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"content": "<br /><br />Mysogi (Purification)<br /><br />by clif high posted to minds 8-8-2018<br /> <br /><br />N'Comboto squatted just outside the range of the late African afternoon sun as it crept lower over his shoulder, the light slowly cutting into the cool shade at his feet cast by his smock draped over his spear. He put finger to brow and looked out into the glare on the plain. The whole of the tribal grazing ground was filled with odd shaped, dusty lumps barely rising from the dusty, dry field. He shifted under the cover of the tan cloth that shielded the sun, and adjusted it how it hung from the butt of his short spear. Off to his left, under the scant shade of a desiccated pile of sticks, his brother-in-law snored like a cow farting. N'Comboto grinned. He looked at the depth of the shadow. “Not long now”, he thought, and returned to sharpening the glinting steel edge of his short spear. He shifted his knee and glanced down at the device he had received months ago when the M'sai had volunteered for war. His old ankle was so thin that he wrapped the band around twice. His wife had lovingly sewn it in place. He could see that the flashing light on the screen was much bigger now. N'Comboto tapped his sharpening stone five times against the blade of his spear. The clinking noise carried across the plain in the gathering stillness as night, and the moon rose. The sharp clink was picked up and repeated by others of his tribe, and those men of the other tribes who also camped on M'sai land, waiting.<br /><br /><br />“We are as many as the stalks of couch grass across the sands of the earth.” N'Comboto thought, a satisfaction deep in his thin bones. He returned to slowly stroking his blade and, as his father had taught him for just such idle moments, perfecting his patience.<br /><br /><br />**<br /><br /><br />Antonio turned as he closed the door to his restaurant. His gym bag, weighted with his heavy jujitsu gi and two short swords, slid along the ridges in the glass door urging a soft sigh from the cloth. Antonio hesitated, hearing, in the accidental noise, the long suffering sigh his late wife Honoria would employ as preface to each of her many, life long, cautions. He kept walking, lest his sons, and other relatives take hesitation as an invitation to try yet again to talk him out of going. Down the stairs, turn left, remembering the way that Honoria would wake him in the morning, that long sigh leading her words like many familiar dogs on a leash. “Tony, time to get moving, the restruants' waiting, and don't hurt yourself today. Let Julio do the liftng...that's why we hired him.” She would say, or some variant nearly every day of their long life together.<br /><br /><br />“No dear”, he said to the chilling bricks in the early diffused starlight of a late Fall evening in Rome, “I won't get hurt.”, waving to the near-giant Georgio, and his constant companion, Rufalo as they crossed the street with their clothing and weapon bags to meet him.<br /><br /><br />“Tony!” Georgio shouted from the crowd, “ did you get them?” His words jumping from his huge chest like sticks from a bass drum.<br /><br />Antonio raised his forearm, thickly muscled from over five decades baking every day, holding the small plastic sack. As the vibrant shade of international safety green rose up over his shoulders, the crowd around him fell silent, and slightly parted, the hundreds of people previously hurrying, now standing mute, and slightly distant. Even the cars on the cobbles seem to suddenly be wearing silent slippers for tires.<br /><br /><br />Taken aback, Antonio stopped before the intersection. Georgio and Rufalo, hurrying as fast as Rufalo's bad knee would permit, stepped up from the street to join him. Unselfconsciously, Georgio bent down, his bones creaking audibly in the near silence on the street, and wrapped his arms around Antonio, momentarily covering him from view. Rufalo, lagging behind, and slightly more restrained, proffered a large toothy smile, and twitched his head toward the top of the hill.<br /><br /><br />Antonio wrestled free from Georgio's hug and the three old men started the long walk up the hill past the old soccer stadium, hastily converted to a re-education center for the bankers and other minions after the Renaissance event shook the planet. They were walking to the Athletic Center and their transport. Even acknowledging that he was an emotional old man still did not dampen his pride that the people of the whole planet had chosen an Italian word to name the pan-global experience of 2011/2012.<br /><br /><br />As they walked, the crowd parted, and in closing in their wake the three friends, silent themselves, could hear faint whispers and small weepy sobs weighing down their long shadows in the street lights...<br /><br />“they're going!”<br /><br />“wish I was old...”<br /><br />“best of luck...”<br /><br />“get one for me!”<br /><br />“Goodbye grandfathers!”<br /><br /><br />**<br /><br />Gladys hurriedly rolled her way out of the bedroom and down the hall in a rushing gather of towels, washcloth, and clothes. She slammed through the bathroom door, nearly spilling herself into the bathtub in her haste. “Damn that clock!” she said as towels flew to racks, pajamas were torn off, and water sent gushing into the tub.<br /><br /><br />“Damn!” Gladys said as she glanced at the clock in the living room quietly shouting the time at her. She was just not used to getting up at too-dark-thirty in the morning, and it showed. “Damn!” she said again to the almost still, chilling air. She slugged back a swallow of coffee while sort of flinging a can of food at Mr. Kerr the cat who stood by his bowl blinking in the unusual hour of the morning. “MeeeeeYO?” , he protested.<br /><br /><br />Gladys settled into the little niche that was her desk just as the lights started blinking on the Tanaka-Wiedner Global Heart Shield (MFG 2014) machine that had been installed last week by those lovely boys from the community center after she had completed her training.<br /><br /><br />The youngsters at the community center, as well as the just-too-young boys who had installed the complicated Heart Shield device with its many coils and tubes and that strange vat of green goo that had to have its own tubing out the loo window to the ground, had been ever so respectful of her. Not like before. Now was different. This was earned respect, and it felt good, so while they fiddled with dragging wires and unpacking boxes, Gladys regaled them with her stories of 'being an Occupier'.<br /><br /><br />“Yep lads,” she had said, slowly backing out of the way of the green goo vat as they filled it, “Was there that whole terrible winter of '11. Then after the City fell to Occupy in February of '12, Mr. Kerr and I moved on to join up with Occupy Earth at the Evil Castle. Now that was a battle. The 'toffs in City were cakes compared to the mercenaries at the Moat.”<br /><br /><br />“Miss Gladys?” asked one of the lads, “was that where you were...”<br /><br /><br />“yes. That was where the mercbastards shot me with them 'rubber bullets'.” Gladys grimaced at the tug in her flesh the memory drew out. “Now, me? I never felt the rubber, just the bullet.” she said. “But I saved my old carcass then, and look, still of use to the Renaissance...eh? boys...still of use.”<br /><br /><br />She smiled at the memory. They were good lads, the community center boys. And they had set up her gear just as she wanted. At first they had her sitting facing the door, but when she realized, they were kind enough to move it all the way to the back bedroom so that she would be able to look out into her garden while on duty. And Mr. Kerr could go out to hunt moths.<br /><br /><br />Gladys shook her head to free herself of the reverie, and drawing herself back to the now of this morning, and running late, she quickly hit buttons and switches while lifting breasts and wrapping the contact tapes around her torso as instructed. When the tapes were snugged in place, she took a deep breath, glanced at Mr. Kerr the cat sleepily eating breakfast, and hit the ACKnowledge button. She exhaled and almost immediately felt her empty stomach rebelling. Gladys was able to just lean over the trashcan before puking. Good lads. Right where it was needed.<br /><br /><br />Feeling better after the tension left with the remnants of last nights' late dinner, Gladys took a small sip of water while watching the communications panel on the Heart Shield. “Well, Mr. Kerr” she said as the cat jumped into her lap, “we're going to war today”. She said with some satisfaction, “ and it doesn't matter that one of us is in a wheel chair”. She felt like puking again.<br /><br /><br />**<br /><br />Brandon, fell out of his bunk when the klaxon rang the two hour warning. He landed on his feet, the soft soled boots making only a soft rustling sound on the faintly warm steel of the deck. He had been dressed, laying ready in his bunk for hours during the last of the sleep cycle. Brandon jumped into the space between the bunks and saw that most of his mates had also slept in their flight suits.<br /><br /><br />Sleepy nods, and attempts at restrained grins gave way to quick greetings as the forty-two young men rapidly packed their small flight bags and loped off toward the mess.<br /><br /><br />Brandon was hardly into the hall when he felt himself yanked out of the stream by his shoulder. The culprit was Captain Jones, the flight communications taskmaster. “Skilling. Come with me.” Jones said, striding back down the corridor against the flow of men heading toward breakfast.<br /><br /><br />“Aye, Sir!” Brandon said, following in Jones' broad wake, his crew mate looking at him quizzically.<br /><br /><br />“I need a pilot.” Captain Jones shouted back over his shoulder in the din. “You volunteered!”<br /><br /><br />“Aye?! Sir!” Brandon replied as they whipped off into a side corridor and he almost collided into the Captain's broad backside as he suddenly stopped and turned in empty space.<br /><br /><br />Lowering his voice, Captain Jones squinted through his glasses at Brandon's perplexed face, and said “ You were chosen for your yoga training.” He stared intently at Brandon. “Do you understand what I am saying?”<br /><br /><br />Brandon tried to swallow, and speak. It did not work. He nodded instead. It must have meant that one of the old men pilots had died. His mind was racing faster than he could have thought possible. It meant he would be there! when it happened! It meant he would be in on it! And, sobering up as his brain ran headlong into the thought, it meant he would have to be shielded! At his age!??! Could he do it!??!<br /><br /><br />As if reading his mind, Captain Jones said, “I know you have been cloaked before. You were successful in training. I have seen the outputs. I trust your ability to do this. The question is if you trust my judgment of your skill. I know you can do this, but you must also know this, or you must refuse the assignment. There can be NO DOUBT. Do you understand me?”<br /><br /><br />“Aye, sir, I understand.”<br /><br /><br />“I have other candidates, but you are my first choice.” Jones said, pulling a list up on his com unit. “I don't want an answer now. I have already alerted the others that they may be needed. No man should have to make this sort of decision on an empty stomach so you go have breakfast with your crew and contact me in 30 ticks with your answer. Jones smiled, reached out his hand and took Brandon's shoulder, “No one other than us knows of this, and no one ever will learn of it from me if you decide to stay with your unit. You are part of a team. It is honorable to choose to stay and fight with them.” With that, Captain Jones spun around and headed down the corridor at his customary near run.<br /><br /><br />Brandon took a slow, stunned step into the hall, and was swept along toward the main mess hall. His mind reeling, his feet flopping, the only thing keeping him vertical in and in motion was the press of the crowd that pulled him along in the current until he was swept into the main mess hall of the ship. His mind still numb, yet somehow frantically active, trying to replay every word of the conversation with Jones, Brandon some how found himself in the Sirius table cluster on the far side of the mess hall. His eyes adjusted to the odd light permanently a part of the central core of the ship where the mess hall occupied a quarter of the total floor space. In the tens of thousands of men and women all wearing the same uniforms, he spotted his crew after a moment as he was able to focus his whirling thoughts into some small semblance of cohesion.<br /><br /><br />Stumbling, as though mildly drunk, Brandon went through the line and reached the table as his crew mates were just starting to finish. He looked down at the assembled foods on his plate and said, “ I can't eat this.”<br /><br /><br />“Sure you can”, replied Gregory, “just use a fork and try for your mouth this time.” His crew laughed, though nervously, as they all scanned his face.<br /><br /><br />“No.” Brandon, his jaw tightening, and the skin on his face tingling, he said, realizing in his heart that he had just decided. Or had he known all along. No doubt. Standing, he look at his crew, and said, “No, I can't eat this. Jones needs a pilot.” His blue eyes searched those of the young men around the table. They all knew. Brandon left the table, carried his tray back to recycle, then re-joined the line at the kitchen. He stuck his wrist band into the reader, stated his name to the computer, and said, “Cloaked Pilot” when queried about his task assignment. A tray was delivered with an entirely different selection of foods.<br /><br /><br />Brandon returned to his crew's table. As he sat, they rose, as though a single individual. They saluted. Brandon rose, returned the salute. One by one, his crew mates filed past, shaking his hand, or hugging him, until, forty-one human-to-human contacts later, Brandon was alone at the long table. Tears quietly dripping into his food, Brandon ate his breakfast, in a bubble of total silence, in spite of tens of thousands of people around him preparing as if the life of the species depended on their individual actions. As he chewed, Brandon worked his mental exercises, slowly, deliberately, feeling each process as completely as possible, he reached inward. In just over an hour, he will begin the most important, and trying day of his young life. Fitting that it might probably be his last.<br /><br /><br />Brandon chewed slowly, working his consciousness down/up into his lungs, headed towards his heart. “Soon it will start”, he thought, “ but now, time enough to practice.”<br /><br /><br />**<br /><br /><br />Luke Tanaka left the building in a dead run through the open door as some of his students held open the heavy glass double doors. “Good luck Professor!” He heard yelled at his back as his feet pounded down the long stairs and then the longer driveway toward the waiting car. The students waved and cheered, which Luke finally noticed as he flung himself into the car and slammed the door, motioning the driver to go.<br /><br /><br />As the car sped down the long drive toward the highway to Brasilia and the pickup, the professor found himself suddenly enveloped by a young woman's arms and perfume as she reached over the back seat to buckle him into the car.<br /><br /><br />“Seat belt, Professor You are too valuable to lose to Enrico's driving. Or morning rush hour.” Sonja said firmly. As if to put manifestation to her words, Enrico was forced to swerve in the heavy, and erratic traffic, and then to suddenly accelerate to jump their car ahead of a pending collision. It was always this way as the city woke up.<br /><br /><br />“Yes”, replied Luke, gripping the dashboard, “ so the military keeps telling me.”.<br /><br /><br />“Enrico”, said Luke. “Get us there. Fast is ok, but alive is better.”<br /><br /><br />“Si, doctore!” replied Enrico, the sweat dripping from his cap. “The traffic is hell today.”<br /><br /><br />Luke looked out the window of the speeding car at the chaos of rush hour as the city woke, and tens of millions made their days begin. This day of all days, Luke thought as Enrico wove their heavy SUV through the narrow, packed streets. Just as they had made the relative open road of the highway to Brasilia, Enrico swung the vehicle quickly off the road after spotting a soldier standing next to a large military transport. They stopped the car just behind the armored transport, the SUV stopping only inches from the rear of the large truck. Luke stirred as Sonja gathered his computer. Enrico opened the trunk for the soldiers that had quickly and silently surrounded their car. Within seconds Luke and his entourage were ensconced in the large, armored transport, and the soldiers behind them quickly fanned out across the highway as they waved the transport onto the road amidst the sounds of screeching brakes and irate drivers.<br /><br /><br />**<br /><br /><br />The convoy of military vehicles surrounding the armored transport carrying Luke Tanaka continued down the highway as his truck peeled off onto a hastily made cut-off road leading off into the jungle. It slowed rapidly as its weight was suddenly on the thinner surface of the new roadway. Reduced to a mere washing machine effect for the inhabitants, the transport lumbered adeptly up and down the road for several kilometers before slowing again, this time to a stop outside a gate surrounding a large compound of temporary office trailers that in turn were surrounding a large, glass dome structure off some distance from the gate.<br /><br /><br />The transport was quickly and silently checked by people at the gate holding menacing looking tubes of an unfamiliar design only two years ago, but now, known through out the planet as “lizard dicks”. Originally invented by a Frenchmen, and named 'dix' (pronounced deess) for the 'count of ten' formula at the core of the technology, the weapons and their quickly linguistically corrupted name, had become ubiquitously known around the planet. Luke felt oddly at peace every time he saw 'lizard dicks' in public. A pacifist until the Awakening in 2011 and the subsequent Truth Broadcasts, Luke nonetheless felt a kinship with every person so armed, though he did not carry one himself. Thinking about it, Luke suddenly realized that his position as inventor of the Global Heart Shield probably would let him request one of the still hard to get weapons. Then the next thought made him noticeably shudder, causing one of the searchers to say, “it's all correct, Professor No need to worry here. We are through.” Luke nodded, unable to explain that his involuntary jerk was due to the thought, that, given his age, and skills, he had qualified for the Assault Group, and had not, until just this moment, realized it. Not that he could have gone in any event. The very skills that qualified him were those that kept him here in Brazil. But, he had to acknowledge, it was nice to be at the center of the action here, if he could not be out there.<br /><br /><br />Once past the gates and the lizard dick armed security, the few kilometers to the central dome past quickly. The transport, unlike other vehicles, was allowed to drive next to the main doorway, and back up. The rear doors opened and Luke, entourage, and gear were rapidly moved inside the cool, air conditioned, multiple storied, dome that enclosed the broad, undulating pool of shiny green goo.<br /><br /><br />An earnest young man in a gleaming white lab coat came running up the tiled inclined lobby toward Luke and his party. “ Ah, Professor'. You have arrived.” His teeth gleamed in the intense mixture of lights arranged around the goo pool.<br /><br /><br />“Yes, Paulo.” Luke replied leading everyone into the control and ignition center. “We have retrieved the other commutator. So we will be ready in a few moments. Has Jay checked in? Did they correct their pressure problems?”<br /><br /><br />“Si, Professor'. Pro-counsel Weidner's group has the pressure at Mount Shasta exactly centerline. He reports that he is 'ready, steady, and set to go.'. Paulo replied, reading from the clipboard notes to be sure that he had the language exactly as stated to him. As he had learned, words had immense power to these alchemists, and one missed could lead to disaster.<br /><br /><br />Sonja ran up to Luke, quietly whispering in his ear. Luke listened, then turned to Paulo. “We go to Live Heart in twenty-five minutes.” He said, a very deeply satisfied look settling across his face.<br /><br /><br />Moving swiftly for his age, Luke led Sonja and Paulo through the maze of gear in the ignition center that housed the large green activation switch for the Global Heart Shield. As the trio approached the raised dais, the whole room went silent except for the deep and low hum of the pumps in the green goo room. Reaching the switch, the three simply stood there. After a moment's silence, Luke said, “Funny, I thought, somehow, that we would have something more, I don't know...serious, than our little light switch.” They all looked at the small green switch protruding from the metal surface with a single word painted on the metal at the opposite end of where the lever was currently. The word had said “on”, but that had been painted over by an unknown member of the staff to “om”. It fit and had been allowed to remain.<br /><br /><br />Turning, Luke faced the assembled staff in the control and ignition room. “My apologies for my poor words on this most exalted of days.” He began, surprised to find himself suddenly giving a speech. “I was present at the Occupation of the Capitol in my country. We willing suffered that our children might live free of the stench that had come over our beloved planet. Many here did also suffer and fight in their lands. All of us share grief for those who did not make it through the Struggles to see the Renaissance. May their next lives bring peace and growth.” Luke stopped. Weeping too much to continue, he waited for it to pass. All too common an occurrence these days, those in the room held their positions, many also quietly weeping.<br /><br /><br />“There is not much more that needs to be said,” Luke continued. “except an old man's urging to harmonize with the effort and to do our absolute best today, that we may bring honor to all humanity. It is too little to say that I love you all but that is truer today than any day in the long years of this effort.” Luke bowed, “ with respect,” he said loudly to the room, “ and for Kiki-san, and Fukashima”, in a smaller voice to Sonja and Paulo as he took their hands in his to move the small green switch to the “OM” position, “ let us begin...”.<br /><br /><br />Turning back to face the room, Luke wiped his eyes, tightened his jaw, and shouted at the limit of his voice, “KIYA! MASA KATSU!”. The assembled humanity in the room, jumped up yelling. In the noise, Luke smiled at Paulo. “ Tell Jay that we are begun, and he is free to initiate Global Heart Shield.” Striding from the platform, Luke yelled “to work! To work everyone!”.<br /><br /><br />**<br /><br />N'Comboto startled, realizing that he had been caught unaware by the approach of the very very large triangular craft. It had made no noise at all, and he had become aware of it only as it slowly began blocking the light from the stars as it floated down towards the small beacon that had been set up in the middle of the plain as a sign of their presence.<br /><br /><br />N'Comboto and the ten thousand men, scattered, each to his own small tent, across the plain watched in wonder as the giant, silent, black, triangular craft slowly floated out of the dark night sky to settle a man's height from the grasses on the plain. A wide ramp slowly lowered, exposing nearly the complete interior as it dropped. The huge, well lit space was crowed with people. Mostly old men in strange clothing, much of which N'Comboto recognized as battle gear.<br /><br /><br />What had seemed to be a small black lump in the middle of the ramp resolved itself into a short man in black clothing riding the edge as the side lowered to the ground. He hopped off and walked a few feet into the plain. He held a small, lighted device into the air and then shouted many incomprehensible guttural sounds that made the wailing of baboons seem polite. The device brightened, and then N'Comboto heard, in a voice that sounded as though made of very loud, and aggressive water, “ my name is Cooper. I am loadmaster for this vessel. With respect, all those who wish to fight should come with me now.” When the machine completed, the man, Loadmaster Cooper looked out into the seemingly empty plain, shrugged his shoulders, and started to go back up the ramp when N'Comboto, as leader of his family, rapped his blade with its sharpening stone, and unwound himself to his impressive height as his 'tent' transformed itself into his war tunic.<br /><br /><br />“I am N'Comboto, a senior warrior of the M'sai. We are here Cooper, Loadmaster.” N'Comboto waved his short spear across the plain, seemingly invoking it to spew forth old men with spears by the thousands from the hillocks. “We are as many as the grasses, they are as few as lions. We shall have victory!” He said as his 'family' of old men with sharp knives warily walked into the light shining from the open, cavernous craft.<br /><br /><br />**<br /><br />Brandon guided the huge TR3DD triangular hyperdimensional vehicle carefully down to the top of the designated hill in Rome. It was tricky 'flying' these antigravity craft in the dense atmosphere in what the pilots called the 'fabric' referring to space-time, than in the hyperdimensional realm where one need not worry about bashing into buildings and people. He was a very good pilot, and being young had a very good intuitive feel for the nuances of the machine. Still though, he had never piloted in 'daylight', uncloaked, and in the open view of civilians before. He found it a bit unnerving. Or perhaps it was seeing the ruins of the vatican and the torn apart hillside where the last of the occulted reptiles had made their stand less than two years past. Brandon could not be sure, but as he piloted over the gleaming tiles, and now extensively over-growing with bio-intensive food crop gardens, he thought he saw smoke wisping up in the very early morning light from deep in the former underground papal archives. That did not seem right. It was recent, less than two years past, that Brandon and the rest of his creche and crew mates had watched in fascination on their videos as the planet below their feet was seemingly being boiled in strife and riot. The Occupy Earth movement had taken them completely by surprise in both the intensity, and speed of its progression. Within mere weeks their entire universe view was shattered as their cycle counter parts below (Pluto in Scorpio generation) on the surface actually reshaped completely the power structure and destiny of the planet. It had been recent, but still...the fires he vividly remembered should have been put out by now.<br /><br /><br />Brandon focused his attention and set his craft down on the magnetic field pad projected from the bottom by the field force controllers. It was the first time in his 25 years that he had 'touched' the earth. It felt decidedly odd, even if the touch was through the controllers for the ship and the 'feet' were magnetic. Still, he could say it now....he had touched Earth. Well, he thought wryly, “I can say it IF I live to say it!”.<br /><br /><br />Almost immediately after Brandon had lowered the ramp on his ship, it was filled with the smells of old brick, bright garlic, sharp basil, and breads. He had almost expected the smell gasoline or other petroleum pollution, but that, it seemed, faded faster than the smoldering fires in the ruins of the battles.<br /><br /><br />It, the liberation of the 'Tesla technology', was what had permitted the planetary abandonment of petroleum fuels in such a short time. This had started to produce what the agricultural paradise of modern cities, Rome. In spite of the climate shifts and the forming ice age, Rome had remodeled itself on Cuban principles and now produced more foods than it consumed. All the lush greenery had made it difficult for Brandon to find a way to suitably lower his craft to his designated rendezvous. As it was, he felt sure that a gardener on his left aft corner would be pissed when he lifted off. Brandon was not concerned about the impact of crushed squash on his ship, as the skin was magnetic field after all, completely stain free.<br /><br /><br />As Brandon jockeyed the ship in small movements down to the top of the Athletic Center at the top of the hill, Antonio, Georgio, and Rufalo, along with thirty nine other old men, all in their gi's, stood chatting in the stair way leading to the roof. They had had their briefing, been issued their equipment, and waited for the arrival of their transport discussing tomatoes, and sauce recipes, and who's bread was better, and other really important stuff.<br /><br /><br />**<br /><br />Walking onto Brandon's ship, carrying both his weapons and his unnoticed cloud of garlic and basil, Antonio and his dojo mates were quickly absorbed into the thousands of old men in gi's in the warm belly of the humming ship. As he had actually listened at his briefing two weeks earlier, Antonio finished suiting up early. Working his way through the crowd, carefully avoiding swords and sharps in infinite variety, he found a steel staircase leading up, and took it to the short corridors leading to the command center.<br /><br /><br />**<br /><br />Brandon was surprised to find the door to the cockpit flung open and an all enveloping cloud of fresh garlic and sharp basil instanly penetrate all the volume of the small space. He turned to see Antonio looking in quizzically.<br /><br /><br />“You pilot?” He found himself asked. “Yes. Si.” Brandon replied.<br /><br /><br />“Good.” responded Antonio. “ I wanted to see you. Just to make sure.” He grinned.<br /><br />Forming two large circles around his eyes with his fingers, Antonio said, “ you know, just to be sure you are not space alien.”<br /><br /><br />“No.” Said Brandon, grinning, “ not a space alien.” After a second, and surprised at himself, Brandon said, “ you smell good.”.<br /><br /><br />Antonio laughed. “I should, I am a chef!”. With that he light slapped Brandon across the cheek. “Say, you are just a kid? What is that? We are told all the pilots are old farts like me.”<br /><br /><br />“Your assigned pilot had health problems.” Brandon said, as he continued to twitch his hands slightly in steering their ship from Rome to Hilo, Hawaii. “ I am his replacement. Do not worry. I am a good pilot.”<br /><br /><br />“Am not worried, kid. I was just surprised. I am sure you are very good. Probably better than the guy you replaced.” Antonio watched everything in fascination as the cockpit crew flew them across the Atlantic in mere moments. “ Incredible!” He exclaimed. “Just incredible! If only my wife could see me know!”. Antonio grinned in spite of his stomach acting queasy as the scene outside the window rushed by so fast. “Where are we headed now?” he asked.<br /><br /><br />“Hawaii.” Brandon said. “we have to lift from a hyperdimensional point, and Hawaii is at 19.45 degrees. And we are supposed to pick up a shipment of new weapons at coordinates on the eastern side of the big island.”<br /><br /><br />“Si, the latest lizard dicks. I was told. Some real kick ass dicks they say.” Antonio gritted his teeth.”Well, boy, I leave you to your work. May universe preserve us all.” Antonio slapped his hands on Brandon's shoulders, and for a brief moment, Brandon knew what a pizza felt as it was kneaded.<br /><br /><br />Turning to leave, Antonio asked, “ Say, are you Shielded?”. He pulled aside his gi to reveal the straps and the thin, pulsing green stripe of goo in the thin fabric of his harness.<br /><br /><br />Brandon nodded.<br /><br /><br />“Whose your guardian?” Antonio asked?<br /><br /><br />Brandon looked down at his harness, lifted up the tag at the bottom of his ribs and read, “ Gladys Pool, London”.<br /><br /><br />Antonio replied. “Mine is Shina, a woman in Mongolia.” He shook his head at the wonderment, “ imagine that, these women hold our hearts in their hearts tonight, and if we die, they die, and we will likely never see their faces, or hear their voices.” He shook his head, clearing a tear. Antonio suddenly jerked Brandon around, “you are younger than my youngest son. I used to pray to saint Anthony, my namesake. Now I know better, but tonight, I shall ask universe to favor us all. Even you who are not chefs, and cannot bake.” With that he kissed the very startled Brandon on both cheeks and departed, leaving behind the smell of ancient bricks and fresh baked pasta.<br /><br /><br />**<br /><br />The strategy was to have cloaked craft lift off from hyperdimensionally active points on oblique angles of declination to the underlying vertices and to proceed to an orbit ahead of the rotation of the moon. These craft, their occupants life force signatures 'grounded' by the alchemical science of the green goo, upon reaching orbit, went 'dark' and merely waited. Some had previously expelled millions of 'pods' into orbit ahead of their own position, such that a rain of pod encased people settled in on the moon over several hours that night. At the arranged time, the pods separated and low pressured suited old men lumbered across the lunar landscape toward predesignated targets.<br /><br /><br />The lizards never saw it coming. The Tanaka-Weidner grounding effect worked perfectly. While the metallic pods and pressure suits did show on the magnetometers, the shielding kept the life-force signatures from the lizards' indicators, thus their supposition was that it was merely another magnetically noisy day on the creaky old interstellar colonization ship that is the Moon. When the hatch on dome #33 was opened, the lizard first through the door had a very difficult time reconciling the vision that was the final one to pass its eyes as N'Comboto, wrapped in a pressure suit, but still looking every bit the M'sai warrior, shoved a short spear through it's suit, and throat.<br /><br /><br />The lizard's blue-green blood gushed out as N'Comboto withdrew his blade, and pushed the lizard over with his foot. It lay dying, blood welling up in its mouth-sack, and spewing out onto the moonscape, it's eyes wide open, staring out through the face plate as figure after figure silently passed by into the now open hatch. The lizard twitched, and its last thought flickered across its consciousness. 'Human.'<br /><br />###<br /><br /><br /><br />",
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"content": "\n\nMysogi (Purification)\n\nby clif high posted to minds 8-8-2018\n \n\nN'Comboto squatted just outside the range of the late African afternoon sun as it crept lower over his shoulder, the light slowly cutting into the cool shade at his feet cast by his smock draped over his spear. He put finger to brow and looked out into the glare on the plain. The whole of the tribal grazing ground was filled with odd shaped, dusty lumps barely rising from the dusty, dry field. He shifted under the cover of the tan cloth that shielded the sun, and adjusted it how it hung from the butt of his short spear. Off to his left, under the scant shade of a desiccated pile of sticks, his brother-in-law snored like a cow farting. N'Comboto grinned. He looked at the depth of the shadow. “Not long now”, he thought, and returned to sharpening the glinting steel edge of his short spear. He shifted his knee and glanced down at the device he had received months ago when the M'sai had volunteered for war. His old ankle was so thin that he wrapped the band around twice. His wife had lovingly sewn it in place. He could see that the flashing light on the screen was much bigger now. N'Comboto tapped his sharpening stone five times against the blade of his spear. The clinking noise carried across the plain in the gathering stillness as night, and the moon rose. The sharp clink was picked up and repeated by others of his tribe, and those men of the other tribes who also camped on M'sai land, waiting.\n\n\n“We are as many as the stalks of couch grass across the sands of the earth.” N'Comboto thought, a satisfaction deep in his thin bones. He returned to slowly stroking his blade and, as his father had taught him for just such idle moments, perfecting his patience.\n\n\n**\n\n\nAntonio turned as he closed the door to his restaurant. His gym bag, weighted with his heavy jujitsu gi and two short swords, slid along the ridges in the glass door urging a soft sigh from the cloth. Antonio hesitated, hearing, in the accidental noise, the long suffering sigh his late wife Honoria would employ as preface to each of her many, life long, cautions. He kept walking, lest his sons, and other relatives take hesitation as an invitation to try yet again to talk him out of going. Down the stairs, turn left, remembering the way that Honoria would wake him in the morning, that long sigh leading her words like many familiar dogs on a leash. “Tony, time to get moving, the restruants' waiting, and don't hurt yourself today. Let Julio do the liftng...that's why we hired him.” She would say, or some variant nearly every day of their long life together.\n\n\n“No dear”, he said to the chilling bricks in the early diffused starlight of a late Fall evening in Rome, “I won't get hurt.”, waving to the near-giant Georgio, and his constant companion, Rufalo as they crossed the street with their clothing and weapon bags to meet him.\n\n\n“Tony!” Georgio shouted from the crowd, “ did you get them?” His words jumping from his huge chest like sticks from a bass drum.\n\nAntonio raised his forearm, thickly muscled from over five decades baking every day, holding the small plastic sack. As the vibrant shade of international safety green rose up over his shoulders, the crowd around him fell silent, and slightly parted, the hundreds of people previously hurrying, now standing mute, and slightly distant. Even the cars on the cobbles seem to suddenly be wearing silent slippers for tires.\n\n\nTaken aback, Antonio stopped before the intersection. Georgio and Rufalo, hurrying as fast as Rufalo's bad knee would permit, stepped up from the street to join him. Unselfconsciously, Georgio bent down, his bones creaking audibly in the near silence on the street, and wrapped his arms around Antonio, momentarily covering him from view. Rufalo, lagging behind, and slightly more restrained, proffered a large toothy smile, and twitched his head toward the top of the hill.\n\n\nAntonio wrestled free from Georgio's hug and the three old men started the long walk up the hill past the old soccer stadium, hastily converted to a re-education center for the bankers and other minions after the Renaissance event shook the planet. They were walking to the Athletic Center and their transport. Even acknowledging that he was an emotional old man still did not dampen his pride that the people of the whole planet had chosen an Italian word to name the pan-global experience of 2011/2012.\n\n\nAs they walked, the crowd parted, and in closing in their wake the three friends, silent themselves, could hear faint whispers and small weepy sobs weighing down their long shadows in the street lights...\n\n“they're going!”\n\n“wish I was old...”\n\n“best of luck...”\n\n“get one for me!”\n\n“Goodbye grandfathers!”\n\n\n**\n\nGladys hurriedly rolled her way out of the bedroom and down the hall in a rushing gather of towels, washcloth, and clothes. She slammed through the bathroom door, nearly spilling herself into the bathtub in her haste. “Damn that clock!” she said as towels flew to racks, pajamas were torn off, and water sent gushing into the tub.\n\n\n“Damn!” Gladys said as she glanced at the clock in the living room quietly shouting the time at her. She was just not used to getting up at too-dark-thirty in the morning, and it showed. “Damn!” she said again to the almost still, chilling air. She slugged back a swallow of coffee while sort of flinging a can of food at Mr. Kerr the cat who stood by his bowl blinking in the unusual hour of the morning. “MeeeeeYO?” , he protested.\n\n\nGladys settled into the little niche that was her desk just as the lights started blinking on the Tanaka-Wiedner Global Heart Shield (MFG 2014) machine that had been installed last week by those lovely boys from the community center after she had completed her training.\n\n\nThe youngsters at the community center, as well as the just-too-young boys who had installed the complicated Heart Shield device with its many coils and tubes and that strange vat of green goo that had to have its own tubing out the loo window to the ground, had been ever so respectful of her. Not like before. Now was different. This was earned respect, and it felt good, so while they fiddled with dragging wires and unpacking boxes, Gladys regaled them with her stories of 'being an Occupier'.\n\n\n“Yep lads,” she had said, slowly backing out of the way of the green goo vat as they filled it, “Was there that whole terrible winter of '11. Then after the City fell to Occupy in February of '12, Mr. Kerr and I moved on to join up with Occupy Earth at the Evil Castle. Now that was a battle. The 'toffs in City were cakes compared to the mercenaries at the Moat.”\n\n\n“Miss Gladys?” asked one of the lads, “was that where you were...”\n\n\n“yes. That was where the mercbastards shot me with them 'rubber bullets'.” Gladys grimaced at the tug in her flesh the memory drew out. “Now, me? I never felt the rubber, just the bullet.” she said. “But I saved my old carcass then, and look, still of use to the Renaissance...eh? boys...still of use.”\n\n\nShe smiled at the memory. They were good lads, the community center boys. And they had set up her gear just as she wanted. At first they had her sitting facing the door, but when she realized, they were kind enough to move it all the way to the back bedroom so that she would be able to look out into her garden while on duty. And Mr. Kerr could go out to hunt moths.\n\n\nGladys shook her head to free herself of the reverie, and drawing herself back to the now of this morning, and running late, she quickly hit buttons and switches while lifting breasts and wrapping the contact tapes around her torso as instructed. When the tapes were snugged in place, she took a deep breath, glanced at Mr. Kerr the cat sleepily eating breakfast, and hit the ACKnowledge button. She exhaled and almost immediately felt her empty stomach rebelling. Gladys was able to just lean over the trashcan before puking. Good lads. Right where it was needed.\n\n\nFeeling better after the tension left with the remnants of last nights' late dinner, Gladys took a small sip of water while watching the communications panel on the Heart Shield. “Well, Mr. Kerr” she said as the cat jumped into her lap, “we're going to war today”. She said with some satisfaction, “ and it doesn't matter that one of us is in a wheel chair”. She felt like puking again.\n\n\n**\n\nBrandon, fell out of his bunk when the klaxon rang the two hour warning. He landed on his feet, the soft soled boots making only a soft rustling sound on the faintly warm steel of the deck. He had been dressed, laying ready in his bunk for hours during the last of the sleep cycle. Brandon jumped into the space between the bunks and saw that most of his mates had also slept in their flight suits.\n\n\nSleepy nods, and attempts at restrained grins gave way to quick greetings as the forty-two young men rapidly packed their small flight bags and loped off toward the mess.\n\n\nBrandon was hardly into the hall when he felt himself yanked out of the stream by his shoulder. The culprit was Captain Jones, the flight communications taskmaster. “Skilling. Come with me.” Jones said, striding back down the corridor against the flow of men heading toward breakfast.\n\n\n“Aye, Sir!” Brandon said, following in Jones' broad wake, his crew mate looking at him quizzically.\n\n\n“I need a pilot.” Captain Jones shouted back over his shoulder in the din. “You volunteered!”\n\n\n“Aye?! Sir!” Brandon replied as they whipped off into a side corridor and he almost collided into the Captain's broad backside as he suddenly stopped and turned in empty space.\n\n\nLowering his voice, Captain Jones squinted through his glasses at Brandon's perplexed face, and said “ You were chosen for your yoga training.” He stared intently at Brandon. “Do you understand what I am saying?”\n\n\nBrandon tried to swallow, and speak. It did not work. He nodded instead. It must have meant that one of the old men pilots had died. His mind was racing faster than he could have thought possible. It meant he would be there! when it happened! It meant he would be in on it! And, sobering up as his brain ran headlong into the thought, it meant he would have to be shielded! At his age!??! Could he do it!??!\n\n\nAs if reading his mind, Captain Jones said, “I know you have been cloaked before. You were successful in training. I have seen the outputs. I trust your ability to do this. The question is if you trust my judgment of your skill. I know you can do this, but you must also know this, or you must refuse the assignment. There can be NO DOUBT. Do you understand me?”\n\n\n“Aye, sir, I understand.”\n\n\n“I have other candidates, but you are my first choice.” Jones said, pulling a list up on his com unit. “I don't want an answer now. I have already alerted the others that they may be needed. No man should have to make this sort of decision on an empty stomach so you go have breakfast with your crew and contact me in 30 ticks with your answer. Jones smiled, reached out his hand and took Brandon's shoulder, “No one other than us knows of this, and no one ever will learn of it from me if you decide to stay with your unit. You are part of a team. It is honorable to choose to stay and fight with them.” With that, Captain Jones spun around and headed down the corridor at his customary near run.\n\n\nBrandon took a slow, stunned step into the hall, and was swept along toward the main mess hall. His mind reeling, his feet flopping, the only thing keeping him vertical in and in motion was the press of the crowd that pulled him along in the current until he was swept into the main mess hall of the ship. His mind still numb, yet somehow frantically active, trying to replay every word of the conversation with Jones, Brandon some how found himself in the Sirius table cluster on the far side of the mess hall. His eyes adjusted to the odd light permanently a part of the central core of the ship where the mess hall occupied a quarter of the total floor space. In the tens of thousands of men and women all wearing the same uniforms, he spotted his crew after a moment as he was able to focus his whirling thoughts into some small semblance of cohesion.\n\n\nStumbling, as though mildly drunk, Brandon went through the line and reached the table as his crew mates were just starting to finish. He looked down at the assembled foods on his plate and said, “ I can't eat this.”\n\n\n“Sure you can”, replied Gregory, “just use a fork and try for your mouth this time.” His crew laughed, though nervously, as they all scanned his face.\n\n\n“No.” Brandon, his jaw tightening, and the skin on his face tingling, he said, realizing in his heart that he had just decided. Or had he known all along. No doubt. Standing, he look at his crew, and said, “No, I can't eat this. Jones needs a pilot.” His blue eyes searched those of the young men around the table. They all knew. Brandon left the table, carried his tray back to recycle, then re-joined the line at the kitchen. He stuck his wrist band into the reader, stated his name to the computer, and said, “Cloaked Pilot” when queried about his task assignment. A tray was delivered with an entirely different selection of foods.\n\n\nBrandon returned to his crew's table. As he sat, they rose, as though a single individual. They saluted. Brandon rose, returned the salute. One by one, his crew mates filed past, shaking his hand, or hugging him, until, forty-one human-to-human contacts later, Brandon was alone at the long table. Tears quietly dripping into his food, Brandon ate his breakfast, in a bubble of total silence, in spite of tens of thousands of people around him preparing as if the life of the species depended on their individual actions. As he chewed, Brandon worked his mental exercises, slowly, deliberately, feeling each process as completely as possible, he reached inward. In just over an hour, he will begin the most important, and trying day of his young life. Fitting that it might probably be his last.\n\n\nBrandon chewed slowly, working his consciousness down/up into his lungs, headed towards his heart. “Soon it will start”, he thought, “ but now, time enough to practice.”\n\n\n**\n\n\nLuke Tanaka left the building in a dead run through the open door as some of his students held open the heavy glass double doors. “Good luck Professor!” He heard yelled at his back as his feet pounded down the long stairs and then the longer driveway toward the waiting car. The students waved and cheered, which Luke finally noticed as he flung himself into the car and slammed the door, motioning the driver to go.\n\n\nAs the car sped down the long drive toward the highway to Brasilia and the pickup, the professor found himself suddenly enveloped by a young woman's arms and perfume as she reached over the back seat to buckle him into the car.\n\n\n“Seat belt, Professor You are too valuable to lose to Enrico's driving. Or morning rush hour.” Sonja said firmly. As if to put manifestation to her words, Enrico was forced to swerve in the heavy, and erratic traffic, and then to suddenly accelerate to jump their car ahead of a pending collision. It was always this way as the city woke up.\n\n\n“Yes”, replied Luke, gripping the dashboard, “ so the military keeps telling me.”.\n\n\n“Enrico”, said Luke. “Get us there. Fast is ok, but alive is better.”\n\n\n“Si, doctore!” replied Enrico, the sweat dripping from his cap. “The traffic is hell today.”\n\n\nLuke looked out the window of the speeding car at the chaos of rush hour as the city woke, and tens of millions made their days begin. This day of all days, Luke thought as Enrico wove their heavy SUV through the narrow, packed streets. Just as they had made the relative open road of the highway to Brasilia, Enrico swung the vehicle quickly off the road after spotting a soldier standing next to a large military transport. They stopped the car just behind the armored transport, the SUV stopping only inches from the rear of the large truck. Luke stirred as Sonja gathered his computer. Enrico opened the trunk for the soldiers that had quickly and silently surrounded their car. Within seconds Luke and his entourage were ensconced in the large, armored transport, and the soldiers behind them quickly fanned out across the highway as they waved the transport onto the road amidst the sounds of screeching brakes and irate drivers.\n\n\n**\n\n\nThe convoy of military vehicles surrounding the armored transport carrying Luke Tanaka continued down the highway as his truck peeled off onto a hastily made cut-off road leading off into the jungle. It slowed rapidly as its weight was suddenly on the thinner surface of the new roadway. Reduced to a mere washing machine effect for the inhabitants, the transport lumbered adeptly up and down the road for several kilometers before slowing again, this time to a stop outside a gate surrounding a large compound of temporary office trailers that in turn were surrounding a large, glass dome structure off some distance from the gate.\n\n\nThe transport was quickly and silently checked by people at the gate holding menacing looking tubes of an unfamiliar design only two years ago, but now, known through out the planet as “lizard dicks”. Originally invented by a Frenchmen, and named 'dix' (pronounced deess) for the 'count of ten' formula at the core of the technology, the weapons and their quickly linguistically corrupted name, had become ubiquitously known around the planet. Luke felt oddly at peace every time he saw 'lizard dicks' in public. A pacifist until the Awakening in 2011 and the subsequent Truth Broadcasts, Luke nonetheless felt a kinship with every person so armed, though he did not carry one himself. Thinking about it, Luke suddenly realized that his position as inventor of the Global Heart Shield probably would let him request one of the still hard to get weapons. Then the next thought made him noticeably shudder, causing one of the searchers to say, “it's all correct, Professor No need to worry here. We are through.” Luke nodded, unable to explain that his involuntary jerk was due to the thought, that, given his age, and skills, he had qualified for the Assault Group, and had not, until just this moment, realized it. Not that he could have gone in any event. The very skills that qualified him were those that kept him here in Brazil. But, he had to acknowledge, it was nice to be at the center of the action here, if he could not be out there.\n\n\nOnce past the gates and the lizard dick armed security, the few kilometers to the central dome past quickly. The transport, unlike other vehicles, was allowed to drive next to the main doorway, and back up. The rear doors opened and Luke, entourage, and gear were rapidly moved inside the cool, air conditioned, multiple storied, dome that enclosed the broad, undulating pool of shiny green goo.\n\n\nAn earnest young man in a gleaming white lab coat came running up the tiled inclined lobby toward Luke and his party. “ Ah, Professor'. You have arrived.” His teeth gleamed in the intense mixture of lights arranged around the goo pool.\n\n\n“Yes, Paulo.” Luke replied leading everyone into the control and ignition center. “We have retrieved the other commutator. So we will be ready in a few moments. Has Jay checked in? Did they correct their pressure problems?”\n\n\n“Si, Professor'. Pro-counsel Weidner's group has the pressure at Mount Shasta exactly centerline. He reports that he is 'ready, steady, and set to go.'. Paulo replied, reading from the clipboard notes to be sure that he had the language exactly as stated to him. As he had learned, words had immense power to these alchemists, and one missed could lead to disaster.\n\n\nSonja ran up to Luke, quietly whispering in his ear. Luke listened, then turned to Paulo. “We go to Live Heart in twenty-five minutes.” He said, a very deeply satisfied look settling across his face.\n\n\nMoving swiftly for his age, Luke led Sonja and Paulo through the maze of gear in the ignition center that housed the large green activation switch for the Global Heart Shield. As the trio approached the raised dais, the whole room went silent except for the deep and low hum of the pumps in the green goo room. Reaching the switch, the three simply stood there. After a moment's silence, Luke said, “Funny, I thought, somehow, that we would have something more, I don't know...serious, than our little light switch.” They all looked at the small green switch protruding from the metal surface with a single word painted on the metal at the opposite end of where the lever was currently. The word had said “on”, but that had been painted over by an unknown member of the staff to “om”. It fit and had been allowed to remain.\n\n\nTurning, Luke faced the assembled staff in the control and ignition room. “My apologies for my poor words on this most exalted of days.” He began, surprised to find himself suddenly giving a speech. “I was present at the Occupation of the Capitol in my country. We willing suffered that our children might live free of the stench that had come over our beloved planet. Many here did also suffer and fight in their lands. All of us share grief for those who did not make it through the Struggles to see the Renaissance. May their next lives bring peace and growth.” Luke stopped. Weeping too much to continue, he waited for it to pass. All too common an occurrence these days, those in the room held their positions, many also quietly weeping.\n\n\n“There is not much more that needs to be said,” Luke continued. “except an old man's urging to harmonize with the effort and to do our absolute best today, that we may bring honor to all humanity. It is too little to say that I love you all but that is truer today than any day in the long years of this effort.” Luke bowed, “ with respect,” he said loudly to the room, “ and for Kiki-san, and Fukashima”, in a smaller voice to Sonja and Paulo as he took their hands in his to move the small green switch to the “OM” position, “ let us begin...”.\n\n\nTurning back to face the room, Luke wiped his eyes, tightened his jaw, and shouted at the limit of his voice, “KIYA! MASA KATSU!”. The assembled humanity in the room, jumped up yelling. In the noise, Luke smiled at Paulo. “ Tell Jay that we are begun, and he is free to initiate Global Heart Shield.” Striding from the platform, Luke yelled “to work! To work everyone!”.\n\n\n**\n\nN'Comboto startled, realizing that he had been caught unaware by the approach of the very very large triangular craft. It had made no noise at all, and he had become aware of it only as it slowly began blocking the light from the stars as it floated down towards the small beacon that had been set up in the middle of the plain as a sign of their presence.\n\n\nN'Comboto and the ten thousand men, scattered, each to his own small tent, across the plain watched in wonder as the giant, silent, black, triangular craft slowly floated out of the dark night sky to settle a man's height from the grasses on the plain. A wide ramp slowly lowered, exposing nearly the complete interior as it dropped. The huge, well lit space was crowed with people. Mostly old men in strange clothing, much of which N'Comboto recognized as battle gear.\n\n\nWhat had seemed to be a small black lump in the middle of the ramp resolved itself into a short man in black clothing riding the edge as the side lowered to the ground. He hopped off and walked a few feet into the plain. He held a small, lighted device into the air and then shouted many incomprehensible guttural sounds that made the wailing of baboons seem polite. The device brightened, and then N'Comboto heard, in a voice that sounded as though made of very loud, and aggressive water, “ my name is Cooper. I am loadmaster for this vessel. With respect, all those who wish to fight should come with me now.” When the machine completed, the man, Loadmaster Cooper looked out into the seemingly empty plain, shrugged his shoulders, and started to go back up the ramp when N'Comboto, as leader of his family, rapped his blade with its sharpening stone, and unwound himself to his impressive height as his 'tent' transformed itself into his war tunic.\n\n\n“I am N'Comboto, a senior warrior of the M'sai. We are here Cooper, Loadmaster.” N'Comboto waved his short spear across the plain, seemingly invoking it to spew forth old men with spears by the thousands from the hillocks. “We are as many as the grasses, they are as few as lions. We shall have victory!” He said as his 'family' of old men with sharp knives warily walked into the light shining from the open, cavernous craft.\n\n\n**\n\nBrandon guided the huge TR3DD triangular hyperdimensional vehicle carefully down to the top of the designated hill in Rome. It was tricky 'flying' these antigravity craft in the dense atmosphere in what the pilots called the 'fabric' referring to space-time, than in the hyperdimensional realm where one need not worry about bashing into buildings and people. He was a very good pilot, and being young had a very good intuitive feel for the nuances of the machine. Still though, he had never piloted in 'daylight', uncloaked, and in the open view of civilians before. He found it a bit unnerving. Or perhaps it was seeing the ruins of the vatican and the torn apart hillside where the last of the occulted reptiles had made their stand less than two years past. Brandon could not be sure, but as he piloted over the gleaming tiles, and now extensively over-growing with bio-intensive food crop gardens, he thought he saw smoke wisping up in the very early morning light from deep in the former underground papal archives. That did not seem right. It was recent, less than two years past, that Brandon and the rest of his creche and crew mates had watched in fascination on their videos as the planet below their feet was seemingly being boiled in strife and riot. The Occupy Earth movement had taken them completely by surprise in both the intensity, and speed of its progression. Within mere weeks their entire universe view was shattered as their cycle counter parts below (Pluto in Scorpio generation) on the surface actually reshaped completely the power structure and destiny of the planet. It had been recent, but still...the fires he vividly remembered should have been put out by now.\n\n\nBrandon focused his attention and set his craft down on the magnetic field pad projected from the bottom by the field force controllers. It was the first time in his 25 years that he had 'touched' the earth. It felt decidedly odd, even if the touch was through the controllers for the ship and the 'feet' were magnetic. Still, he could say it now....he had touched Earth. Well, he thought wryly, “I can say it IF I live to say it!”.\n\n\nAlmost immediately after Brandon had lowered the ramp on his ship, it was filled with the smells of old brick, bright garlic, sharp basil, and breads. He had almost expected the smell gasoline or other petroleum pollution, but that, it seemed, faded faster than the smoldering fires in the ruins of the battles.\n\n\nIt, the liberation of the 'Tesla technology', was what had permitted the planetary abandonment of petroleum fuels in such a short time. This had started to produce what the agricultural paradise of modern cities, Rome. In spite of the climate shifts and the forming ice age, Rome had remodeled itself on Cuban principles and now produced more foods than it consumed. All the lush greenery had made it difficult for Brandon to find a way to suitably lower his craft to his designated rendezvous. As it was, he felt sure that a gardener on his left aft corner would be pissed when he lifted off. Brandon was not concerned about the impact of crushed squash on his ship, as the skin was magnetic field after all, completely stain free.\n\n\nAs Brandon jockeyed the ship in small movements down to the top of the Athletic Center at the top of the hill, Antonio, Georgio, and Rufalo, along with thirty nine other old men, all in their gi's, stood chatting in the stair way leading to the roof. They had had their briefing, been issued their equipment, and waited for the arrival of their transport discussing tomatoes, and sauce recipes, and who's bread was better, and other really important stuff.\n\n\n**\n\nWalking onto Brandon's ship, carrying both his weapons and his unnoticed cloud of garlic and basil, Antonio and his dojo mates were quickly absorbed into the thousands of old men in gi's in the warm belly of the humming ship. As he had actually listened at his briefing two weeks earlier, Antonio finished suiting up early. Working his way through the crowd, carefully avoiding swords and sharps in infinite variety, he found a steel staircase leading up, and took it to the short corridors leading to the command center.\n\n\n**\n\nBrandon was surprised to find the door to the cockpit flung open and an all enveloping cloud of fresh garlic and sharp basil instanly penetrate all the volume of the small space. He turned to see Antonio looking in quizzically.\n\n\n“You pilot?” He found himself asked. “Yes. Si.” Brandon replied.\n\n\n“Good.” responded Antonio. “ I wanted to see you. Just to make sure.” He grinned.\n\nForming two large circles around his eyes with his fingers, Antonio said, “ you know, just to be sure you are not space alien.”\n\n\n“No.” Said Brandon, grinning, “ not a space alien.” After a second, and surprised at himself, Brandon said, “ you smell good.”.\n\n\nAntonio laughed. “I should, I am a chef!”. With that he light slapped Brandon across the cheek. “Say, you are just a kid? What is that? We are told all the pilots are old farts like me.”\n\n\n“Your assigned pilot had health problems.” Brandon said, as he continued to twitch his hands slightly in steering their ship from Rome to Hilo, Hawaii. “ I am his replacement. Do not worry. I am a good pilot.”\n\n\n“Am not worried, kid. I was just surprised. I am sure you are very good. Probably better than the guy you replaced.” Antonio watched everything in fascination as the cockpit crew flew them across the Atlantic in mere moments. “ Incredible!” He exclaimed. “Just incredible! If only my wife could see me know!”. Antonio grinned in spite of his stomach acting queasy as the scene outside the window rushed by so fast. “Where are we headed now?” he asked.\n\n\n“Hawaii.” Brandon said. “we have to lift from a hyperdimensional point, and Hawaii is at 19.45 degrees. And we are supposed to pick up a shipment of new weapons at coordinates on the eastern side of the big island.”\n\n\n“Si, the latest lizard dicks. I was told. Some real kick ass dicks they say.” Antonio gritted his teeth.”Well, boy, I leave you to your work. May universe preserve us all.” Antonio slapped his hands on Brandon's shoulders, and for a brief moment, Brandon knew what a pizza felt as it was kneaded.\n\n\nTurning to leave, Antonio asked, “ Say, are you Shielded?”. He pulled aside his gi to reveal the straps and the thin, pulsing green stripe of goo in the thin fabric of his harness.\n\n\nBrandon nodded.\n\n\n“Whose your guardian?” Antonio asked?\n\n\nBrandon looked down at his harness, lifted up the tag at the bottom of his ribs and read, “ Gladys Pool, London”.\n\n\nAntonio replied. “Mine is Shina, a woman in Mongolia.” He shook his head at the wonderment, “ imagine that, these women hold our hearts in their hearts tonight, and if we die, they die, and we will likely never see their faces, or hear their voices.” He shook his head, clearing a tear. Antonio suddenly jerked Brandon around, “you are younger than my youngest son. I used to pray to saint Anthony, my namesake. Now I know better, but tonight, I shall ask universe to favor us all. Even you who are not chefs, and cannot bake.” With that he kissed the very startled Brandon on both cheeks and departed, leaving behind the smell of ancient bricks and fresh baked pasta.\n\n\n**\n\nThe strategy was to have cloaked craft lift off from hyperdimensionally active points on oblique angles of declination to the underlying vertices and to proceed to an orbit ahead of the rotation of the moon. These craft, their occupants life force signatures 'grounded' by the alchemical science of the green goo, upon reaching orbit, went 'dark' and merely waited. Some had previously expelled millions of 'pods' into orbit ahead of their own position, such that a rain of pod encased people settled in on the moon over several hours that night. At the arranged time, the pods separated and low pressured suited old men lumbered across the lunar landscape toward predesignated targets.\n\n\nThe lizards never saw it coming. The Tanaka-Weidner grounding effect worked perfectly. While the metallic pods and pressure suits did show on the magnetometers, the shielding kept the life-force signatures from the lizards' indicators, thus their supposition was that it was merely another magnetically noisy day on the creaky old interstellar colonization ship that is the Moon. When the hatch on dome #33 was opened, the lizard first through the door had a very difficult time reconciling the vision that was the final one to pass its eyes as N'Comboto, wrapped in a pressure suit, but still looking every bit the M'sai warrior, shoved a short spear through it's suit, and throat.\n\n\nThe lizard's blue-green blood gushed out as N'Comboto withdrew his blade, and pushed the lizard over with his foot. It lay dying, blood welling up in its mouth-sack, and spewing out onto the moonscape, it's eyes wide open, staring out through the face plate as figure after figure silently passed by into the now open hatch. The lizard twitched, and its last thought flickered across its consciousness. 'Human.'\n\n###\n\n\n\n",
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"content": "<br /><br />\"I am not a pterodactyl\"....<br />by clif high posted to minds 8-8-2018<br /> <br /><br />A conversation to be soon overheard in the great pacific northwest of the continental \"these united states\" in north america. The conversation will take place between representatives of officialdom, sub set, 'department of homeland supression', and a local northwestern archetype, the 'woods man'. There are a lot of them around here so we cannot be specific as to which expression of the archetype will actually be involved in the incident, but we are certain it will occur.<br /><br />The cause of the conversation is the (soon to be in the future) recent downing of a 'national suppresion predator drone' on its 'officially designated patrol'. Apparently, as the agents of the DHS are able to determine, 'suspect Able Baker', located in somewhere in the heavily wooded southwest interior of Washington State brought down a predator drone by means unknown and it crashed into a very expensive pile of trash in woods so deep as to be unreceachable in our lifetimes....<br /><br />Upon interviewing the primary suspect (last house prior to the last reported position of the predator), the agents of officialdom discovered that they had entered a place of deep dark shadows under old growth cedar trees dripping not only moss several yards long, but also a rich moist coating of woo-woo.<br /><br />The following will be soon taken from the to-exist-in-the-future, past official records transcripts.<br /><br />Agent Fred: \"Sir, am i to understand you correctly? You are admiting that you shot down the very expensive government drone? Are you certain you understand what crime you are confessing to?\".<br /><br />Suspect Able Baker: \"Yep, son, I know what I am saying....are you hard of hearing? But no way is this a crime.\"<br /><br />Agent Fred: \"No sir. I hear you just fine..but i just can't believe you admitted to a federal crime...\"<br /><br />Suspect Able Baker: \"Oh, no son, I didn't commit a crime. Now I grant you that you have reason to see it that way, but was not the case. I have me a batch of that cancer you know.\"<br /><br />Agent Fred: \"ok?? so...\"<br /><br />Suspect Able Baker: \"so, this being a dispensary state, I been smok'n some righteous weed. In fact, I had been smoking that whole day as the chemo had been the day before. (long wait as suspect exhales) That was the day I shot down the pterodactyl. And I want you, right now, to show me any damn law that says a man can't shoot down a pterodactyl if he has to.\"<br /><br />Agent Fred: \"Sir, you mean the drone, right? You shot down the drone, correct? That is what you are admitting to...\"<br /><br />Suspect Able Baker: \"Well, sonny, if you want to call that big, white pterodactyl that flew over my house and was gonna shit on my property or worse, a drone, you go right ahead. But when I saw it, it was a pterodactyl. That is my story and I am sticking to it. (another long pause as suspect exhales) And I don't think that you boys will be prosecuting me, an old man living out his last days dying of cancer who happens to hallucinate pterodactyls from the damn chemo. So, in my way of thinking, as I send you boys on your way, is that you get back to drone central, and tell them to paint \" I am not a pterodactyl, do not shoot me.\" on them drones...just to be safe. You never can tell what people may see out here in these woods. And the rain and constrant drip makes us all a bit mad, so don't be surprised when occassionally one of us takes out an annoying pterodactyl.\"<br /><br />Agent Bob (as the agents are leaving): \"Sir, just what was it that you used to take down the dro.., er, pterodactyl.\"<br /><br />Suspect Able Baker (grinning): \"Why this slingshot, a Mark 5 SuperSling with wrist protector, (extending the weapon) and these......(suspect holds out a cluster of metal balls)...highly magnetized ball bearings. They work on cupracapras as well as pterodactyls. And you never can tell when I may be seeing a couple of them bastards so you boys better get along now, and don't forget to tell them....\"<br /><br />\"I am not a pterodactyl...\"<br /><br />Status of investigation: Temporarily suspended....<br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br />",
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"content": "\n\n\"I am not a pterodactyl\"....\nby clif high posted to minds 8-8-2018\n \n\nA conversation to be soon overheard in the great pacific northwest of the continental \"these united states\" in north america. The conversation will take place between representatives of officialdom, sub set, 'department of homeland supression', and a local northwestern archetype, the 'woods man'. There are a lot of them around here so we cannot be specific as to which expression of the archetype will actually be involved in the incident, but we are certain it will occur.\n\nThe cause of the conversation is the (soon to be in the future) recent downing of a 'national suppresion predator drone' on its 'officially designated patrol'. Apparently, as the agents of the DHS are able to determine, 'suspect Able Baker', located in somewhere in the heavily wooded southwest interior of Washington State brought down a predator drone by means unknown and it crashed into a very expensive pile of trash in woods so deep as to be unreceachable in our lifetimes....\n\nUpon interviewing the primary suspect (last house prior to the last reported position of the predator), the agents of officialdom discovered that they had entered a place of deep dark shadows under old growth cedar trees dripping not only moss several yards long, but also a rich moist coating of woo-woo.\n\nThe following will be soon taken from the to-exist-in-the-future, past official records transcripts.\n\nAgent Fred: \"Sir, am i to understand you correctly? You are admiting that you shot down the very expensive government drone? Are you certain you understand what crime you are confessing to?\".\n\nSuspect Able Baker: \"Yep, son, I know what I am saying....are you hard of hearing? But no way is this a crime.\"\n\nAgent Fred: \"No sir. I hear you just fine..but i just can't believe you admitted to a federal crime...\"\n\nSuspect Able Baker: \"Oh, no son, I didn't commit a crime. Now I grant you that you have reason to see it that way, but was not the case. I have me a batch of that cancer you know.\"\n\nAgent Fred: \"ok?? so...\"\n\nSuspect Able Baker: \"so, this being a dispensary state, I been smok'n some righteous weed. In fact, I had been smoking that whole day as the chemo had been the day before. (long wait as suspect exhales) That was the day I shot down the pterodactyl. And I want you, right now, to show me any damn law that says a man can't shoot down a pterodactyl if he has to.\"\n\nAgent Fred: \"Sir, you mean the drone, right? You shot down the drone, correct? That is what you are admitting to...\"\n\nSuspect Able Baker: \"Well, sonny, if you want to call that big, white pterodactyl that flew over my house and was gonna shit on my property or worse, a drone, you go right ahead. But when I saw it, it was a pterodactyl. That is my story and I am sticking to it. (another long pause as suspect exhales) And I don't think that you boys will be prosecuting me, an old man living out his last days dying of cancer who happens to hallucinate pterodactyls from the damn chemo. So, in my way of thinking, as I send you boys on your way, is that you get back to drone central, and tell them to paint \" I am not a pterodactyl, do not shoot me.\" on them drones...just to be safe. You never can tell what people may see out here in these woods. And the rain and constrant drip makes us all a bit mad, so don't be surprised when occassionally one of us takes out an annoying pterodactyl.\"\n\nAgent Bob (as the agents are leaving): \"Sir, just what was it that you used to take down the dro.., er, pterodactyl.\"\n\nSuspect Able Baker (grinning): \"Why this slingshot, a Mark 5 SuperSling with wrist protector, (extending the weapon) and these......(suspect holds out a cluster of metal balls)...highly magnetized ball bearings. They work on cupracapras as well as pterodactyls. And you never can tell when I may be seeing a couple of them bastards so you boys better get along now, and don't forget to tell them....\"\n\n\"I am not a pterodactyl...\"\n\nStatus of investigation: Temporarily suspended....\n\n \n\n \n",
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"content": "<br />perpetuo autem....in the ever present now...<br />freeze the balls off a brass monkey....<br /><br />by clif high - posted to minds 8-8-2018<br /><br />with respect..<br /><br />This essay has very little to do with primate genitalia, metallic or organic, and everything to do with the species level changes being wrought by technology, specifically, in this slice of perpetuo autem, what Google is doing to the rest of humanity.<br /><br />To be fair, the species level change would/will/is occurring with or without Google, as universe has provides the path, and they were there to walk it. If the googlers did not exist, there would certainly have been someone else also attuned to the necessary vibratory frequency by their DNA. So the googlers were there to 'catch' the idea from universe, and, the rest of the story, as they say, is 'species level change'.<br /><br />Hmmmm.....now is that correct?<br /><br />Well, within these many lines, for study by future pundits who will opine, one may find, initiatory processes that echo the change within our human species.<br /><br />The change in the species is starting to emerge. No longer are we both inventing and distributing (albeit unwittingly most frequently) the bullshit of our youth. All those mythological tales dispensed by disparate odd relatives and friends of our parents, with or without, the intent to 'fuck with our heads' can be, with the advent and viral spread of smart phones and Google by app, almost instantly debunked. This debunking of the BS, or near real time access to information plus the community validating that has been impressed across all domaines of knowledge by the global access and interlinking is changing us. At a core level.<br /><br />And it is doing so in two, seemingly opposing ways. The first is the obvious emergence of the Google connected, and reinforced, 'homo technicalis' mindset as 'technology', the domaine of understanding, impresses its works with its own, technically structured, viewpoint, or philosophy. A concise, and soon to be altered and debunked definition might be that 'homo technicalis' sees the universe as being a \"playground of opportunities for the implementation of really cool technologies of all kinds and their interlinking into really technically complex, and therefore even more cool, networks\". In other words, \"have a problem? Technology will solve it. If not now, then soon.\"<br /><br />The nature of the changes wrought on the species template by homo technicalis will be typified by such as the reduction of overall conversation as machine delivered facts replace conjecture and the interaction of human research; the fading of creative invention of artifice and fantasy in 'play' as that is redefined by social practice to the 'engineering of artificial realities'; and the loss of multigenerational 'passing' of personal histories (mostly false as we can now prove with genealogy through Search); and their close cousin, the archetypical tales of fantasy inspiring 'belief' at a young age (think Loch Ness, Pixies and such).<br /><br />However it seems our species craves conceptual ambiguities as invisible friends and such, for we have managed to use the very same technology that supports the 'homo technicalis' viewpoint to craft the first global metaphysical dojo. And we do so without any apologies as we, those of us on the mat in the dojo, find no contradiction between the views.<br /><br />Now for the curious part, unexpected until one considers that universe will insist on carrying certain memes through time without regard to human intentions, is that the factual nature of the vast data and knowledge machine that is Google, has facilitated the rise, one may even say, the resurgence of, a global shamanistic world view. Interconnected for the first time in the history of this 'cycle' of civilization, the shamans of the world are also participating in the changing of the species, probably pretty much what universe intended. The ability to validate shamanistic journey experiences across cultures, time, and space via internet connection has led to the emergence of the (probably) first global validation of both the Path, and the Waypoints independent of learned tradition. This is a really cool manifestation. It means for the first time that there is a teacher-independent knowledge base for shamanic experience that is available across former cultural boundaries.<br /><br />So, again, in this now, as the 'new religion experience' sweeps through Sufism with new sacraments involving psychedelic usage, their experience in these journeys is both additive, and cross culturally validating. To those who are in the know, what is easily seen is that Mantis beings exist on that plane without regard to your human religiously overlaid, cultural bias. So, hmmm.....what they said all those years ago may well be true also. Hmmm. Even now the universe understanding revealed by the shamanic journey is percolating up from the Sufi through to the rest of Islam. It will be disruptive. Validation of that vision is always so. Disruptive at a personal level so profound it cannot but change the social order in which it is expressed.<br /><br />As we in the 'western world' are also discovering, though our disruption is fracking through the illusion laid on by the banksters; in a way, a religion of its own, disruptive at a core personality changing level as well. And such changes will echo themselves outward through our social order, constantly, continuously, validated by intense debunking and debate in our collective mind space that is reaching toward googol at breath chilling speed.<br /><br />So chilling as to freeze the balls off a brass monkey.<br /><br />i once heard, from a fisherman, of course, on a fishless stretch of a long swift west flowing river shrouded in early morning fog, that the Phoenicians, being great sea-faring people, and really smart, invented the precursor to the modern sextant. Their version of an advanced astrolabe, according to my source, had two positioning levers that were held along an arced brass rail by small brass balls at their ends. These astrolabes were no small affair, so the tale went, and took two men just to lift and sight. So the curved brass arc was called, in this version, the 'monkey'...as somehow the Phoenicians were from Africa and this resembled the arc of monkey butts...and you may guess how the story concludes. The Phoenicians, being tropical guys were not prepared for the cold when sailing in the far north, and their giant navigation aids which had to be left outside at night, would distort in the cold and lift the brass sight marking levers off the brass arc as the brass balls were contorted away from the 'monkey', or the bottom of the arc of the rail. Thus the Phoenicians, again as alleged in this version of the tale, were the first to find out what 'cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey' meant, and further, supposedly marked their maps as requiring 'coastal only navigation' as it is so cold as to \"render the skippers' balls useless\". Hmmmm....does not sound good. Terra incognito and extra viagra, et al.<br /><br />However, this story is fabrication ingested waaay too early in the morning of my youth to disregard it (thus i recall it to this day), and is pre-internet. These more modern times, one would of course merely google the phrase to learn what i already know from gunners school, that absolutely no monkey butt arcs are involved, merely brass dimples. Found it yet?<br /><br />But know now one of our species level flaws, even erroneous information, as above, once digitally bound, forever found, constantly around, algos to confound, as it is tied, digitally and linguistically securely, to those frozen monkey balls.<br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br />",
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"content": "\nperpetuo autem....in the ever present now...\nfreeze the balls off a brass monkey....\n\nby clif high - posted to minds 8-8-2018\n\nwith respect..\n\nThis essay has very little to do with primate genitalia, metallic or organic, and everything to do with the species level changes being wrought by technology, specifically, in this slice of perpetuo autem, what Google is doing to the rest of humanity.\n\nTo be fair, the species level change would/will/is occurring with or without Google, as universe has provides the path, and they were there to walk it. If the googlers did not exist, there would certainly have been someone else also attuned to the necessary vibratory frequency by their DNA. So the googlers were there to 'catch' the idea from universe, and, the rest of the story, as they say, is 'species level change'.\n\nHmmmm.....now is that correct?\n\nWell, within these many lines, for study by future pundits who will opine, one may find, initiatory processes that echo the change within our human species.\n\nThe change in the species is starting to emerge. No longer are we both inventing and distributing (albeit unwittingly most frequently) the bullshit of our youth. All those mythological tales dispensed by disparate odd relatives and friends of our parents, with or without, the intent to 'fuck with our heads' can be, with the advent and viral spread of smart phones and Google by app, almost instantly debunked. This debunking of the BS, or near real time access to information plus the community validating that has been impressed across all domaines of knowledge by the global access and interlinking is changing us. At a core level.\n\nAnd it is doing so in two, seemingly opposing ways. The first is the obvious emergence of the Google connected, and reinforced, 'homo technicalis' mindset as 'technology', the domaine of understanding, impresses its works with its own, technically structured, viewpoint, or philosophy. A concise, and soon to be altered and debunked definition might be that 'homo technicalis' sees the universe as being a \"playground of opportunities for the implementation of really cool technologies of all kinds and their interlinking into really technically complex, and therefore even more cool, networks\". In other words, \"have a problem? Technology will solve it. If not now, then soon.\"\n\nThe nature of the changes wrought on the species template by homo technicalis will be typified by such as the reduction of overall conversation as machine delivered facts replace conjecture and the interaction of human research; the fading of creative invention of artifice and fantasy in 'play' as that is redefined by social practice to the 'engineering of artificial realities'; and the loss of multigenerational 'passing' of personal histories (mostly false as we can now prove with genealogy through Search); and their close cousin, the archetypical tales of fantasy inspiring 'belief' at a young age (think Loch Ness, Pixies and such).\n\nHowever it seems our species craves conceptual ambiguities as invisible friends and such, for we have managed to use the very same technology that supports the 'homo technicalis' viewpoint to craft the first global metaphysical dojo. And we do so without any apologies as we, those of us on the mat in the dojo, find no contradiction between the views.\n\nNow for the curious part, unexpected until one considers that universe will insist on carrying certain memes through time without regard to human intentions, is that the factual nature of the vast data and knowledge machine that is Google, has facilitated the rise, one may even say, the resurgence of, a global shamanistic world view. Interconnected for the first time in the history of this 'cycle' of civilization, the shamans of the world are also participating in the changing of the species, probably pretty much what universe intended. The ability to validate shamanistic journey experiences across cultures, time, and space via internet connection has led to the emergence of the (probably) first global validation of both the Path, and the Waypoints independent of learned tradition. This is a really cool manifestation. It means for the first time that there is a teacher-independent knowledge base for shamanic experience that is available across former cultural boundaries.\n\nSo, again, in this now, as the 'new religion experience' sweeps through Sufism with new sacraments involving psychedelic usage, their experience in these journeys is both additive, and cross culturally validating. To those who are in the know, what is easily seen is that Mantis beings exist on that plane without regard to your human religiously overlaid, cultural bias. So, hmmm.....what they said all those years ago may well be true also. Hmmm. Even now the universe understanding revealed by the shamanic journey is percolating up from the Sufi through to the rest of Islam. It will be disruptive. Validation of that vision is always so. Disruptive at a personal level so profound it cannot but change the social order in which it is expressed.\n\nAs we in the 'western world' are also discovering, though our disruption is fracking through the illusion laid on by the banksters; in a way, a religion of its own, disruptive at a core personality changing level as well. And such changes will echo themselves outward through our social order, constantly, continuously, validated by intense debunking and debate in our collective mind space that is reaching toward googol at breath chilling speed.\n\nSo chilling as to freeze the balls off a brass monkey.\n\ni once heard, from a fisherman, of course, on a fishless stretch of a long swift west flowing river shrouded in early morning fog, that the Phoenicians, being great sea-faring people, and really smart, invented the precursor to the modern sextant. Their version of an advanced astrolabe, according to my source, had two positioning levers that were held along an arced brass rail by small brass balls at their ends. These astrolabes were no small affair, so the tale went, and took two men just to lift and sight. So the curved brass arc was called, in this version, the 'monkey'...as somehow the Phoenicians were from Africa and this resembled the arc of monkey butts...and you may guess how the story concludes. The Phoenicians, being tropical guys were not prepared for the cold when sailing in the far north, and their giant navigation aids which had to be left outside at night, would distort in the cold and lift the brass sight marking levers off the brass arc as the brass balls were contorted away from the 'monkey', or the bottom of the arc of the rail. Thus the Phoenicians, again as alleged in this version of the tale, were the first to find out what 'cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey' meant, and further, supposedly marked their maps as requiring 'coastal only navigation' as it is so cold as to \"render the skippers' balls useless\". Hmmmm....does not sound good. Terra incognito and extra viagra, et al.\n\nHowever, this story is fabrication ingested waaay too early in the morning of my youth to disregard it (thus i recall it to this day), and is pre-internet. These more modern times, one would of course merely google the phrase to learn what i already know from gunners school, that absolutely no monkey butt arcs are involved, merely brass dimples. Found it yet?\n\nBut know now one of our species level flaws, even erroneous information, as above, once digitally bound, forever found, constantly around, algos to confound, as it is tied, digitally and linguistically securely, to those frozen monkey balls.\n\n \n\n\n\n \n",
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"content": "<br />perpetuo autem....in the ever present now...<br />Male circumcision alters the brain of its victim for life.<br /><br />by clif high - posted to minds 8-8-2018<br /><br />Male circumcision alters the brain of its victim. Not only by depriving that person of the full potentials in sex (old audio here), but also (i now understand) of transforming the inherent potential within that person to experience love, contentment, or peace, here in the matterium. The reasons at a biologic level can be explained due to the deprivation of the brain of the man of certain necessary, and brain chemistry altering, key hormonal 'circuits' that include the flesh stolen from him shortly after birth.<br /><br />Those of us born as 'warriors' by 'gift' of the planets will understand my message here. We 'natural warriors' are filled with compassion and could not stop ourselves from fighting against oppression in all its forms. Masa Katsu!.<br /><br />Those born as warriors, but robbed of their foreskins by religions that enslave them at birth without their consent, can become entranced by the brutally of their skills and arts at war, with none of the motivation of compassion and love. Such men are not warriors as i judge the word as they are not capable of individual courage as they do not know how to love.<br /><br />It may come as a surprise to you to learn this, but the largest concentration of males on this planet born under the influence of 'Mars' who are also circumcised and religion enslaved are in Israel. Is it any wonder that Israel seeks expression of itself as brute and killer? i think not.<br /><br />Karma rules. The 'covenant' of judaism with the off-world demi-urge they chose as god*** is what dooms their males to this twisted mentality that they currently demonstrate with their death rituals in Gaza. Their 'covenant' also dooms the rest of us humans to having to put up with this shit. Continuously.....am i right?<br /><br />Until judaism examines its history, stops lying to itself, and ends the abominable practice of mind and body maiming that is male circumcision, there will be not peace on this world, nor within judaism itself. You see, it has already terrorized most of the world, fed on that grief and death and fear, and has yet only one victim left to 'taste'....Israel....itself. Judaism globally is about to shred itself to shit in front of our eyes.<br /><br />Unfortunately, there will be so much collateral damage, that other nations will be forced into action by the carnage of the innocents as the jewish males wail to universe in a river of blood for their stolen foreskins and the torture it has done upon their atman (souls).** Their anguish and self-loathing is what is causing the death of generations of innocents, and the warping of their own children.<br /><br />i would curse the house of david on the sands of the levant if it were not for my knowledge that universe has beaten me to it, and done a far better job than i. Universe curses the Israelis daily with their own 'covenant', at all levels (listen to older video above).<br /><br />Oh, and let us hazard a guess as to how many circumcised males there are in the bankster biz? Foreskin loss warps brains other than warriors...including those of child raping financial terrorists.<br /><br /> <br /><br />*** (note it is yet another lie that the jews are the 'chosen ones', read history, they are 'those who chose (to enslave themselves to yawayhooya or what ever the piss this alien banshee called itself...yes, i do think it was an actual alien of some form that scared the early jews into worshiping its sorry old ass)) Note again: if you are trying to refute me using bible as english or hebrew, you are SOL. The english and hebrew is warped by the transliteration into 'have been chosen' instead of 'have chosen'. Go read the original texts or watch Mauro Biglingo's \"Unexpected Bible\" on youtube.<br /><br />**(and the huge levels of rape of young males in jewish 'bath houses'). - All kinds of dispute about the 'chosen' one language from hundreds of response emails, and not a single one denying this allegation of massive child rape in fundamentalist jewish sects. Hmmmmm.<br /><br />Addendum: guys, if you are circumcised, you cannot possibly know what you are missing. Kind of like a deaf person criticizing music. Or someone who has never taken it, trying to describe an acid trip. Beyond your experience. In the case of the circumcised, even the potential for it was stolen from you at an age when your protests were treated as mere mind warping pain.<br /><br />i am sympathetic to all males thus maimed, and really pissed at religions for their crimes, which begin with, and stem from, human maiming.<br /><br />If the foreskin removal is not complete (more medical ones are incomplete than mohel induced 'brit milah' technique which removes most if not all of the vital hormonal uptake receptors - hmmmm - as it was designed to do...) then it is possible for a mutilated male child to mature completely mentally. It appears from some tests done in EU countries that partial receptors can still trigger the changes in the maturing brain of the male during the latter half of puberty - which really lasts until about age 26 by the way.<br /><br />And in the way of a wicked idea who's time may have come: it occurs to me that all it would take to end the practice of 'routine circumcision' forever here in the USA would be for a number of circumcised males to sue in a class action against a few hospitals/doctors = insurance companies for real and actual damage to their adult lives (thus it makes no difference that their parents agreed to the maiming as these were under duress of lies...kind of like the thalidomide lawsuits)....make if far too expensive to doing it here in USA. Then the practice would be driven 'to the streets' where it would dwindle under social pressure. And, maybe a few thousands of maimed males would get a few bucks. Hmmm...just say'n.<br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br />",
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"content": "\nperpetuo autem....in the ever present now...\nMale circumcision alters the brain of its victim for life.\n\nby clif high - posted to minds 8-8-2018\n\nMale circumcision alters the brain of its victim. Not only by depriving that person of the full potentials in sex (old audio here), but also (i now understand) of transforming the inherent potential within that person to experience love, contentment, or peace, here in the matterium. The reasons at a biologic level can be explained due to the deprivation of the brain of the man of certain necessary, and brain chemistry altering, key hormonal 'circuits' that include the flesh stolen from him shortly after birth.\n\nThose of us born as 'warriors' by 'gift' of the planets will understand my message here. We 'natural warriors' are filled with compassion and could not stop ourselves from fighting against oppression in all its forms. Masa Katsu!.\n\nThose born as warriors, but robbed of their foreskins by religions that enslave them at birth without their consent, can become entranced by the brutally of their skills and arts at war, with none of the motivation of compassion and love. Such men are not warriors as i judge the word as they are not capable of individual courage as they do not know how to love.\n\nIt may come as a surprise to you to learn this, but the largest concentration of males on this planet born under the influence of 'Mars' who are also circumcised and religion enslaved are in Israel. Is it any wonder that Israel seeks expression of itself as brute and killer? i think not.\n\nKarma rules. The 'covenant' of judaism with the off-world demi-urge they chose as god*** is what dooms their males to this twisted mentality that they currently demonstrate with their death rituals in Gaza. Their 'covenant' also dooms the rest of us humans to having to put up with this shit. Continuously.....am i right?\n\nUntil judaism examines its history, stops lying to itself, and ends the abominable practice of mind and body maiming that is male circumcision, there will be not peace on this world, nor within judaism itself. You see, it has already terrorized most of the world, fed on that grief and death and fear, and has yet only one victim left to 'taste'....Israel....itself. Judaism globally is about to shred itself to shit in front of our eyes.\n\nUnfortunately, there will be so much collateral damage, that other nations will be forced into action by the carnage of the innocents as the jewish males wail to universe in a river of blood for their stolen foreskins and the torture it has done upon their atman (souls).** Their anguish and self-loathing is what is causing the death of generations of innocents, and the warping of their own children.\n\ni would curse the house of david on the sands of the levant if it were not for my knowledge that universe has beaten me to it, and done a far better job than i. Universe curses the Israelis daily with their own 'covenant', at all levels (listen to older video above).\n\nOh, and let us hazard a guess as to how many circumcised males there are in the bankster biz? Foreskin loss warps brains other than warriors...including those of child raping financial terrorists.\n\n \n\n*** (note it is yet another lie that the jews are the 'chosen ones', read history, they are 'those who chose (to enslave themselves to yawayhooya or what ever the piss this alien banshee called itself...yes, i do think it was an actual alien of some form that scared the early jews into worshiping its sorry old ass)) Note again: if you are trying to refute me using bible as english or hebrew, you are SOL. The english and hebrew is warped by the transliteration into 'have been chosen' instead of 'have chosen'. Go read the original texts or watch Mauro Biglingo's \"Unexpected Bible\" on youtube.\n\n**(and the huge levels of rape of young males in jewish 'bath houses'). - All kinds of dispute about the 'chosen' one language from hundreds of response emails, and not a single one denying this allegation of massive child rape in fundamentalist jewish sects. Hmmmmm.\n\nAddendum: guys, if you are circumcised, you cannot possibly know what you are missing. Kind of like a deaf person criticizing music. Or someone who has never taken it, trying to describe an acid trip. Beyond your experience. In the case of the circumcised, even the potential for it was stolen from you at an age when your protests were treated as mere mind warping pain.\n\ni am sympathetic to all males thus maimed, and really pissed at religions for their crimes, which begin with, and stem from, human maiming.\n\nIf the foreskin removal is not complete (more medical ones are incomplete than mohel induced 'brit milah' technique which removes most if not all of the vital hormonal uptake receptors - hmmmm - as it was designed to do...) then it is possible for a mutilated male child to mature completely mentally. It appears from some tests done in EU countries that partial receptors can still trigger the changes in the maturing brain of the male during the latter half of puberty - which really lasts until about age 26 by the way.\n\nAnd in the way of a wicked idea who's time may have come: it occurs to me that all it would take to end the practice of 'routine circumcision' forever here in the USA would be for a number of circumcised males to sue in a class action against a few hospitals/doctors = insurance companies for real and actual damage to their adult lives (thus it makes no difference that their parents agreed to the maiming as these were under duress of lies...kind of like the thalidomide lawsuits)....make if far too expensive to doing it here in USA. Then the practice would be driven 'to the streets' where it would dwindle under social pressure. And, maybe a few thousands of maimed males would get a few bucks. Hmmm...just say'n.\n\n\n\n \n\n \n\n\n\n \n\n \n",
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"content": "<br />perpetuo autem....in the ever present now...<br />Schlomo's Cocaine addiction.....<br /><br />by clif high - posted to minds 8-8-2018<br /><br />Sometimes it is difficult to accept what humans will do...in the last century a cocaine (and other substances) addict wrote over 400 thousand words about what his many addictions had done to his mind.<br /><br />Then, for its own purposes, the Tavistock Institute took these writings, asserted that they were theories, and created a religion around them that they then insisted is science, and called it \"psychiatry\".<br /><br />The addict, a fellow named Schlomo, died of his addictions, but Tavistock was not even slowed in their use of this new 'science' as a tool for mind and social behavior control. They used the Tavistock Institute's associates network to promote this 'science' into the popular culture by way of the Judaic (and Masonic) Temples and Rabbi's. Within a shockingly brief period of time, the associates (read blackmail) network had heads of state and legislatures globally passing laws forcing the intrusion of this 'new science of mind control' onto the social order. The 'science' was particularly useful to the great empires of the time, the Soviet Union of Socialist Republics, and the USA.<br /><br />Humanity has suffered ever since.<br /><br />Tavistock continues to promote their agenda(s) and the planet's Powers-That-Be continue to be blackmailed into supporting the convoluted cocaine fantasies that ARE Schlomo's Cocaine 'science' for purposes that they (TPTB) cannot even imagine....<br /><br />Oh, you probably know Schlomo under his 'acceptable' name of Sigmund (real name is Sigismund) Freud. Tavistock recognized that humanity would NOT accept a 'new science' from a cocaine addict named Schlomo. Eh?<br /><br />Addendum:<br />Tighten your sphincters people, it gets deep out there...<br /><br />with respect...<br /><br />there seems to be some confusion out and about as to what is 'psychiatry', and its close cousin, 'psychology'.<br /><br />At its core all psychiatry is a collection of theories promulgated by humans who can not define the 'psyche', 'mind', or what it is to be 'human', and yet represent their theories to be an in-depth and comprehensive (albeit 'growing') understanding of the 'human psyche and mind'. They acknowledge that they, personally, are indeed conscious, yet at are a loss to explain consciousness.<br /><br />Further these humans who cannot define 'human', nor 'consciousness', nor 'mind', are claiming to be able to at least use their 'human consciousness and mind' to explain itself. And worse, YOU!<br /><br />Yes, even the cult founder of psychiatry, Schlomo Freud himself, acknowledged that mind could not be directly 'appreciated (examined)', and therefore he suggested the remedy of instead examining and collecting and codifying human behavior as a means of mind-mapping. So the remedy proposed for the mind examining itself was to instead collect notes about the behavior of humans responding to the demands of a changing environment, and to classify the behaviors into categories that are 'meaningful' in the minds of the psychiatrists. These behaviors are then used to characterize some minds as 'ill', and others as 'sane'.<br /><br />Notwithstanding that no two humans will ever respond the same way to any environment as all humans perceive inputs from their senses entirely uniquely to themselves, letting 'psychiatrists' decide what is 'mental illness' is like letting quantum scientists hunt for 'sub atomic particles'. The more they look, the more they 'find', as universe and their imaginations will continue to provide what they seek just ahead of it being found.<br /><br />Just as with mind, in quanta (sub atomic particles) there is an endless amount. And as the quanta chasers will never discover, nor shall the psychiatrists acknowledge, mind chasing mind will always discover... more mind. Something every zen novice learns through much pain.<br />",
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"content": "\nperpetuo autem....in the ever present now...\nSchlomo's Cocaine addiction.....\n\nby clif high - posted to minds 8-8-2018\n\nSometimes it is difficult to accept what humans will do...in the last century a cocaine (and other substances) addict wrote over 400 thousand words about what his many addictions had done to his mind.\n\nThen, for its own purposes, the Tavistock Institute took these writings, asserted that they were theories, and created a religion around them that they then insisted is science, and called it \"psychiatry\".\n\nThe addict, a fellow named Schlomo, died of his addictions, but Tavistock was not even slowed in their use of this new 'science' as a tool for mind and social behavior control. They used the Tavistock Institute's associates network to promote this 'science' into the popular culture by way of the Judaic (and Masonic) Temples and Rabbi's. Within a shockingly brief period of time, the associates (read blackmail) network had heads of state and legislatures globally passing laws forcing the intrusion of this 'new science of mind control' onto the social order. The 'science' was particularly useful to the great empires of the time, the Soviet Union of Socialist Republics, and the USA.\n\nHumanity has suffered ever since.\n\nTavistock continues to promote their agenda(s) and the planet's Powers-That-Be continue to be blackmailed into supporting the convoluted cocaine fantasies that ARE Schlomo's Cocaine 'science' for purposes that they (TPTB) cannot even imagine....\n\nOh, you probably know Schlomo under his 'acceptable' name of Sigmund (real name is Sigismund) Freud. Tavistock recognized that humanity would NOT accept a 'new science' from a cocaine addict named Schlomo. Eh?\n\nAddendum:\nTighten your sphincters people, it gets deep out there...\n\nwith respect...\n\nthere seems to be some confusion out and about as to what is 'psychiatry', and its close cousin, 'psychology'.\n\nAt its core all psychiatry is a collection of theories promulgated by humans who can not define the 'psyche', 'mind', or what it is to be 'human', and yet represent their theories to be an in-depth and comprehensive (albeit 'growing') understanding of the 'human psyche and mind'. They acknowledge that they, personally, are indeed conscious, yet at are a loss to explain consciousness.\n\nFurther these humans who cannot define 'human', nor 'consciousness', nor 'mind', are claiming to be able to at least use their 'human consciousness and mind' to explain itself. And worse, YOU!\n\nYes, even the cult founder of psychiatry, Schlomo Freud himself, acknowledged that mind could not be directly 'appreciated (examined)', and therefore he suggested the remedy of instead examining and collecting and codifying human behavior as a means of mind-mapping. So the remedy proposed for the mind examining itself was to instead collect notes about the behavior of humans responding to the demands of a changing environment, and to classify the behaviors into categories that are 'meaningful' in the minds of the psychiatrists. These behaviors are then used to characterize some minds as 'ill', and others as 'sane'.\n\nNotwithstanding that no two humans will ever respond the same way to any environment as all humans perceive inputs from their senses entirely uniquely to themselves, letting 'psychiatrists' decide what is 'mental illness' is like letting quantum scientists hunt for 'sub atomic particles'. The more they look, the more they 'find', as universe and their imaginations will continue to provide what they seek just ahead of it being found.\n\nJust as with mind, in quanta (sub atomic particles) there is an endless amount. And as the quanta chasers will never discover, nor shall the psychiatrists acknowledge, mind chasing mind will always discover... more mind. Something every zen novice learns through much pain.\n",
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"content": "<br />perpetuo autem....in the ever present now...<br /><br /> <br />Think for a minute..about the world's First Time Travel Project...<br /><br />by clif high, posted to minds - 8-8-2018<br /><br /> <br /><br />with respect....<br /><br />Think for a minute about the Manhattan Project that created the atomic bomb and ushered humans into the nuclear age. This was during world war 2 (the second such war to burden humanity by central banks), and it was not, as history tell us, a secret.<br /><br /><br />There were thousands of people directly involved with the Manhattan Project. There were tens of thousands involved with sub contractors and necessary infrastructure. There were hundreds of thousands of family members who were aware of the project, even if the goal was not known to them.<br /><br /><br />Think for a minute of what was required of this effort. Not only was the atomic bomb invented, and 'perfected', but also a whole national infrastructure of nuclear facilities was created as support for the project. Everything from specialized copper wire to hardened metal containers were required and someone had to make them. Further there were new forms of materials and machines that were a necessary part of the building of the supporting environment for the atomic bomb effort, and most of those involved within these new industries were not aware of what part their products played in the creation of the Atomic Age of man.<br /><br /><br />So tens if not hundreds of thousands of workers were required PRIOR to the first tests of the atomic weapons that were the goal of the Manhattan Project. Many of these workers probably never knew of their contribution to that first explosion in the desert.<br /><br /><br />Now, think for a minute about time travel. It is the same way as the atomic age. The energy requirements to 'split time' open are far greater than what is required to 'split an atom'. Thus, it will likely be the same way with time travel, as an 'industry', as it was with the nuclear infrastructure.<br /><br /><br />It will not be a single wild haired genius in a garage that invents the first time travel device in a car. The energy requirements are just too great. As with the Manhattan project, the first entry into corporeal time travel will require a huge infrastructure to be developed. There will be new specialty sub contractors building exotic new machines that will be required just for the building and calibration of the bigger, time travel machine. There will be hundreds of thousands of workers directly involved with the Time Travel Project, and perhaps millions of workers in sub contractor positions. There will be tens of millions of family members in 'supporting' roles for those workers.<br /><br /><br />Much like the Manhattan Project, it will be an 'open secret'. Millions will know of it, but not have a clue as to its real goal due to the compartmentalization and the serious crew of professional lying 'thought directors' who will do everything they can to obscure and disguise the real point of the Time Travel Project. Mostly, given how humans are, it would seem probable that these lying professionals will likely be very successful in hiding earth's first Time Travel Project.<br /><br /><br />Now think for a moment about what this Time Travel Project will look like....it will be big, gigantic, bigger than the biggest thing or think that humans have yet accomplished. It will be strange, new, and not make much sense to those of us on the 'outside' of the 'secret'. Oh, we will certainly see it. The worlds first time travel project would be way too big to hide, so like an elephant being taken into a fancy dress cocktail party, it will have to wear a costume....to make it look entirely different, and non disruptive. There will undoubtedly be millions of words written about the worlds First Time Travel Project, all of which will fail to mention its real goal. The lying professions will come up with a captivating story that they will sell to the planet as the real reason for the huge effort and expenditure on the globe's largest ever machine.<br /><br /><br />Probably they will tell us it is to be used on something calm, and esoteric, like smashing together sub atomic particles....'just to see what happens'.<br /><br /><br />Now think for a minute about the world's First Ever Time Travel project...wouldn't it look a lot like the Large Hadron Collider at CERN?<br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> <br />",
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"content": "\nperpetuo autem....in the ever present now...\n\n \nThink for a minute..about the world's First Time Travel Project...\n\nby clif high, posted to minds - 8-8-2018\n\n \n\nwith respect....\n\nThink for a minute about the Manhattan Project that created the atomic bomb and ushered humans into the nuclear age. This was during world war 2 (the second such war to burden humanity by central banks), and it was not, as history tell us, a secret.\n\n\nThere were thousands of people directly involved with the Manhattan Project. There were tens of thousands involved with sub contractors and necessary infrastructure. There were hundreds of thousands of family members who were aware of the project, even if the goal was not known to them.\n\n\nThink for a minute of what was required of this effort. Not only was the atomic bomb invented, and 'perfected', but also a whole national infrastructure of nuclear facilities was created as support for the project. Everything from specialized copper wire to hardened metal containers were required and someone had to make them. Further there were new forms of materials and machines that were a necessary part of the building of the supporting environment for the atomic bomb effort, and most of those involved within these new industries were not aware of what part their products played in the creation of the Atomic Age of man.\n\n\nSo tens if not hundreds of thousands of workers were required PRIOR to the first tests of the atomic weapons that were the goal of the Manhattan Project. Many of these workers probably never knew of their contribution to that first explosion in the desert.\n\n\nNow, think for a minute about time travel. It is the same way as the atomic age. The energy requirements to 'split time' open are far greater than what is required to 'split an atom'. Thus, it will likely be the same way with time travel, as an 'industry', as it was with the nuclear infrastructure.\n\n\nIt will not be a single wild haired genius in a garage that invents the first time travel device in a car. The energy requirements are just too great. As with the Manhattan project, the first entry into corporeal time travel will require a huge infrastructure to be developed. There will be new specialty sub contractors building exotic new machines that will be required just for the building and calibration of the bigger, time travel machine. There will be hundreds of thousands of workers directly involved with the Time Travel Project, and perhaps millions of workers in sub contractor positions. There will be tens of millions of family members in 'supporting' roles for those workers.\n\n\nMuch like the Manhattan Project, it will be an 'open secret'. Millions will know of it, but not have a clue as to its real goal due to the compartmentalization and the serious crew of professional lying 'thought directors' who will do everything they can to obscure and disguise the real point of the Time Travel Project. Mostly, given how humans are, it would seem probable that these lying professionals will likely be very successful in hiding earth's first Time Travel Project.\n\n\nNow think for a moment about what this Time Travel Project will look like....it will be big, gigantic, bigger than the biggest thing or think that humans have yet accomplished. It will be strange, new, and not make much sense to those of us on the 'outside' of the 'secret'. Oh, we will certainly see it. The worlds first time travel project would be way too big to hide, so like an elephant being taken into a fancy dress cocktail party, it will have to wear a costume....to make it look entirely different, and non disruptive. There will undoubtedly be millions of words written about the worlds First Time Travel Project, all of which will fail to mention its real goal. The lying professions will come up with a captivating story that they will sell to the planet as the real reason for the huge effort and expenditure on the globe's largest ever machine.\n\n\nProbably they will tell us it is to be used on something calm, and esoteric, like smashing together sub atomic particles....'just to see what happens'.\n\n\nNow think for a minute about the world's First Ever Time Travel project...wouldn't it look a lot like the Large Hadron Collider at CERN?\n\n\n\n \n\n\n \n\n \n",
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