The U.S. government granted citizenship to all illegal immigrants in-country and to drug lords and their arsenal-owning minions in Mexico in the war to restart the global economy, pitting the Western Hemisphere against the Eastern Hemisphere in billions-of-bodies vs. freedom-loving technologists.
Details will emerge soon.
BUY U.S. WAR BONDS!!!
I attended Walters State Community College in early 1985. During the winter term, I took a CAD (computer-aided design) course during which I made several friends, most notably a nice married woman named Sarah who treated most everyone in class like her children (the Mother Hen syndrome). She told the CAD class about the philosophy class sponsoring a backpacking trip on March 9-10 in the Elkmont section of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Those in the philosophy class could take the trip in place of an essay.
I had met the philosophy teacher, a laid-back, former long-haired (now partially bald) hippie named Gary Acquaviva. He liked some of my poems and philosophical ideas and encouraged me to join the trip. I wasn’t sure about joining a bunch of strangers for a weekend but gave in, especially after I bought some pot and LSD as a diversion for myself in case the trip ending up being boring.
Sarah had attracted more than my idle curiosity. In fact, like many women before and after her, she plucked the emotional chord within me that I call puppy love. In appreciation for my puppy love, and the fact that it was around Valentine’s Day, I wrote Sarah a poem that dealt with the self-centered, nihilistic philosophy of Nietzsche in his book, “Thus Spoke Zarathustra.” She graciously accepted the poem, and I spent the next few weeks fantasizing about a relationship with her (as did many other guys in the class, I learned a year later).
Mr. Acquaviva gave everyone a list of items to bring on the camping trip as well as directions to a meeting place at a grocery store in Newport, a town that I knew nothing about. Sarah gave me directions to her house, located in a community ten or fifteen miles from Newport, so I could meet her there and then the two of us could take just one car to the meeting point. When she handed me the directions, I sensed some apprehension from her. I wrote off the episode as the awkwardness of a married woman trying not to appear forward while giving a strange man directions to her house (although through my hormonal self, I imagined that she was telling me she wanted me).
As I drove to Sarah’s house, a feeling of dread came over me that perhaps I should just attempt to find the meeting place myself and call Mr. Acquaviva on Monday and tell him I got lost. Instead, I drove on. When I got to her house, I made sure that I didn’t show my interest in her, especially with her kids milling about with their wild imaginations.
We loaded the backpacks in her car and drove to the meeting point. The day was slightly cold so we waited in the car for the other folks to arrive. At this point, we carried on a general conversation in which one person would exchange a fact from the past for one from the other person. You know what I mean:
One person says, “It sure is cold today. Sorta reminds me of a trip I took last fall.”
“Oh?” says the other.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t so bad because we got to see some turkeys.”
The other chimes in, “I hate cold weather.”
All throughout the conversation, we sat in our seats facing each other uncomfortably, I because I could not help thinking about my previous fantasies, and I guessed she was uncomfortable with me because she was alone with a strange male. Within fifteen minutes, however, we had established a friendship based on similar thinking and knowledge of each other’s backgrounds. By the time the first person from the philosophy class arrived, Sarah and I had that winking relationship that two people get who think they know something that other people with them do not know.
During the trip to Elkmont, I was “forced” to ride between two women — Sarah, who was driving, and a young woman named Dena who sat on the other side of me — they knew each other from the philosophy class and shared their own winking relationship. Consciously aware of my vanity, I felt they were using girl talk to talk about me in front of me although I knew I was just vainly pretending to hear it (in fact, they were talking about me, especially about Sarah’s earlier confession to Dena that Sarah was interested in me but also about Dena’s interest in a guy who was supposed to meet us at Elkmont).
When we got to the Elkmont parking lot, Dena found that her male friend had not made it. We waited a while but Acquaviva (as he wanted to be called) urged us on because we had a long hike ahead of us and he wanted to get to the camping site before it rained.
The hike mainly consisted of Sarah and I exchanging curious glances while consoling Dena in her pitiful state of sorrow and disappointment. Along the way, we got to know the names and personalities of the other hikers, most of whom have faded in time, but I remember a long-haired guy named Barry who fell in a creek right before we got to the campsite.
At the campsite, we quickly set up all the tents next to a creek and began to search for firewood because we were all cold and damp from the slight misty rain that had surrounded us during the hike. Acquaviva split us into groups to find wood, and because I was the only one along on the trip who was not in his class, I was left to watch the campsite. Instead, I pulled out my pot and walked off a little distance to get high. The group soon found that most of the wood in the area was wet. A couple of guys who were also in the CAD class saw me smoking and gave me a suspicious look. I walked further off into the woods and they followed me. Out of my paranoia, I pretended to be looking for some wood. When they approached me, they asked if they could smoke some of the pot with me. I relented. They then admitted they no longer thought of me as the nerd in the class.
Back at the campsite, Acquaviva divided us up again, this time into fire tenders/ gatherers, food preparers, and food cookers. I split my time between tending the fire and passing out snacks I had carried in my backpack. During the meal, Acquaviva and Sarah shared their containers of wine — flimsy metallic containers taken out of boxed wine — similar to the goatskins of the past. A few other people had brought beer. Knowing that I would later be in a different world of my own, I declined all but the dinner toast drink of wine. By the time the meal was over, several people were starting to feel intoxicated. Sarah, Dena, and I cleaned the dishes at the creek in the dark using rocks to scrub the dishes and a flashlight to see by.
Afterwards, I sneaked over to my backpack to take a hit of acid. Barry saw me put the hit on my tongue and asked if I had one for him. I actually had brought two hits to take that night, but gave him the other hit, if for no other reason than the old maxim that no one should ever take acid alone.
By this time, Acquaviva had gathered everyone at the fire to discuss philosophy. As you can imagine, a bunch of near drunks discussing philosophy makes for a bad sitcom at its best and a violent argument or fight at its worst. We fell somewhere in between. In fact, people were falling all over the place. Apparently, the hike, the altitude, and lack of much food made everyone get drunk much faster than usual, some off only three glasses of wine.
Throughout the night, I shared knowing glances and brief conversations with Barry as he and I buzzed on our trips. One time, when I left the fire to relieve myself of the little fluid I had consumed, I found Barry looking at the brilliance of the stars through the trees and mumbling something about the infinite possibilities of life on other worlds. He wanted me to get involved in a long conversation but soon my neck grew tired and my eyes grew weary of staring upward into near darkness.
Back at the campsite, I sat at the fire and saw what appeared to be an illusion on the other side of the fire, an illusion of Acquaviva standing on a rock at the top of the embankment next to the creek. Suddenly, he disappeared. I looked around me and no one else seemed to notice or showed alarm so I shook my head and looked into the fire. Some time later (time loses meaning to me while I’m on acid), someone commented that Acquaviva had been gone a long time. Another person expressed concern. I sat in silence, questioning my earlier illusion. Finally, we heard a low moan and some people began looking in the woods. I suggested to one guy that he look next to the creek. Sure enough, a bit of searching revealed the body of Acquaviva spread out on a large rock next to the creek. My illusion turned out to be Acquaviva losing his balance at the top of the embankment, falling backward and knocking his head on the rock below.
As the night wore on, everyone had pretty well finished off the alcohol and found a log, stump, tree, or rock – anything remotely solid – for support. They all considered me to be sober and left me in charge of taking care of the fire. Acquaviva and Sarah made sure everyone got to a tent and into a sleeping bag to prevent someone passing out in the woods somewhere and developing hypothermia. Eventually, Acquaviva ended up sitting beside Sarah on a log next to the fire. She gave him a backrub, as she had done for several people that night. He then turned to give her a hug of appreciation which turned into his inviting her into a tent for the night. She gave me a raised-eyebrow glance that yelled for help.
I quietly spoke to Acquaviva across the fire. “I’m amazed that you have stayed up so late, especially after all the alcohol you’ve consumed, not to mention your smashing your head on that rock.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said as he leaned against Sarah and then slipped and fell off the log. We all laughed. He continued, “Yeah, I’m a little tired.” He turned to Sarah and said in almost a husbandly voice, “Do you want me to go?” which we all translated as “Mind if I go?”
“Go ahead,” Sarah nodded, “I want to warm up by the fire before I go to bed.”
Acquaviva climbed into the tent where Dena was sleeping and attempted to climb into the sleeping bag with her. Sarah and I quietly snickered at Dena’s protests. When Sarah realized Acquaviva wasn’t taking no for answer, she suggested we get him out. She asked me to hold her up and support her over to the tent, since I was the only sober one left. I gingerly put my arms around her and walked us to the tent. After a few minutes, we extracted Acquaviva, who first said, “Everything would be fine if you would just leave us alone,” and ended up claiming, “I’m on my way to the guys’ tent anyway.”
I returned Sarah to the log, sat down beside her and stared at the dying embers of the fire, which make wonderful visual effects on acid. I felt like I had been staring at the fire for thirty minutes when Sarah broke the silence.
“You know, it’s getting awfully cold.”
“I, um…I could put more wood on the fire.”
“Well, Lee, it’s pretty late already.”
“Yeah,” I said, still staring at the fire.
She leaned against me and I tensed up. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said in what I perceived as a fake drunk voice.
I shook my head.
“I haven’t given you a backrub yet,” she said more as a question than a statement.
My left side was tuned to every drunken sway her body made against mine. I told myself, “I’m an Eagle Scout and she’s a married woman with two children. You are in very dangerous territory here.” I looked at her as nonchalantly as possible. “You’re right.”
“Okay, then turn around.”
As I turned around, she lost me as a support and fell backward off the log. She began to laugh a quiet, drunken laugh, more than a snicker but definitely not a guffaw, more like the way a person laughs out loud at an amusing private thought. As I helped her up, I quickly suggested, “Perhaps you ought to go on to bed.”
Sarah laughed until she gained her balance on the log. “I almost believe you’re too good to be true. I mean, here I am, drunk and willing, you’re sober and…oh, never mind,” she finished with a wave of her hand, “help me to the tent.”
I grabbed her arm as she turned to get up. “You probably won’t remember this tomorrow but I’m not as sober as you think.”
“I haven’t seen you touch alcohol since dinner.”
“No, I don’t mean like that.”
Sarah shook her head. “Okay, then what do you mean?”
“I’m on acid.”
“Huh?” She paused a moment. “No way, you’ve been normal all night.”
“Well, I am. I can stare at that fire and produce all sorts of wild patterns.” We both looked down at the fire.
“Yeah, you have been staring at the fire most of the night.” She turned to look at me and fell against me. “Just hold me a minute, okay?”
I put an arm around her and she leaned her head against my shoulder. While I held her, I turned my goody-two-shoes voice off and imagined a night of wild passion with her. We could move Dena to the other tent and have a tent all to ourselves. I thought of our kissing by the fire, of her kissing me on the neck…suddenly, I realized she was kissing me on the neck!
“Uh, Sarah,” I whispered.
She stopped kissing my neck and looked up at my face just inches from hers. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll stop.”
At that point, I racked my brain for an answer to this dilemma, if there was one. “Kissing,” I tried to tell myself, “is not all that bad. Besides, she is drunk, or at least is willing to pretend to be. If anything serious happens, we can claim to have been drunk and won’t remember anything tomorrow. What guy wouldn’t be tempted by those beautiful brown eyes?” I turned back to look at the fire.
“What do you see?” she asked, leaning her head on my shoulder again.
I pointed to the last orange flame flickering among the coals. “My mind magnifies that little flame until it fills my whole vision and I see nothing but a mixture of orange, blue and yellow and a million other colors in front of me. Then, I get the feeling I’m staring into the indescribable nothingness that people call eternity, infinity, heaven or hell. Time, that sense of what has passed and what will pass, disappears. Everything appears before me, everything that is, was, will be, will never be, could be…a tunnel with no walls…” I wasn’t sure if was making sense. “I don’t know, the fire just kinda looks more brilliant than normal.”
Sarah snickered, “Sounds like we both need to get to bed. As much as I’d like to talk about this, I’m too tired to think. Walk me to the tent.”
We stood up and I realized how the cold air penetrated my clothes as if I was sitting in an ice bath. I looked over to where Barry had strung a hammock between two trees, claiming that sleeping in the air was warmer than sleeping on the ground. He looked sound asleep.
I helped Sarah to Dena’s tent, which I suddenly realized was my pup tent. I went to my backpack, put on an extra shirt and dared the cold to take off my boots and put on another pair of socks. I then carried my sleeping bag into the guys’ tent, built for five people but only holding four including myself. I lay in the sleeping bag, shivering, not able to sleep, still tripping, and listening to the snoring patterns of the guys around me. After a few minutes, I heard Dena and Sarah talking.
“Psst. Sarah, are you awake?”
“Yeah,” Sarah muttered.
“I’m freezin’ my buns off. How about you?”
“Yeah, just go to sleep.”
“I can’t, I’m too cold.”
“Well, you’ll be tired tomorrow.”
“What time is it?” Dena asked with an obvious shiver in her voice.
“Almost 3:30.”
“Geez, I can’t lie here three or four more hours.”
“What do suggest, then?”
“How about the guys?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think they still have room in their tent?”
Sarah paused before she answered. “Do you want to go into the same tent with Acquaviva?”
“Hmm…maybe you’re right.”
I waited a few more minutes with my attention sharply focused into a giant antenna, listening for more conversation, but to no avail. I then went back to wondering what would have happened if I had taken Sarah up on her drunken offer. Or had I imagined the whole thing to begin with? After all, I was shivering in a cold sleeping bag with a bunch of guys snoring around me. I could easily have dreamed up the whole thing to justify my shivering alone in the dark.
“Sarah,” Dena whispered.
“What?”
“I can’t stand this anymore. I’m going to the guys’ tent.”
“I’m going with you,” Sarah said cheerfully.
They gathered up their sleeping bags and walked over.
They opened the tent flap and Sarah whispered, “Hey, Doug.”
I started to answer and decided to wait. I could feel someone shaking the guy beside me. “Unh, what is it?” he said and rolled against me.
“What do you want?” I said in the sleepiest voice I could imagine.
“We’re freezin’ to death,” Dena blurted, “so make room. Where’s Acquaviva?”
He grunted from the other side of Doug.
Dena patted the space between Doug and me. “I’ll squeeze in here and you get on the other side of Lee.”
My heart rate jumped and my blood pressure soared. Out of the frying pan and into the fire! Suddenly, I didn’t feel cold.
All the guys adjusted to make room for Dena and Sarah. Dena squeezed in so that her back was to me while Sarah lay facing me. Every person adjusted to one side or another to make room.
I made sure I never opened my eyes and moved very little to give the impression I was asleep. I finally moved my hand to my face and saw the time was 4:30 on my illuminated digital watch. I looked over at Sarah in the dark tent and barely saw her sleeping bag. At first, I thought I was looking at a pattern in the folds of her sleeping bag. Then, I noticed that two spots were coming and going and realized she was looking at me and blinking. I quickly shut my eyes, hoping that she hadn’t seen mine. With my eyes shut, I wasn’t sure if I had really seen her eyes or I was still tripping. I was beginning to feel tired which usually indicated the LSD was losing its effect.
I opened my eyes again to see not only two eyes but also a smile. I figured at least forty-five minutes had passed since Sarah and Dena had come into the tent so everyone must surely be asleep. I stuck my hand out of the sleeping bag and waved my fingers. Sarah reached a hand out of her sleeping bag and grasped mine. For a moment I marveled at the wonderment of two cold hands squeezing in the darkness like two condemned prisoners reaching through cell bars and silently saying, “I want to live another day.” Then, the reality of the situation hit me again: I was holding the hand of a married woman and wishing I was with her in one sleeping bag, committing adultery like there was no tomorrow.
“Lee,” Sarah whispered with a smile in her voice.
“Yes?” I said, hoping no one else was listening.
“Are you awake?”
“I think so. Or this a wonderful dream I’m having.” She squeezed my hand tighter.
“Are you still on acid?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Good,” she said, and let go of my hand.
For a brief moment, perhaps only half a second, I felt she had been leading me on. I suddenly brought forth all my defensive postures, waiting to strike like a bobcat standing silently on a rock above a grazing rabbit.
The shhht of a zipper broke the air like an explosion.
“Lee.”
“What,” I responded three octaves higher.
“Undo your zipper.”
I asked myself, “My pants zipper?” and knew as quickly she meant my sleeping bag. I undid the zipper on the sleeping bag about a foot when Sarah grasped my hand in hers again.
“Are you okay?” she asked gently, in her motherly voice.
I began to feel very weird. “I’m not sure what you mean?” I paused for what seemed like hours. “Do you want to go over to the other tent?” I ventured to ask.
“I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”
“Why?” I asked with just a hint of a hurt, defensive posture.
“I don’t even think the two of us could keep out the cold.”
I smiled. “Are you cold right now?”
“No.”
“Neither am I.”
We continued to hold hands forever, or at least for a few minutes, I couldn’t tell which. My head was spinning and I couldn’t pull my eyes away from hers. I felt like I could fall into her eyes and be enwrapped in an eternal feeling of one hundred percent love and care. No wonder everyone saw her as the motherly type while most guys saw her as a voluptuous female. Her eyes had a power that no cliché’ could adequately describe.
Dena pushed against my back. I closed my eyes and froze, thinking that Dena was awake and had heard what Sarah and I had been saying. Feeling something warm against my face, I opened my eyes to see that Dena had pushed me up to Sarah. Our noses were almost touching. I took a chance and pushed my nose against Sarah’s. She pushed back and without any hesitation, we kissed.
How do I describe a kiss? The Webster’s dictionary describes a kiss as “a caress with the lips” and Roget’s thesaurus gives kiss the synonyms of buss, peck, smack and smooch. Romance novels surround kisses with fireworks while Mafioso movies refer to the kiss of death. Some people believe a kiss involves an electrochemical process that science will be able to fully describe one day (I hope that day never arrives).
While we kissed, we kept our eyes open, as if our eyes were caressing too. We did not kiss with abandon. Instead, we explored each other’s mouth with lips and tongue. I memorized every crack of her chapped lips and savored the taste of her wine-flavored tongue. I ran my tongue across her teeth, noticing how the scraping of her teeth against my tongue excited me, causing pleasurable tingles to pass in waves down the back of my neck. I felt like we were Masters & Johnson trying to accurately describe all the sensations of kissing.
Occasionally, we would stop kissing and close our eyes, catching a catnap.
At one point, I attempted to put my arm around her and ended up rubbing across her chest. She grabbed the back of my hand and pressed my hand against a breast. She then reached her other hand into my sleeping bag and held her hand against my crotch. Neither one dared to caress the other, not sure if we wanted to go on. Fate stepped in and made the decision for us.
Acquaviva began to moan and woke everyone up. Sarah and I returned our hands to our sleeping bags. I looked at my watch in the dim light of morning to see it was 6:30. Someone told Acquaviva to either get up or go back to sleep.
I awoke to the bright light of morning. Several dim dreams lingered in my mind, and in my grogginess I wasn’t sure what had been dreams and what had been the imaginings of my acid trip. For a moment, I thought I had lived out my fantasies about Sarah. I looked down at my watch to see it was 8:30. Suddenly, the whole evening flashed before me. I looked up, expecting to see Sarah’s face in front of me only to discover I was alone in the tent. I could hear people talking all around me.
Acquaviva leaned into the tent. “Hey, sleepy head, time to get up. We need to fold this tent up.”
I rolled up my sleeping bag and crawled out of the tent. In a fit of desperation, I looked quickly around me to find Sarah. She and Dena sat by the fire. Sarah looked at me with a warm smile.
Barry came up behind me and slapped my back. “Want some breakfast? I bet you’re famished from last night. Do you remember running through the woods, frantically looking for a clearing to see the Big Dipper?”
I turned to look at him through half-open eyes. “Are you kidding?”
“Do you remember the meteor shower?”
I thought for a moment and memories of spending a long time getting lost in the woods came back to me. “I think so. Did we find my pot pipe?”
“Hell, no. You said you’d remember in the morning exactly where you dropped it.”
My head began to clear and I saw the image of a rotten log between a dry creek bed and a trail. “I think I know where it is.”
“If you want breakfast, come and get it,” Acquaviva interrupted. “Otherwise, we need to get these dishes cleaned up.”
I loaded my sleeping bag in my backpack and put the pup tent, which someone had been kind enough to pack up, on top.
I walked back to the fire and got some burnt bacon and dry, scrambled eggs. Dena looked at me with a knowing smile, stood up, and pointed to her place on the log. “Sit here, I’m finished.”
I sat down next to Sarah and ate in silence. I did not speak to her until we were putting our backpacks on and she needed help getting a strap untangled.
Once on the trail, I took my turn at the rear of the group, momentarily taking advantage of seeing where other people had been walking, thus avoiding the mud puddles and hidden holes on the pathway. I took the time to go over the past evening in my mind, separating the drug-induced hallucinations from the real events. Some points were fuzzy, especially right before I went to sleep, but I decided to throw them from my mind. They seemed too confusing to try to remember.
About a mile down the trail, Dena developed a bad blister and I slowed down to walk with her. We talked about her disappointment about her friend not coming along and how an essay would have been a lot less painful than this trip. She had a headache from the night before, and complained about an ache or pain in every joint of her body. I was beginning to think about leaving her behind when Barry said he would take over the rear.
I picked up my pace and caught up with Sarah. I remained silent, still trying to piece the evening together.
“You can’t just keep quiet,” Sarah finally said.
“What?”
“I mean let’s talk about something.”
“Right now, I’m trying to figure out last night.”
“What’s there to figure out?”
“Well, because my sense of time was messed up, I can’t figure out if I’m missing parts of the evening or if I stared at the fire most of the night.”
“You did stare at the fire a lot.”
“Yeah, but did I…” I stopped.
“Did you what?”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Is it possible to imagine a whole evening?”
“You’re beginning to sound like Acquaviva.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Sarah reached over and held my hand. “Can I help?”
I looked up and down the trail. We were out of sight of the rest of the group. “What do you mean? Is there something you can help me with?”
“If you aren’t sure if something happened, I can tell you if it did.”
“I’m not so sure about that. You were pretty drunk.”
“I only had four glasses of wine.”
I decided to stop playing word games. I pulled Sarah to me and we kissed as we had the night before, eyes open, exploring lips and all.
“Well?” she asked wryly.
“Well what?”
“Do you need me to help you remember anything?”
“No, now I’ve got to figure it all out.”
“Figure what out?”
“You and me.”
“What’s there to figure? We kissed.”
“Yeah, but I think there’s more to this than that.”
“You think so? Either there is or there isn’t. You and I can think that tree’s over there and agree that it’s there but if we walk over and feel nothing there, then there’s no tree.”
“I know, I know. I’m just tired…”
“And?”
“And I’ve got to figure it all out.”
“Okay,” she said, turning her head to one side. We continued to hike down the trail, swinging our interlocked hands up and down between us like two kids without a care in the world.
The Koch (pronounced “We can save the economy with sound conservative principles”) Brothers denied they were encouraging the population to crowd into cities in order to more effectively wipe out useless subcultures using the nuclear option in the near future.
In this book of the future, the NRA announced today the formation of an exploratory committee for the organisation of a 1,000,000 gun march on Washington, D.C., in order to protect the U.S. Capitol from itself. The organisers dared police and military to impinge on lawful gun owners while transporting their constitutionally guaranteed equipment to the Mall.
Further, Volvo denied the discovery by customers of unidentified black box modules inside the engine compartment that apparently send location information to orbiting Chinese communications satellites whose functions are secret.
How do you avoid some future negative hits of “failing the newspaper test”?
Embrace the customer complaint process loudly.
Anticipate lawsuits and proactively move change agents into the potential litigious customer populace, seeking solutions to problems before they exist.
Hire hackers to find damaging information about your company, employees and products.
Invite citizen/professional journalists to investigate your business segment.
Make sure you show ahead of time you were forward-thinking innovators desiring to get the best products/services to those who want/need them.
In other words, social media and the future of urban legend building are your friends.
With that said, the Committee has put on the table the possibility of establishing an alternative national seat of power for the U.S., getting rid of the whole corrupt lobbying system that usurped the power of the common citizen.
No more will PACs and other corporate body politics rule the land.
An attempt to truly democratise a group of 300+ million.
Subject to mob rule, of course.
If the wealthy do not donate to the new organisation, tiger teams will infiltrate and extort at will – no more demonstrations.
Local militia will have the authority to shoot at will – honour killings and vigilante justice will be restored to their former glory.
The majority will dictate to the minorities, not the other way around.
But the Committee wants my secret network of supercomputer zombie bot programmers to calculate the detailed side effects of such a future before triggering the next set of influential subliminal and not-so-subtle actions.
In our nightly review of plots from daily observations that serve as species-based supercomputer calculations, we have derived several futures.
You se, the Committee, while deciding whether i should take over my predecessor’s leadership position, continues the dirty work of running this planet, picosecond by picosecond under the guidance of expected future outcomes.
One future is a preemptive strike on the Chinese government’s military, using strategic locations in Japan, Taiwan, Russia, India and U.S. sea/space first-strike equipment.
Another future is the EMP option, delivering the “Armageddon” global blow.
These are two of the harshest futures.
More as the Committee comes closer to a decision.
This morning, while building my animatronic choir that’ll sit in the backseat of the Dodge, I had an epic epiphany (not a hissy fit, as they say down here).
By combining the Dragon NaturallySpeaking software with a link to Google Translate, I have created a group of mimicking monsters.
Thus, when I sit down with my parroting cabal, they speak back to me in their own language.
For instance, I sit down in the car seat, start the engine and say, “Hello.”
The fuzzy creatures in the back respond with “hello” but each in a language chosen for their characters.
Franz the Bavarian says, “Guten tag.”
The Finnish supermodel, modeled on Miss Piggie, says, “hyvää päivää.”
And on and on, over to Lou the Lao who says, “sabai di.”
It’s even funnier to hear them try to interpret themselves in the second round of parroting.
That’s why Polly the Parrot is programmed to whistle loudly every once in a while to signal the choir to pipe down and listen to my voice only.
I’ve got to figure out how to get each doll to respond to its name only and not have the whole crew responding to me when I say something like, “Franz, h0w is the bratwurst today?” [to which he is supposed to respond comically, “I am no worse than yesterday. How are you?” Artificial intelligence? You decide.]
The responsibility of a free society lies primarily in protecting citizens from the negative consequences of their worst behaviours.
Whatever that means is whatever it means at a specific place and time.
But I’d rather show than tell.
Thus, the rest of this entry is NSFW (not safe for work), protecting the rights of citizens to express themselves creatively and make them think before they act.
Wherever we travel into the galaxy, our past travels with us into the future. How do you want to represent the past in the moment, here, on Mars, or elsewhere?
If you are under 18 years of age or not under the supervision of your parents while reading this, I ask you to stop here.
= = = = =
Rewired
I looked at the dishwasher and saw a Dodge slant-6,
I looked at the vacuum cleaner and saw a Chevy V-6,
I looked at the lawnmower and saw a Honda Goldwing,
I looked at everything that moved and said,
“By golly, that needs improving…I think I’ll rewire it.”
I looked at my wife and saw a 302 C.I. big block,
I looked at the rugrat and saw a Kawasaki 90,
I looked at the dog and saw a Black and Decker mulcher engine,
I looked at the cat and saw a Stihl chainsaw engine,
I looked at the man in the mirror and saw a Sears hedge trimmer,
I looked at everything that moved and said,
“By golly, that needs improving…I think I’ll rewire it.”
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – -<
Now my dishwasher competes on drag strips,
My vacuum cleaner spits out strips of carpet,
And my lawnmower circles around Mars.
Now, I look at everything that moves and say,
“By golly, that needs improving…I think I’ll have a beer.”
Now my wife nags me 24 hours a day,
My rugrat races teenagers at red lights,
My dog eats Jeep Cherokees for breakfast,
My cat shreds couches into compost,
And I just shaved off my chin.
Western Myth-takes
We rode along, galloping, gallivanting,
Our horses not sure where to take us,
Our minds searching for some profound thought
To justify the deeds we planned that night.
Our leader called himself Jesse
(Though we knew he’d been Mark’d)
And spoke of futures without laws
Against “shootin’ a man and takin’ his ol’ lady.”
We rode through pinewood forest,
Across lonesome prairies and over mountain gaps;
The night, in fact, obligatory,
Wore on enough to get us thinking.
“Jesse,” we thought in unison,
“Are you the Man to lead us
Or do we choose another path?
Do you lead or are we just followin’?
“You showed us words like anarchy
And gave us free rein to fuck or kill
Whatever supposed lady came our way.
How could we resist your promises?”
As moon and stars rounded overhead
And creatures plenty, whose dark silhouettes
We identified with cautious glances,
Spoke in tongues, we rode along.
My wife, she said my leaving wouldn’t bring
Fortune or fame to our family,
That I just wanted to escape
The ugliness of responsibility.
Jesse knew how to shut her up,
With a pocket full of gold
And a wanted poster stolen from a dead sheriff
(And his posse of pussies).
Soon, we entered the fate-filled town
Where Jesse planned to pull a job
With his ragged men he liked to call
His rugged band of warriors.
“Okay,” he said, “let’s ditch these duds
And get us a ride with some real horsepower!”
So we stole some Mustangs, Pintos and Broncos
And traded our chaps for Polo and Halston.
Like that kid in a candy store,
Our eyes and pockets opened wide;
The people in this Shangri-La
Let us pick and choose to our delight.
All we had to do was point to Jesse –
Then everyone bowed down, like Mayans,
And yelled, “Praise the legend of the West!”
We’d execute their democratic ways on the spot.
We served our time with Jesse proudly,
Teaching folks that “government and corporations
Serve no one and enslave everyone
So break your chains and steal ’em blind.”
When Jesse lost his life to another love
That all us guys mistakenly call a wife,
We placed a wreath beneath a naked dancer
At our favorite waterin’ hole – Th’Catch.
Susan was a nymphomaniac. At times, it was pretty hard to quench her sexual thirst. Her unsatisfied desires usually ran into early morning, and more than once, it took a whole weekend to meet her demands. One Saturday morning, sometime in the summer of last year, I was over at her house while her parents were gone.
“Lee,” she said, stroking my forearm gently, “what are you thinking about?”
I replied in a whisper which gave away my thoughts before I made them audible. “I’m thinking of that empty bed upstairs.”
She smiled at me. We both got up and climbed the stairs while we caressed each other with each rising step. Already, I could sense her frenzied passion swelling as we continued on into the bedroom.
We undressed each other, exploring the lines and curves in a ritual orgiastic dance as old as time. We were driven by some inner force that would not stop until we were totally exhausted.
Of this I was sure as we climbed into bed, I would never forget these early sojourns into the adult world, although many of my friends had practiced the dance. No one could tell we were only nine years old by the way we acted that day or anytime since.
The heat built up as our invigorations grew more and more and…MORE…intense. After many nights together in the past, she knew just how to stroke me and further arouse the tiger in me. I never roared, I only bit and scratched and claimed her territory as my kingdom.
“Susan, ohhh…it feels so good! Please! Give me more,” I shouted as we reached the climax of our adventure.
She spoke in a high-pitched voice, saying, “Oh, Lee! I can’t stop myself. Give ME more!” in an ever increasing flurry of words amid moans of sensuous pleasure.
Several hours later, after much territory had been thoroughly explored, we sat back and rested against the back of the bed.
I looked out the window, thinking back on her nymphomaniacal tendencies, and saw that the spaceship was close approaching Earth, a planet that Susan and I, being native-born Plutonians, had never seen.
“Just, think, Susan, in a few more hours we will get to hear the great Freudian expert, Dr. Long Dong Duck, teach us the meaning of life.”
Dr. Duck cleared his throat. “It is with great pleasure and satisfaction that I welcome you to Earth. I know you must have heard the results of the latest erection…I mean, election. Our colleague, Dr. Getitup, has just won the Solar System Presidency heads above the rest.” The audience applauded with great enthusiasm.
“Yes, yes. Well, let’s get on with the lecture, shall we?
“Sigmund Freud, who made many different psychoanalytic theories in the 19th century, most emphasized the theory of sexuality and the effect of sex on infantile and adult behavior. This contribution to the field of psychoanalysis brought to mind many questions which Freud explored about the basics of man’s sexual drive, known as libido, and its influence on what he does and his reaction to the environment.
“Not only did Freud include what is generally accepted as ‘normal’ sexual behavior in his theory (normal, of course, for the 19th century), he also explained the different types of perverts – those persons whose sexual activities deviate from the ‘normal’ concept of sex – and the cause for their perversions. He classed the different types of sexually-driven people according to the direction they took their sexual activities.
“The term ‘sexual’ means something which combines references to the difference between the sexes, to personal and shared pleasurable excitement and gratification, to the function of reproduction, and to the idea of impropriety and the need for concealment. This definition explains that which should be referred to as normal sexual behavior. Anything that is extra or goes past this is not normal and to the same degree, if it is focused in one direction and the sexual activity does not include all the aspects of the usage of the word sexual, then it is said to be not normal, either. In other words, if you’re feel inclined to satisfy yourself sexually, then go for it with whomever and whatever you can get your hands on.” The audience laughed.
“These activities which stray from normal behavior are said to be perverse and people who indulge in the activities are referred to as perverts. So, as can be seen, the term sexual is not always sufficient because certain classes of perverts are only aroused by those of the same sex and thus have foregone the participation in the process of reproduction. These perverts or inverts can be, and often are, as normal as those who lead a normal sex life, and have mental and physical developments completely full grown and only possess this one unusual peculiarity of sexual desire. The inversion can usually be traced back to infancy, when children believed that all sexes were alike or the inverts can only express their sexual feelings with members of the same sex.
“Sexual perverts may be grouped into two classes: those who have their object of sexual gratification altered and those in whom the sexual aim has been altered. The first group include those who have dispensed with the union of genitalia and to which they have substituted the genitals of someone of the same sex, other parts of the body, a particle of clothing or some object, or other more extreme forms of sexual desire in place of the normal forms of sex which lead to the act of reproduction. Those of the second group may seek pleasure in looking or touching bodies, watching others perform sex, exposing hidden body parts, or those in whom all affectionate feelings are sought through pain and torture, as in sadists who cause pain to others, or masochists, who want pain, humiliation, or torture to themselves – all of these may seek gratification in reality or imagine it in their own minds, thus dividing all groups again in two.
“Freud said that all distorted sexual behaviors of perverts could be traced back to infancy. A child passes through certain sexual stages and if, during a stage, a child is suppressed from normal sexual development, both mentally and physically, then the child has a tendency to carry on characteristics of abnormal sexual activities on into adult sex participation. The tendencies vary according to how and to what extent the child was suppressed. In some cases, the child may have been encouraged to perform sexual acts with adults and this can also lead to abnormalities or perversions.
“Infantile sexuality begins at birth and reaches a climax towards the end of the fifth year. Here, the child falls victim to infantile amnesia. Sexual life advances once more with puberty, although the child may explore the body with others during the pre-teen years but in both cases, the child learns more about sexuality.
“The first organ to emerge as an erotogenic, or sexually excitable zone, from the time of birth onwards, is the mouth. It is first evident when the baby sucks at the mother’s breast, when the need of nourishment is satisfied and he gains an increase in pleasure as many nursing mothers can testicle…I mean, testify.” Many members of the audience snickered.
“As the child further becomes conscious of himself, another area becomes filled with the capability for sexual pleasure: the anus. This gives rise to the acknowledgement of other erogenous areas at a junction of skin and mucous membrane such as the vagina in females. At first, pleasure comes from the satisfaction of emptying the bowels, but then there is an additional pleasure in the sensation of retaining the contents of a full rectum.
“The third and final physical pleasure of infancy is the discovery of the genital area as a means of sexual satisfaction. This may be first noticed in a child by such accidental sensations as being dried after a bath, or feeling the movement of air on the genital regions. As a child develops physically, he may become aroused when playing with other children, especially during romping and wrestling together. The child does not have anything to do with the act of reproduction or with sexual activity in adult life.
“Freud believed that the child’s first intimate human relationship is normally with the mother. The child holds a secret feeling of jealousy and competitiveness toward his father, whom he perceives as a rival for the mother’s affection. To this situation, Freud gave the name of the Oedipus complex. The Oedipus complex has to be conceived as the child’s real but repressed fear that the father will castrate him in retaliation for the exclusive possession of the mother. No infant could formulate this fear into words, but it is very real.
“The repression of the Oedipus complex and others like it, are said to be the cause of the deceptive calm of the latency period, which usually lasts from about five to eleven years of age. A child then begins the period of puberty where the child further develops mentally and physically, leading to the adult life. If the child has not been suppressed, then a normal sex life can be expected. If a child has been suppressed, then the sex life of a child when it has become an adult is usually altered and may have no connections with the concept of sexuality at all.
“In conclusion, Sigmund Freud received so many protests and denials from other psychologists that he revised his theory of sexuality several times and only later did he finally become the respected psychologist we revere today. He said that the libido of humans was the basis of all of man’s actions and that anything could be connected to the sexual drive of man.
“Are there any questions?”
“Yes, Dr. Duck, my name is Lee Colline. I am nine years old and me and my friend Susan here like to get each other off. I know my other friends enjoy wrestling around together and all that, but Susan and I actually get off sexually. Is that normal?”
“Well, Mr. Colline, I wouldn’t let the word get out on that one.” The audience laughed. “You might just become a celebrity on the interplanetary talk show circuit. But seriously, as long as you two enjoy each other, I see nothing wrong with what you’re doing.”
“I’ve got one more question. Is it true what they say that Earth has become such a repressed world that perversion here is considered normal?”
“Unfortunately, Mr. Colline, I’m afraid what you said is true. I’ve got a copy of Earth Today in front of me and here is the lead story in the Life section…
“‘Looking for that vacation spot with a difference? The other day, I stopped in the little town of Harrisburg, PA, drawn to its antique shops and riverside park…
‘There is a bar next door which stands silent and aloof during the day, but at night, it opens its doors and allows in the whispering homosexuals who perform their rituals and orgies in the half-dark – sucking females engaging each other and holding hands, unspeakingly proclaiming their immoral thoughts so that no secret is hidden from the lesbian eyes all around, the lips which kiss other gay lips.
‘And the DJ pounds away all the while, bouncing off the walls in her little cell, shaking her fat arms in a celebration of sex, hallucinating on dreams of sucking out every pussy in the joint, sucking and rubbing on a hundred different clits until her mountainously fat breasts are sleek and slippery with lesbianic love, shoving her fingers in anything and sucking the tastes of and licking shaven assholes, and the brown titties of the two black dykes are her dessert as she probes negro twats and lies naked and helpless as she is in turn probed by a hundred fingers.
‘Then the gray lesbian bartender tucks her in and gives her a kiss, a wet kiss on the lips, slipping her tongue in and out before mounting the fat girl’s face and shrouding it with gray, wrinkled lips.
‘For now the D-Gem Cocktail Lounge rests silently, brewing its potion of homosexual love in preparation for the evening’s dark games, games played by obese women who kiss like children who have never kissed anything, large clumsy kisses, arms around shoulders; and then they smile idiotically at one another in the giddiness of their shameful act.
‘Around them are other gay women, dressed like men and sporting short spunky haircuts, holding hands with another who understands, sipping drinks slowly beneath mysterious eyes that hide recipes for homosexual pleasure. They do not crave the taste of a warm cock exploding cum down their throats, they abhor sucking on a titty with hair. They long only for another pair of soft, fleshy breasts and the bittersweet taste of a dripping pussy, munching on a clit as the soft, feminine body beneath quivers and gyrates in ecstatic frenzy.
And I walked unawares into the middle of this homosexual church as the lesbians prayed in their flirting way, dancing slowly and closely.’
“This is not a product of a normal sexual society. A normal society would allow others to practice their perversions in complete privacy and not have to meet in dark alleyways or nightclubs. Yes, Mr. Colline, Sigmund Freud would turn over in his grave were he to see where our planet has gone since the Supreme Court of Earth banned heterosexual marriages and declared them a menace to society. You should feel fortunate to come from the Plutonian colony where they do not make laws concerning human sexual activity.”
|
20 February 1991, 10:20 p.m.
To whomever is lucky enough to read this letter: Funny, how our past catches up with us. Sometimes I wonder if we could stop the future and just spend time repairing the mistakes of the past. I guess not, huh? Too bad cause all this mess could have been avoided if you had taken back most of what you did or said to me. As you know by now, several of your employees have died of unknown causes. [I wish I could tell you everything that’s going through my head right now but I’m afraid I haven’t got the time. It’s a beautiful day outside and I must take care of the herb garden. Make hay while the sun shines and all that.] I remember when I first started working for you guys. What’s-her-face from marketing told me what a wonderful opportunity I would have working for an environmental services company. Her words still ring in my head: “Well, working for us sure will be fun, I can tell you that. But I think you’ll find your background is an asset for you here. Biology is important in many fields. As we move into sampling, we’ll need people who understand what kind of microorganisms are floating around in sewer systems. That’s why I encourage you to pursue your master’s degree. You can never know too much.” Did she really believe I would fall for that? I suppose you’ll have a lot of questions to ask me after you read this letter. Only, you won’t be able to find me. I’m packing up my bag of “medicinal” herbs and moving somewhere away from a town that’s more concerned about defense budgets than the people in it. Before I go, I want to share my reasons for helping along your company’s attrition rate. I also want to chew on a couple of more jimsonweed seeds. (Despite what the medical books say, if you grow your own you can get a pretty good gauge of how harmful or useful the so-called toxic plants can be.)
I’m tired of wasting my time thinking up words and phrases to write in this letter. Instead, I’m going to let my past do the talking. A diary can say a lot about a person. April 9 – My boss does not appreciate my biology degree. All Patty wants are pretty reports for the customer. I wish I could show her that I have more in my head than little cog wheels that spit out numbers like a computer. Bob asked me out yesterday. I want to go out with him but I don’t want to risk an office romance even if he’s good-looking and not a creep. I wish someone could tell me what to do. April 15 – Mom and Dad called. I want to go home to see them but I always seem to be too busy with work. I sure miss them. April 20 – Have started an herb garden in the window sill with oregano, purple ruffled basil and thyme. Should really make the guys think I can cook. Ha! May 1 – Bob is a jerk. Says he’ll tell everyone I’m a slut if I don’t go out with him again. Do guys really think sex is everything? I know he’s probably a nice guy overall but I refuse to go out with a guy who uses sex as leverage. Midterms coming up. Can’t decide if I should study at home or at work. Patty always finds something for me to do at work but I like studying at my desk. She knows how important these classes are for me. Why does she keep pressuring me? May 11 – I found this wonderful book on herbs. Not only does it show how to grow and prepare herbs for cooking but it has a section on medicinal uses. If I can find the right combination, I could cure cancer or something. It’s an idea, anyway. May 18 – One week later and what have I got to show for myself? I haven’t been on a date for 3 weeks and classes have been a real bitch. May 20 – If I have to do this data analysis for much longer, I’m going to scream. I can’t take this pressure much longer. I’ve got to find a way to relax. June 20 – I got A’s in all 3 classes! I’ll celebrate by eating some psilocybin mushrooms with some friends this weekend. Cal has a ruby laser so we should have some fun. June 24 – I feel guilty for calling in sick but I ate too many mushrooms. I can still see tracers two days later as if my hand was a comet streaking by my face although my thought processes are not as intense (I’m also very tired). I now realize that my life is a dead end. Either I go or something else gives. I can’t take this lifestyle of a worthless job and night classes without some means of relief. Tomorrow will tell. June 30 – Several days have passed since my last entry. I have so much to say and very little time to put these words down. I have come up with a plan. Not only do I have a purpose in life but I’ve found a way to get out of this job. I went back over the herb book I bought and found that some herbs have lethal capabilities if taken in large doses. Since I signed that contract at work that says I can’t work for a competitor company for the next three years I’ve decided to go on my own. I’m going to start a mail-order business for herbal poisons. The ads will say that I can get rid of any pests in people’s households or workplaces. Before I start the business, I’ve got to test my products. I think I’ll start with my boss. Nobody likes her anyway. July 10 – I’ve found that by sprinkling small aamounts of powdered foxglove leaves in the coffee, I can cause the heavy coffee drinkers to vomit during the day. Because so few people in my area drink lots of coffee, no one around me has noticed the number of sick people at work. This gives me more time to test my herbs. July 24 – I’m tired but I want to talk to someone right now. Of all the people, why did Blayne have to eat the candy? I had been saving it in a desk drawer in my office to test on the right person. Why did he have to go through my desk to die? A car wreck would have been less cruel. At least now I know that hemlock really kills but Blayne. . . he was a bit nerdy but he didn’t deserve to die. Oh, god, what have I become? I’d rather have killed my boyfriend – he deserves to die more than poor, innocent Blayne. July 28 – I placed my first ad in the back of a local gardening magazine. I hope it’s true what they say that 3% of the people who see an ad, respond to it. August 2 – What a pity that a small country like Kuwait has to be a target of a petty tyrant like Saddam Hussein. Don’t people know that the higher you climb, the harder you fall? August 7 – Patty really gets on my nerves sometimes. Today she called me self-centered and egotistical. She’s the one who’s more concerned about the way people see her at work than I am. August 9 – My first order! All the way from Dothan, too. Listen to this request: “Please send me an ounce of your pennyroyal oil. I have a pest in my house, similar to fleas, that spends all my money. You claim that pennyroyal oil tastes like mint and kills all household pests. Well, I hope my little pest likes mint tea.” August 10 – Order #2. More pennyroyal oil. August 12 – Another tragic death at work (no cynicism here) – my boss. She ate the grape jelly (mixed with a little mayapple) I put on her desk. I got the idea from a “Murder, She Wrote” episode and replaced the jar with a clean grape jelly jar on the floor. The paramedics say she choked to death. I couldn’t help but nod my head in agreement cause I know she choked to death on her own words. August 15 – Since Bob has left me alone for several months now, I have decided to give him a present. While I was at the farmers’ market last Saturday, a lady from New Orleans sold me an aphrodisiac called yohimbe. I looked up its usefulness and found that it not only “causes a tingling sensation in the genitals” but it also causes “psychic reactions resembling anxiety.” Needless to say, Bob will be anxiously awaiting his next date. [Sometimes, I feel like I’m in a bad horror film.] September 21 – The past month has been a busy one. I’ve been busting my butt at work during the day and harvesting all my herbs at night filling orders. I wish I could say more but I’m pooped. November 4 – The count is now 4. The last one to die was Bob who ate some of the nightshade berries I had added to a bowl of blueberries in the break room. I find it rather fitting that he died from the berries of the plant whose nickname is belladonna or “beautiful lady.” We can’t really call him a lady killer, can we? November 26 – Mom and Dad think something is the matter with me. I’m not their little girl anymore and I think they don’t like that. December 12 – Work is getting slow. I hope I don’t have to depend on my mail order business just yet. Besides, I’ve been there too long. They wouldn’t fire me. January 24 – Orders are up and not a moment too soon. I’m working on a project without a project number to charge to. I won’t last long at work. February 12 – Well, the inevitable happened: they fired me. Anyway, it’s time to move on before I’m caught with my herbs although owning them is not a crime like with pot or coke or something. I don’t even think there’s a law against selling toxic herbs for pest control. Better to be safe than sorry. I may not have been your best employee but I was one of the best. So what if I admitted that sewer analysis is not my planned career? Henry Miller didn’t tell his employers he was going to write “Tropic of Cancer.” Enough of my words. I believe my actions have said plenty. With my deepest regrets, Renada Lotcyan |
Little did I know, a lonely bear that yells in the woods and no one hears it so I must not be making a sound, would see such a sight.
The governor-turned-CEO today announced he was deputizing all homegrown militia in order to enforce the “detain, deport or shoot ’em if you hafta” rider attached to the first legislation issued by the Semi-U.S.A., nicknamed the Swear Allegiance to the Semi-U.S.A. or You’re an Illegal Immigrant Act.
What is the Semi-U.S.A., you ask?
Well, after New Hampshire and Oregon joined Montana, Arizona and Alabama in seceding from the U.S., they formed the Semi-U.S.A., a corporate conglomerate that did away with government altogether.
All together now, sing “We… shall… overcome… the errors of our past.”
By bringing the militia into the corporate fold, the Semi-U.S.A. was able to bypass the issue of using their state-based military units, euphemistically called the “National Guard,” to defend themselves against the states remaining in the old U.S. of A.
It also keeps them from looking over their backs for rogue members of phantom militia.
Negotiations are ongoing between the Reaganite faction and the Arnold Schwarzenegger faction over who will lead the new country of “Conservative NoCalifornia.”
CEO-for-life Al Franken was replaced by Adam Sandler and Garrison Keillor as co-presidents of the Liberalist Minnesota Corporation.
Today, the value of the euro to U.S. dollar reached infinity, making a gold tooth filling more valuable than the average luxury sports car.
treetrunkdings 