"To be or not to be!!!"
"What are you? A fascist?!!"

A.Fox - The Korzybski Reader

A genius uses one component in a dazzling way, fuelling it with the others. I took a sip of my drink.
“Hi there beautiful,” I said. ”Made that suicide attempt yet?”
“No,” a girl answered as she walked by. “I'm in a collective now.”
“Good for you”, I said. “Of course there's no reason one can't have collective suicides too.”

Umberto Eco - Foucault's Pendulum

“The whole universe is one giant hologram both local and non local and our brains are basically a hologram both local and non local,” explained the Vampire. “Not that our brains are necessarily the same as the universe locally or non locally. “

“But kinda like as below so above?” The Wolfman did his best to keep up or at least add to the conversation. He liked hanging with the Vampire but he tended to make the Wolfman feel a bit stupid.

“But it does mean,” the Vampire continued, “that if you cut your brain in half you still remember everything that you remembered before hand, just less clearly. It means if you cut the Universe in half everything remains the same just, eh, less clearly. So every square millimetre contains ALL the information for the entire universe.”

“Soo.........FTL is simply not necessary 'cos everywhere is, eh ........ right here!!” the Wolfman exclaimed delighted that he had drawn his own conclusion.

“Huh,” replied the Vampire, “I guess so”.

The Big Brother holding company has its HQ across from its Masonic Lodge on Alexandria Washington Street, though it appears on no map. Nothing but a nondescript 23 appears over the entrance. Few people ever pass through this door.

Most people who do their business with the BBHC (whether they know it or not) do so through the Masonic Gift shop, 22 Alexandria Washington. Behind the gift shop is situated a large hall; by day it is used as a museum for tourists displaying hints of the quirky underworld of masonry. Hints of Rosicrucians, Templars, assassins and space dogs. By night, it metamorphoses into its more insidious role, the call centre for the BBHC.

Underpaid and frightened women “operate” the indecipherable phone systems. Their magick rites crystallize the negative energy in the poor, bedazzled callers. People in debt already low in esteem are ripe for the plucking.

"Please press the pound key to continue.
I'm sorry the pound key is not a valid entry."

Royce (as instructed) projects an elephant into the hall. The bewildered beast lays on its side (as instructed) eager to please the sorceress. Royce may be underpaid but she is not frightened. She scans the hall at her co-workers. She feels genuine pity for them. Don't they realize. They have been let into a secret and they can either allow the knowledge to terrify them into impotency or they can use this knowledge to gently subvert the system.

At home she instructs her son.

"They invented the printing press to make bibles. They did this so they could control us, but it also taught us how to read. So they invented products to control us, and in the process taught us how to want. Now they use lies and the system but like anything else we can use this too. When they ask everyone to put chips in their skulls or bar codes on the hands you, my son, will be the first to volunteer. Do you understand? The more they tighten their grip, the more we will slip thru their fingers.”

The light on one of the phones begins to flash. It's a call to the local police station. According to the computer, the caller is a prime target with diminishing esteem. Ripe pluckings for BBHC. Royce presses a button and intercepts the call. It's from a woman complaining she didn't get the Western Burgers she ordered.

**************

Gurgeh unfolded the paper and tried to smooth out the creases as he put in on the table , his hands were visibly shaking. "Too much coffee", I commented.

"Look" He pointed to a line of text and read aloud

"TYr'd with all these for restfull death I cry," He paused waiting for a reaction?Maybe  I'm not sure, but having none to give he continued, " Line 911 of Shakespeare's Sonnets is the first line of Sonnet 66!" He practically exclaimed. I looked in obvious confusion, "Nine Eleven" He repeated but I still didn't get it.

" Shakespeare was warning us about nine eleven! He knew it would foretell the coming of the AntiChrist!" Was there anything working in this fucking idiots head. I just wanted to go back to bed. What fucking drugs was he on now.

"Ah G! to be sure now G I honestly don't think..." I tried to speak but it was totaly useless.

"The next 11 lines of Sonnet 66 begin with the letter A"

As to behold desert a begger borne,
And needie Nothing trimd in iollitie,
And purest faith ynhappily forsworne
And gilded honor shamefully misplast,
And maiden vertue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And arte made tung-tide by authoritie,
And Folly (Doctor-like) controuling skill,
And simple-Truth miscalled Simplicitie,
And captiue-good attending Captaine ill.

The 13th line begins with a second capital T:

Tyr'd with all these, from these would I be gone,"

********************
Message from Wavy Lines

The Cell is now two weeks from its neural equinox,already showing signs of integration with the other cells on a psychic level. Its imagination has already superseded that of Erasmus, who has become ill (his force of will has deteriorated to such a degree that he has trouble flying). Perhaps you could pass on my source code to that professor of artificial neuro-surgery with re: to helping me with the Cell. I'll get back to you.


Thomas lays on his bed, smoke rises from his joint, merges with that from an incence stick burning on top of the mantlepiece and fills his small apartment with the obvious pungent odours of a burnt out hippy. The fireplace is blocked.


From high on the wall Jimi Hendrex stares downdisprovingly. Hey Thomas you're letting me down.


He sits up, puts his bare feet on the worn carpet, the threads hurt his athletes foot as he stands up and faces the chipped mirror sitting behind the incence holder. One of his few remaing possesions, the incence holder shaped like an old lamp that Aladin migh have robbed- was nearly empty. If he was going to try again it would have to be soon.


Shit

Thomas knew he was in no shape for this trip,Fuck it he hadn't been in shape since she left and that was four fucking years ago. Back to her lesbian fucking witches coven or sumthin.

At east the tabloid horoscope was good.

Change will come your way, be open to advise given in good faith oh and if      you intend to have your soul ripped apart on the astral plane today
is also a good day. Mind how you go

The sink is full of dirty dishes which threaten to force yet a new species of disease onto this already over
populated planet. Cleaning them would be unthinkable so he forgoes his afternoon coffee. If he he could see beyond the houses out back, he would know they were coming. But the endless rows of red bricks obscure any view and since the only window is almost as dirty as his crockery there wouldn't be much of a veiw. All irrelevant anyway since he already knew that they would reach him soon. No doubt they were closing in. One house at a time, one door at a time.

Excuse me miss there has been a report of a broken........;Sorry to bother you sir but I'm from
the Utilities company....... Whatever bullshit's necesary. And of course the people believe what they're told to.

He could feel them coming. Thomas may he a fuck up indeed a burnt out hippy but he was a master and the drugs may have even helped. He could feel them as sure as he could feel the threads on the worn carpet cutting into his rotten feet.

He rubs the two day stubble while staring at his face in the mirror.;Quit fucking whining Man. You're a fucking Martyr and you know it, so lets fucking do it.</i> He picks up the incence
holder andturns his back on the mirror to face Jimi, "Guess its just you and me pal"

While sitting down cross legged on the old carpet he places the holder in front of him and stokes the remaining pieces, they should last at least
an hour.

When travel across any dimension the biggest problem is getting back. Back in the days he would have used his stereo blasting out <b>voodoo chile</b> or somesuch, but these days the
waves are full of audio and one could easily get distracted or lost. Few however use smell which is hardly surprising when you consider the toxins that the inhabitants are pumping into every plane. No dimension is now free of the pollutants that foul our fucked up home

;But once when Thomas' stereo had packed in on one of his many flights in those days, batteries dead or whatever. What should have been disastous even fatal proved not to be, once he found that he could
still smell his way back to his apartment. In fact the incence proved to be way more reliable. Anyway, he didn't have his stereo anymore.He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he contemplated the journey........Dietrich stroked his beard with his thumb,his forefinger rested on the arch of his lip.He sat in the back seat staring absently out the window.Parked outside the main entrance of the hospital, heedless of any warnings to do otherwise.Across and down the street he could see two of his men Jehovah witnesses as they moved from house to house, repeating the process that two utilites men had done not two hours previous.  was only a matter of time. All the signs indicated that he would find Thomas and kill him. He would be promoted and he would be one step closer.

He was calm. Not the excitement restrained or disciplined that might be expected of one who waited years no lifetimes and who's XXXXX was at hand. But the gentle stoic calm of indifference of a man who travels his path with the cetanty that each night will bring with it a new day and each dauy will pass as the Gods have ordainded and he must fullfill what has neen ordered of him. There is no excitement
or dissapointmentwhen there are no suprises, when all is certain.


He looked at the cube on his lap, a mixture of old world magick and new world state of the art technologies humming gently as it endlessly ran through millions of permutations, what if what if what if. Gently influencing as it observed like the beat of a butterflies wings.  Always the box reminded him

He put the cube in his pocket and flipped down the computer terminal built into the back of the passenger seat, and keyed in his personal code whist a small lens above the screen scanned his retina. He logged onto GrandPa and from there invisibly passed through the CIa INterpols and Europols MAinframes before returning to GrandPa.Nothing stirring, not unusualhe thought, well within the realms of prediction. He still had another 48 hours.