Retreat, Part 8
Retreat, Part 8
The $603 Billion Defeat
Jews Jaws Seven Down
Shark America Three Up
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 175
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 (8)
Today's code is "96th Day, Last Year".
You should know this, nothing you see on TV is pertinent. No political speech, no political commentary, no price of gold or oil, no movie star tit, and no preacher's preaching.
God's Space War is outside all of that; all of that might as well be the babbling dreams of a chick gestating in an egg on a farm in Nebraska.
As you begin to get a glimpse of the scope of God you will truly understand how ignorant ranting Christian preachers are; and how ridiculous Muslim suicide car-drivers are in their expectations of virgins awaiting them in Pussy Heaven, and how the Jews have missed the gold while mining the tin.
This is coming: the great shrinking of ego, the painful enlargement of error.
Now let's return to our story, where we learn today how Tea killed Matsushita Masao; and of the great and unexpected power Matsushita Kenji has over Tea as Tea awaits their showdown in the California wilderness.
Retreat, Part 8
Tea picked up the four pennies.
He wondered if he should lift the plastic groundcloth to get to his pack.
Would Matsushita use a bomb? Tea assumed not. It was Matsushita's nature again; he would want to extract from Tea just how Tea had killed his son. He would want Tea to attempt the same technique on him.
Know thyself. Know thy enemy.
Why was Matsushita so early? Why had Tea's telepathy failed him?
Tea left the groundcloth untouched and cautiously made his way down to the lake, feeling very uneasy. As the uneasiness increased, he sat down in a gully and put his rifle together, then moved on.
He quietly climbed the granite hump behind he lake and peered over.
It was a small lake, one could throw a stone across it from any point on the well worn fishermen's trail which circled it. It was empty of people. A doe was sipping from it.
Tea bore down on his telepahy, turning it like a radio dial, exploring as many bands as he could. He picked up no human thoughts; but he was acutely aware he had missed the thoughts of the person who had handled the pennies, that person almost certainly being Matsushita.
He braved walking down to the shore of the lake. He walked along the fishermen's path until he found what he was looking for, a long strand of fishing line. Further searching found him a hook. He connected them and carried them back to his camp. The whole procedure had taken him an overly cautious two hours; but damned if he didn't keep feeling crosshairs on his head.
At camp, he gently placed the hook into an exposed grommet on the groundcloth. He gently let out the fishing line on a path which took him behind a granite outcropping. He tugged at the fishing line, pulling the groundcloth off the equipment it covered.
There was no explosion; and the movie of the killing of Masao began running through Tea's thoughts again.
Tea'd left the bar sure Masao would follow him.
The bar was located near Post and Webster, where Webster was a walk-through mall.
Tea'd then walked toward downtown Frisco along Post, heading for his apartment at Hyde and Pine. He turned left onto Laguna.
He was carrying his fencing equipment hobo fashion. The sheath containing his bamboo shinai and his hardwood bokken was balanced over his right shoulder, and the heavy cloth bag containing his fencing clothing and armor was hanging form the sheath by its drawstrings and resting against his back.
As he'd turned left onto Laguna he'd glanced back and seen Masao following him, sheath in his left hand, equipment bag in his right.
It was a dark night. There was no moon.
Between Post and Sutter on Laguna was a postage stamp of a park. The lot had been once occupied by a three-story victorian home, now there were some trees and bushes, a walkway, some grass, and toward the rear of the lot, a stone bench. The entrance to the little park was marked by a vermillion tori, the graceful Shinto gate of passage on two pillars so reflective of Japan.
Tea had waited outside the entrance to the park until Masao came into view, then entered the park and walked to the bench. He sat down, facing the entrance. There were victorians on either side and to his rear. No lights were showing in the homes. A street light cast an angled shadow through the tori, the bench upon which Tea sat was in the dark, the tori in the light,
Tea felt pleasure. He was warmly calm.
Know thy enemy. Know thyself.
Tea had known when he had taken up Japanese fencing two years before that he would never be outstanding at it, approaching the art in his early forties.
Know thy enemy.
But as he had studied kendo he had learned that Japanese fencing was but a shadow of its former self, that the sport of Japanese feudal warfare and the art of Japanese feudal warfare were two very different things.
Know thyself.
There were four scoring points in modern, post-war kendo. They were the right wrist, the head, the right side, and the throat.
Know thy enemy.
In feudal times, when Japanese fought one another with steel, there were many targets, many cuts and swings which had in modern times atrophied from lack of use; cuts and swings even champions never practiced because they were useless and illegal in tournament competition.
Masao stood silhouetted under the tori.
Tea spoke to him in quiet Japanese, not wanting to wake the people living in the victorians. He knew Masao could not see him.
"Do you really want to do this?", he asked the dark figure who, upon hearing Tea's voice, put down his equipment bag and began to remove his bokken from its sheath.
In response to the question, Masao only grunted, but in Japanese male language the grunt means, "Yes".
Masao wasn't expecting a duel. The distance between their skills erased the word. Masao was going to execute a spy. Period. Tea's preparedness and calmness did not reach his consciousness.
"You're not interested in how I know about Wide Heart and Long Soul?", Tea asked across the space between them.
Tea could see the unresponsive Masao beginning to move toward him.
"Aren't you concerned that I might have a gun?", he continued.
Masao kept coming.
Know thy enemy.
Masao was confident. He was one-minded. Japanese fencing teaches that. There is no desire to clang swords together. One attacks, gets in, cuts, finishes it.
Tea stood and pulled his own bokken out of its sheath. He held it two-handed in front of him, its butt a fist-width from his navel, its point gently angled upward toward Masao's throat. About ten inches of it passed out of the shadow and into the light. Tea's bokken was made of a blonde wood. He called it, "Swine Blade". The visual effect was poetic.
Masao's surprised mind registered the beauty of the poetry. His concept of Tea was clumsy boor; therefore the poetry must be happenstance. He discounted the registration.
Though Masao could not see Tea he knew Tea was standing in the basic en garde position Then he saw the wood sword move upward and back out of sight, and he knew the novice had taken the jodan position, sword held two-handed above his head. It was a weak position for a novice. This fool of an American was going try to crack his skull with his pretty stick. He decided to get it over before the American could yell and wake the people in the victorians. He stepped toward the shadow.
Out of the darkness came a whirring sound, much faster, much harder than Masao could have expected, for it was a rare novice who could make a bokken sing with speed.
Nor had Masao expected the bokken from the angle it came, nearly horizontal to the ground, though moving slightly downward, speeding toward the left side of his neck, a blonde streak he barely glimpsed out of the corner of his left eye before it struck his neck, broke his neck, and killed him..
Tea had practiced that swing, that useless swing, that swing a hundred years unused, alone in his apartment a thousand times a night for two years.
Now, in the Marble Mountains, Masao dead longer than Tea could readily remember, Tea was faced with defending his life against Masao's father.
Tea was standing here he felt Matsushita had stood when rearranging the four pennies. Amidst Tea's equipment, like a white egg in a nest, was a white Japanese tea cup. He cautiously lifted it and found a neatly folded piece of white paper inside.
He unfolded it. It read, in English: "We have Goldfish Tatoo. We have Wide Heart and Long Soul. We have you."
The word "Tatoo" exploded like a static bomb of horror in Tea's mind.
"For now," the note went on, "Goldfish Tatoo makes sense and is still alive. Wide Heart and Long Soul can wait. Water Lilies of Vengeance will blossom in time. Surrender yourself tomorrow."
The note was signed, "Matsu", as if Tea and Matsushita were somehow chums despite all that had passed between them.
It took two hours for Tea to get past the words, "We have Goldfish Tatoo".
To understand Tea's state of shock, understand that no human being had learned the name, "Tatoo", in the four thousand years since Tatoo's marooning on Earth; understand that Tea had looked in vain for her throughout life after life after life; understand that though Kingyo, had been a spy on his team since the seance, he had never suspected she was Tatoo--but now it clicked, and everything was changed.
Tea's mind was in storm. That the Japs had her, and knew who she was, meant a massive intelligence breakthrough had been accomplished by the Not-Forgetting Society; and it meant Tea would let the nukes go off before he'd lose this contact with his deepest love and closest friend; four thousand years in the searching.
Tea read the note over several times. He was vaguely aware he was trembling.
It was evening now, and a cold wind was beginning to blow. The sun was a half hour from dropping behind the Marbles. Tea lit his campfire and put water on to boil . He stared into the fire, seeing fragments of past lives unfold in the coals.
Back home, before The Situation sucked so many of our Space Sailors away, Tea one day said to me of Tatoo, "I say her name a million times a second."
Excuse the personal digression, but it might help you to understand what was about to take place.
Tatoo was one of six Space Sailors marooned in the setting down of the Gala Sea Watch vessel, Bold Seeker, in an attempt to contact Tea when Tea was Teacher Lao in old China, a story which you should perhaps now know.
Tea thought of Tatoo, and of missed love, and of stars unseeable from Earth, and the space between.
(To be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 96th day of its last year.
The $603 Billion Defeat
Jews Jaws Seven Down
Shark America Three Up
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 175
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 (8)
Today's code is "96th Day, Last Year".
You should know this, nothing you see on TV is pertinent. No political speech, no political commentary, no price of gold or oil, no movie star tit, and no preacher's preaching.
God's Space War is outside all of that; all of that might as well be the babbling dreams of a chick gestating in an egg on a farm in Nebraska.
As you begin to get a glimpse of the scope of God you will truly understand how ignorant ranting Christian preachers are; and how ridiculous Muslim suicide car-drivers are in their expectations of virgins awaiting them in Pussy Heaven, and how the Jews have missed the gold while mining the tin.
This is coming: the great shrinking of ego, the painful enlargement of error.
Now let's return to our story, where we learn today how Tea killed Matsushita Masao; and of the great and unexpected power Matsushita Kenji has over Tea as Tea awaits their showdown in the California wilderness.
Retreat, Part 8
Tea picked up the four pennies.
He wondered if he should lift the plastic groundcloth to get to his pack.
Would Matsushita use a bomb? Tea assumed not. It was Matsushita's nature again; he would want to extract from Tea just how Tea had killed his son. He would want Tea to attempt the same technique on him.
Know thyself. Know thy enemy.
Why was Matsushita so early? Why had Tea's telepathy failed him?
Tea left the groundcloth untouched and cautiously made his way down to the lake, feeling very uneasy. As the uneasiness increased, he sat down in a gully and put his rifle together, then moved on.
He quietly climbed the granite hump behind he lake and peered over.
It was a small lake, one could throw a stone across it from any point on the well worn fishermen's trail which circled it. It was empty of people. A doe was sipping from it.
Tea bore down on his telepahy, turning it like a radio dial, exploring as many bands as he could. He picked up no human thoughts; but he was acutely aware he had missed the thoughts of the person who had handled the pennies, that person almost certainly being Matsushita.
He braved walking down to the shore of the lake. He walked along the fishermen's path until he found what he was looking for, a long strand of fishing line. Further searching found him a hook. He connected them and carried them back to his camp. The whole procedure had taken him an overly cautious two hours; but damned if he didn't keep feeling crosshairs on his head.
At camp, he gently placed the hook into an exposed grommet on the groundcloth. He gently let out the fishing line on a path which took him behind a granite outcropping. He tugged at the fishing line, pulling the groundcloth off the equipment it covered.
There was no explosion; and the movie of the killing of Masao began running through Tea's thoughts again.
Tea'd left the bar sure Masao would follow him.
The bar was located near Post and Webster, where Webster was a walk-through mall.
Tea'd then walked toward downtown Frisco along Post, heading for his apartment at Hyde and Pine. He turned left onto Laguna.
He was carrying his fencing equipment hobo fashion. The sheath containing his bamboo shinai and his hardwood bokken was balanced over his right shoulder, and the heavy cloth bag containing his fencing clothing and armor was hanging form the sheath by its drawstrings and resting against his back.
As he'd turned left onto Laguna he'd glanced back and seen Masao following him, sheath in his left hand, equipment bag in his right.
It was a dark night. There was no moon.
Between Post and Sutter on Laguna was a postage stamp of a park. The lot had been once occupied by a three-story victorian home, now there were some trees and bushes, a walkway, some grass, and toward the rear of the lot, a stone bench. The entrance to the little park was marked by a vermillion tori, the graceful Shinto gate of passage on two pillars so reflective of Japan.
Tea had waited outside the entrance to the park until Masao came into view, then entered the park and walked to the bench. He sat down, facing the entrance. There were victorians on either side and to his rear. No lights were showing in the homes. A street light cast an angled shadow through the tori, the bench upon which Tea sat was in the dark, the tori in the light,
Tea felt pleasure. He was warmly calm.
Know thy enemy. Know thyself.
Tea had known when he had taken up Japanese fencing two years before that he would never be outstanding at it, approaching the art in his early forties.
Know thy enemy.
But as he had studied kendo he had learned that Japanese fencing was but a shadow of its former self, that the sport of Japanese feudal warfare and the art of Japanese feudal warfare were two very different things.
Know thyself.
There were four scoring points in modern, post-war kendo. They were the right wrist, the head, the right side, and the throat.
Know thy enemy.
In feudal times, when Japanese fought one another with steel, there were many targets, many cuts and swings which had in modern times atrophied from lack of use; cuts and swings even champions never practiced because they were useless and illegal in tournament competition.
Masao stood silhouetted under the tori.
Tea spoke to him in quiet Japanese, not wanting to wake the people living in the victorians. He knew Masao could not see him.
"Do you really want to do this?", he asked the dark figure who, upon hearing Tea's voice, put down his equipment bag and began to remove his bokken from its sheath.
In response to the question, Masao only grunted, but in Japanese male language the grunt means, "Yes".
Masao wasn't expecting a duel. The distance between their skills erased the word. Masao was going to execute a spy. Period. Tea's preparedness and calmness did not reach his consciousness.
"You're not interested in how I know about Wide Heart and Long Soul?", Tea asked across the space between them.
Tea could see the unresponsive Masao beginning to move toward him.
"Aren't you concerned that I might have a gun?", he continued.
Masao kept coming.
Know thy enemy.
Masao was confident. He was one-minded. Japanese fencing teaches that. There is no desire to clang swords together. One attacks, gets in, cuts, finishes it.
Tea stood and pulled his own bokken out of its sheath. He held it two-handed in front of him, its butt a fist-width from his navel, its point gently angled upward toward Masao's throat. About ten inches of it passed out of the shadow and into the light. Tea's bokken was made of a blonde wood. He called it, "Swine Blade". The visual effect was poetic.
Masao's surprised mind registered the beauty of the poetry. His concept of Tea was clumsy boor; therefore the poetry must be happenstance. He discounted the registration.
Though Masao could not see Tea he knew Tea was standing in the basic en garde position Then he saw the wood sword move upward and back out of sight, and he knew the novice had taken the jodan position, sword held two-handed above his head. It was a weak position for a novice. This fool of an American was going try to crack his skull with his pretty stick. He decided to get it over before the American could yell and wake the people in the victorians. He stepped toward the shadow.
Out of the darkness came a whirring sound, much faster, much harder than Masao could have expected, for it was a rare novice who could make a bokken sing with speed.
Nor had Masao expected the bokken from the angle it came, nearly horizontal to the ground, though moving slightly downward, speeding toward the left side of his neck, a blonde streak he barely glimpsed out of the corner of his left eye before it struck his neck, broke his neck, and killed him..
Tea had practiced that swing, that useless swing, that swing a hundred years unused, alone in his apartment a thousand times a night for two years.
Now, in the Marble Mountains, Masao dead longer than Tea could readily remember, Tea was faced with defending his life against Masao's father.
Tea was standing here he felt Matsushita had stood when rearranging the four pennies. Amidst Tea's equipment, like a white egg in a nest, was a white Japanese tea cup. He cautiously lifted it and found a neatly folded piece of white paper inside.
He unfolded it. It read, in English: "We have Goldfish Tatoo. We have Wide Heart and Long Soul. We have you."
The word "Tatoo" exploded like a static bomb of horror in Tea's mind.
"For now," the note went on, "Goldfish Tatoo makes sense and is still alive. Wide Heart and Long Soul can wait. Water Lilies of Vengeance will blossom in time. Surrender yourself tomorrow."
The note was signed, "Matsu", as if Tea and Matsushita were somehow chums despite all that had passed between them.
It took two hours for Tea to get past the words, "We have Goldfish Tatoo".
To understand Tea's state of shock, understand that no human being had learned the name, "Tatoo", in the four thousand years since Tatoo's marooning on Earth; understand that Tea had looked in vain for her throughout life after life after life; understand that though Kingyo, had been a spy on his team since the seance, he had never suspected she was Tatoo--but now it clicked, and everything was changed.
Tea's mind was in storm. That the Japs had her, and knew who she was, meant a massive intelligence breakthrough had been accomplished by the Not-Forgetting Society; and it meant Tea would let the nukes go off before he'd lose this contact with his deepest love and closest friend; four thousand years in the searching.
Tea read the note over several times. He was vaguely aware he was trembling.
It was evening now, and a cold wind was beginning to blow. The sun was a half hour from dropping behind the Marbles. Tea lit his campfire and put water on to boil . He stared into the fire, seeing fragments of past lives unfold in the coals.
Back home, before The Situation sucked so many of our Space Sailors away, Tea one day said to me of Tatoo, "I say her name a million times a second."
Excuse the personal digression, but it might help you to understand what was about to take place.
Tatoo was one of six Space Sailors marooned in the setting down of the Gala Sea Watch vessel, Bold Seeker, in an attempt to contact Tea when Tea was Teacher Lao in old China, a story which you should perhaps now know.
Tea thought of Tatoo, and of missed love, and of stars unseeable from Earth, and the space between.
(To be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 96th day of its last year.
posted by Virgil Kret at 4:46 PM
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