the coming sudden collapse of the United States of America.
Now let's return to our third serialized story, Retreat, which reaches its climax today.
There is one aspect of this final installment of Retreat which you might find very interesting; and whether you do or not, historians will--for those few decades historians continue to exist.
This story was written some 15 years ago, yet its final installment describes perfectly how God will defeat the United States of America; one, two, three, in the not-too-distant future.
That is, this installment contains God's Metaphor of Attack.
Once in a while I speak of Time Travel and Time Maps in this work, and while I never expect you to believe what I say about them, what I say about them is true.
I saw the Vietnam war in its totality in 1964. I saw the defeat of the United States of America in its totality before George W. Bush's stupid and fascist invasion of Iraq. I saw the death of this Earth before I was born in 1939, before I was conceived in 1938.
I know the death of this Earth, and I know how to prevent it.
Now, the exciting conclusion of Retreat.
Retreat, Part 15
Tea arose naked from his sleeping bag.
He picked up his Chinese fencing stave and began walking toward and then past the lake, following the trail from the lake to the point where it forked, and there he turned back up the other trail toward the cabin.
Tea knew from his previous explorations of this trail that the cabin in the grassy area had no door, and the door opening looked east, directly onto the trail he was walking on, so he left the trail as it neared the cabin, and began walking up the stream.
As the course of the stream moved away from the trail, it passed through a stand of pines which concealed Tea, yet where the voices of the newly awakened Japanese came dancing through the pine needles to him.
If this were a poker hand, Tea would have stood pat.
Tea stopped and looked to a point in the stream where he expected to find a place he had never seen, he expected to find it there because he wanted it to be there, a place where the bottom was pebble and sand suitable to lie down on, and at the down stream foot of the place a large rock to brace his feet against as he lie in the water.
Tea found it where he expected it to be. He lay down, taking the mummy pose and letting the cold stream wash over his head and body as if he were an extension of the rock his feet were pressed against.
He listened, holding the Chinese fencing stave to his breast, its butt end braced on the rock next to his right foot, its top end reaching just to the left side of his neck.
This lying in a stream was an old pre-battle exercise Tea had developed centuries before, the concept being not to float, but to be a pressure upon the bottom and a force against the water, always winning over the water, the water's advantage over him being it never relented, Tea's advantage of the water being Tea never relented. Sure, Tea disengaged when Tea needed to or wanted to, that's what separated Tea from the water and the stone, they seemingly forever in that embrace, and Tea free to go.
In seconds, Tea was motionless and absorbed in feeling every point of his body touched by the flowing water. Feeling the total water flow was easy, feeling each part and merging the whole was entirely different.
Tea called this exercise, Dancing the Water, and it was said that a warrior who could dance the water before battle could not be defeated.
As Tea danced the water he listened to the Japanese talking about him over their morning tea in the cabin.
They were three, the two Tea knew, and a third he could assume also to be a top martial artist. Matsushita would have nothing else around him.
Three would be too easy; a dozen would have been a better number, but three would have to do.
The one Tea did not know was saying in Japanese:
"Saa, I've heard this thing about this Tea. In Vietnam a VC put the muzzle of his AK47 to Tea's head. Some people say that's what made him so crazy. I think we should do that, too, and hold the muzzle there for a long time; and when he breaks, pull the trigger."
"No, " Matsushita said with authority, "we will garrote him like we garroted the keto's whore. Look at the intelligence we got from her that way."
"Intelligence?", the young and boisterous Japanese responded, "A name, and some connection with Tea in some previous life. What good is that?"
It was clear to Tea this young martial artist thug-soldier did not understand the game at all; he was too young to be in the envelope of paranormal understanding which had emerged among the true believers of bushi during the Pacific War.
"No, no, there is something more than that", Matsushita scolded. "There is something important about those two we don't know; and we have to know what it is."
Matsushita, a little pensive, continued, "I'm beginning to wonder if it was a mistake to have killed the whore."
"Shit, Let's just blow the bombs and put and end to this business." It was Masami speaking, the dead Maso's best friend. "Let's just go and gut that American piece of shit and get it over with."
"Patience," Matsushita said to both his young Turks, "all things come to those who wait. Tea has intelligence we need. Can he and the whore be the only two of their kind? What does he know of the Dead Side of the American military; and what has he told them about us? But most of all, who is Tea and where does he come from?"
Then it happened, the impossible and the unexpected.
The three Japanese were sitting formally on the old wooden floor of the cabin, evenly spaced around a green Coleman two-burner stove. A simple bronze-colored metal tea pot was steaming. The sun was a minute from rising over the mountain ridge to the east and shining directly into the cabin through the door opening.
All three more or less simultaneously became aware of Tea, naked and wet, holding a stave in the two-handed style of the Japanese sword, navel high at the butt and pointed slightly upward; and, overwhelming to them, holding them in a stare with eyes filled with such hatred and malice that the three were transfixed as Tea took two long, gliding steps toward them while bringing the stave up nearly over his head and then down on the head of Masami; at which time two things happened, Masami's skull cracked like a frozen watermelon hit with an axe handle, and the stave splintered, losing about a foot its length; yet the remaining two Japanese had not moved; and Tea in the same movement turned on the unknown Japanese and rammed the splintered end of the stave straight into his Adam's Apple until he felt the stave jam up against the man's neck bone, and Tea then whipped the stave to the left and the right, watching that man's tongue loll back and forth, pink spittle-blood forming a liquid arc like a twirling lawn sprinkler; then he pulled the stave back out and turning to Matsushita, raised it two-handed over his head, bloody splintered end pointing down, and stood over Matsushita, who still had not moved; and even as Tea brought the ragged point down through Matsushita's throat and into his chest cavity, Masushita was still transfixed, observing what he had always believed to exist, a Pure Sprit Warrior. Was Tea's long hair really standing straight out in all directions and moving like snakes? Were Tea's feet really levitating an inch above the floor? Was Kingyo really holding onto Tea, her arms around his neck like a child riding piggyback?
Matsushita's heart beat against the stave Tea had plunged into him, bump-bump, bump-bump; then Matsushita died.
It had taken Tea about five seconds to kill the three men.
Slowly Tea returned from Battle Status; slowly his soul returned control of his body to his mind; slowly Tea looked around the cabin, finding it delightfully splattered with blood, and none of it his own; ah, and finding a delightfully steaming pot of tea between the bodies of three most delightfully dead enemies; Matsushita grotesquely looking cross-eyed up the shaft protruding from his throat like a sword swallower's sword gone seriously off course.
"Damn," Tea whispered to the Universe, "I love War."
Tea became aware he was standing naked and blood-spattered with an erection in the bright light of the morning sun streaming in through the door. A medieval Japanese pornographic print came vividly to his mind, showing a samurai walking toward his love with a tea cup in each and the tea pot hanging from his erect cock.
Tea sat formally on his legs among the three dead Japanese. He picked up a cup and poured tea for himself, his cock throbbing and erect.
"Damn," Tatoo whispered in his ear, her little arms around his neck, her the right side of her face pressed against the left side of his, "I wish I weren't dead. I'd like to point that thing in the right direction."
(The End)
Meanwhile, the United States of America, unaware that it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 103rd day of its last year.
posted by Virgil Kret at 5:53 PM
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