Showing posts with label The Real Game. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Real Game. Show all posts


The Lion Ring

Roaring Lion
Bronze Statue's a matter of Pride.

Lion Ring Seal With Imprint

Note: perspective is off, since She is no Artist

The Lion is a Symbol of both the Tribes Judah and Dan. Legend has it that King Solomon wore a Signet Ring that conferred magic powers to Him s.t.n. He may control the Wind, Demons and Jinn and understand the language of the animal kingdom. As King He used such a ring to Set His Seal on official documents and coduct other courtly business.

In General, a seal-making device is also referred to as the seal matrix or die; the imprint it creates is the seal impression (or, more rarely, the sealing). If the impression is made purely as a relief resulting from the greater pressure where the high parts of the matrix touch, the seal is known as a dry seal. (wikipedia)

Today, setting a seal or  'sealing' has to do with protecting from public view court documents in order to guard State Secrets or in Witness Protection programs.

No One other than King Solomon has ever seen His Ring and if they had, they would not have 'lived' to tell about it (get it, they 'die' first). Some guess that it had 4 jewels, some think it was embossed with the Star of David and inscribed with the Ineffable Name(s) of God.

Some bear the Seal (stigmata as a white scar from a heat impression) since it is never appropriate to welcome such High Heads of State (Emissaries) with the Universal One Finger Salute.

Lately I've been 'hearing' "Beautiful! Beautiful!"   -- something that my friend Paul (the 'glazier') is known to say, where most people suffice to say, "Wow!", or "Oh, My God!" or simply,  "O, Gee!"

Since that can't be a comment on Her Artistic Endeavors (that's Michael's Forte), if She is sooo beautiful and You took the Time (Out) to imprint Her with Your Stamp of Approval, why is it that You Know her name(s), address(es) and phone number(s), and yet She doesn't know the first thing about You? (Aside: I know, it's because she is a blabber mouth and is likely to post your Identity on this ProScribed blog of hers that NoBody reads, once she runs your license plates for the world wide web users to see--I really wouldn't).

Unless, it isn't a stamp of approval at all and more of a 'damned Yankee' tag--which is just as likely given what She registers as Your disappointment every time You spot Her and She 'hears' You 'say,' "...and here She is--again!"

(Another Aside: Her poor Spelling and Your obscure Stamping is a sure recipe for disaster, it's a good thing the Gramma(r) is holding up).

Addendum 06_19_2012: Okay, Mr. 'It's you!'-- What exactly are You accusing me of other than failure to pull a comb through my hair and a predilection toward weird science? 

O, and don't keep summoning me and then act like you don't know why it's me that keeps showing up!
{No bragging rights! He Says, "She's a Loaner--just until He figures out what to do with this **ing mess, doesn't give any of ewes guys a right to abuse the previledge} Who else saw Him on the Santa Monica Pedestrian bridge crossing on June 18, 2012?


So Much For Diplomatic Immunity!_%$@_817575

"It seems to me madness to wake up in the morning and do something other than paint, considering that one may not wake up the following morning." --Frank Auerbach

This Morning's Commute...That's Right, Dear, That's A Ka-Boom! on the passenger side of my vehicle...

There was very little traffic and the road was clear of any debris and I didn't see anyone standing around or notice anybody milling about, and no vehicles were immediately flanking me nor did I see anything flying around in my peripheral field of vision, sooo I was surprised to hear what sounded like a loud thunder clap and feel something impacted my vehicle, the impact coming from the passenger side. Since whatever it was didn't interfere with the vehicle's operation, I continued my commute to work and thought to check what it was once I arrived there, thinking it may have been somthing kicked up from the street after all and the worse case scenario is I would need to repair any dents and scratches.

At the first opportunity to inspect for damage I could see a white blast of something centered on the passenger door and feathering out all along the side, there was also some of it on the door handle. Disappointing, considering the car had just been detailed over the weekend and the paint had looked to be nearly as good as new. Taking my fingernail to check for the depth of what looked to be white scratches left in the silver paint I was again surprised to find that the residue fell away like ashes and relieved to see there was no damage whatsoever to the door underneath.
I would have not thought any more of it, other than some prankster standing around paintballing morning communters, but that it was not paint and for the fact that for some inexplicable reason I was in pain over the long weekend, like my legs were blown out from under me. A good reason to stay in and not talk to anybody, a sign that My Secret Admirer took to mean 'your silence means consent,' when they surfed into this site on November 25, 2011 with that search phrase. (With that they landed on a post that had the words 'consent' and 'your' and 'silence', none of which appeared together and the search phrase itself is not on the page 'If The Trees Were Pens...' --how funny, when I don't recall anyone having put any proposals to me for consent, refusal, or further comment.)

My Reaction to This Morning's Commute

Street Art by Uncertain Artist
The street artist eloquently captured my reaction to this entire affair (one where You stand by and watch me get f##ed without having the dubious pleasure of first getting laid); it's a little strange in a non Ha-Ha way how the image even bears my resemblance.

You wanna Know Why I don't talk to You?
It's not because I Think Who I AM, it's because I Know Who You ARE!

(and knowing where You All landed this is a pretty shoddy way to treat Your hostess, I must say)

Besides, isn't this some kind of 'Taming of the Shrew' excercise for You, or simply enjoying the Thrill of the chase?
As in 'don't speak unless first spoken to', 'obey the rules' (that are not for anybody else, just me)?

Not that I ever was so shrewish or in need of taming--I mean, here I go looking like I need a game keeper while weilding my crotchet needle in one hand and a thesaurus in the other! (btw, while everyone has a right to dress down casual in LA, can't you be a little more fashion forward about it?)

They are wondering why I don't go around planting a kiss on Jesus?
It's because we will each resort to this before we even consider incest!

You think I can't remember who I am?

I've had enuf time to think about it and enough kitchen jokes from my Great Aunt--we all call Her 'Auntie Christ' around here, before I give any of them the satisfaction of admitting they actually did this to me or that they can continue with their fu#$#T^Jed up campaign to China!

I pulled the telling symptoms from an earlier post, for propriety's sake and because someOne said to delete it. {That's why we are called 'isma3ilye', it's because when we hear voices, we know we are not crazy, and we listen  ಥ_ಥ}

But here I will say this much and You can Go Figure:

In Humans, the mucous/spongy tissue in the male's genetalia is predominately the urethra and in a generously endowed man the interior surface area approximated by a tube 7mm diameter and 25cm in length, or approx. 55 cm^2.

And let's assume the nerves are just as densely packed along the homologous tissue of the female genitalia which includes the vagina (but also the labia, urethra, clitoris, uterus and other structures that we will ignore to simplify the excercise); in a 30ish-year old woman who stands about 5'4" and weighs around 140 lbs and had delivered 2 children, the conservative estimate for the surface area is approximated by a tube with an average diameter of 4cm (average top to bottom vaginal canal only) and 16cm length (in fact there is no standard shape/size to the vaginal canal the diam range 2.5-8 cm and 15-20 cm long), roughly a surface area of about 180 cm^2.

That translate to at least 133% more pain for her than it ever could be for him (remember we sized him generously and ignored some of her other parts to make the idea--how shall we say--palatable).

And that's what a chemical burn along such tissue translates into and that's why We Don't Give A Fuck!

Especially when those in charge sat around talking about her 'malingering this' and 'hypochondriac that' while making sure everyone else got out safe and suppressed any hint of it in her creatively vetted medical record while pretending NOBODY was returning to that indoor toxic air cocktail where NOTHING is wrong. (Oh, gee, a false negative!). Worse, nearly 20 years have gone by and they have all gone on with their little lives, while she still walks around 'thinking about' this non-issue, because the residual pain refuses to believe it is no longer there having not been there in the first place (just like the stupid magic bruises that come and go).

{Gordon, if I find out that it's really you all these months sitting around without introducing yourself, yet announcing my presence, like anyone around here knows me, over the phone to someOne I don't know from Adam, I  can't tell you how disappointed I would be to find that out--Have Yourself a Happy Holiday, anyway.

This cautionary tale is not only directed at Gordon, but the kids as well; especially when they suspect they have caught sight of me and whisper things to each other like, 'I think that's Her.' or 'Is that Her?' or worse, 'Amazing, The Machine gets it right each time?' (yup, not just 'The Wife', but further dehumanization, as 'The Machine,' really, at least a machine does not expect to have a name, except maybe, 'La Machine!'

Or worse, when there is a silent consent by way of a nod or averted eyes--think! If someOne has to ask to be certain my identity, then maybe there is good reason for them not to know.}



It's a good thing I count slow-- gives me time to work out what the problem is; in this case it is that anything/anyone coming across this site thinks any of this is about them--well, there is more to this World than Them. Okay?

See, some people don't give a ratsass about others because they are bitter that they have to consume the least inspired cuisine on Earth with the most restrictions, not because anyone is punishing them but because Jacob was a finicky eater and apparently had some food allergies, to boot, so they don't much care about others who consume tastier food since what can be the worst thing God can do to them besides make them eat Gfilte fish?

Then there is them who feel they sin so beyond redemption that God will wipe out everything and everyone on Earth since others can't be doing any better than they are, especially if they finally see the light and repent and are SAVED because then they will get air-lifted off the face of the Earth before God comes down really hard on them thar sinners. Not stopping to consider God has no reason to ever reproach most Buddhists living on the Earth because they seem to do pretty well with just applying the Golden Rule, and they are good for the Earth; on average don't run amok against each other, and seem to do really well in school; so, why should they be wiped out if they don't have the same guilt complex as them 'we-gonna-be-air-lifted-out-of-here-everytime-we-miscall-the-end-of-the-world'?
Then there is the regular garden variety them 'holier-than-thou-'cause-i-can't-read-a-word-of-scripture-but-i-follow-the-fella-with-the-rattiest-beard'; who for the most part just wing it, or shout it, shoot it, or blow it up to make a point about something nobody else much cares about because they're all having trouble making ends meet or taking their accounts off-shore.

So, My Dear Michael, on 3 you will pick your target(s) knowing how I feel about above ground power lines and faulty infrastructure. I would just aim for the nodes and not over think this thing; don't worry if you hit me, because it ain't like I ain't been burned before. It's set up so that even a misfire will hit an intended target, and activate. That's a Kammand. 3!
{What do I need Mikey for? Well, for the simple reason that I am Dead, and You never thought I would have so much fun at it! I know that my actions have no effect in that world I so gladly departed, I couldn't even get my kids to observe their curfew; but having died very effectively and somehow having my kids join me, I have no heirs left behind and that's why I have an Executor! So, Bro, Execute--I'm not kidding; I mean really, if I'm not here to rearrange the furniture, or the scenery, then what? I know it's not my cooking or fine fashion sense that has Him keeping around--yeah, I got lots of compliments on my shoes lately, but it ain't like I don't know You paid those guys to say as much! I mean really--young men who look like commandos admiring my granny purple shoes! How much did You have to pay them for that exactly?

What gave it away?
Well, the first one was a really buff 30-something black guy that just happened to notice my shoes while I was waiting to cross the street. Not only does he admire my shoes as he finishes up calling in his exact location when he approaches me, but it's like shoes are the last thing a man like that would ever notice on a woman--any hot rocker chick would consider him a conquest. And he really plays up the part, he asks for my number and then when I tell him my kid is dating someone his age, he offers me dinner-- a drink--anything? And I'm like what would I do with a guy like you if I took them home?--pull out the measuring cups, pre-heat the oven and teach them how to bake cookies? Let's try to 'keep it real' fellas.

And then not 3 days later, some other guys are like illegally parked at my place of business and after sitting in their car for over an hour jamming my internet, tapping my phone line, or calling in an air strike, I step out to see if they need assistance, since clearly the on-site parking is for clients only. Then this giant of a man sitting in the car with his buddy thank me for my concern, but they are really just waiting for a friend who went across the street for something and they are from out of town and they won't be long.

Fine, since they are out-of-towners, I let them know that they can park in the mall parking lot all day for like a dollar across the street, but the big guy says he'd rather valet his car. Like that makes as much sense to me as being an out of towner with Nevada plates; I thought Nevadans were desert-commuting Angelenos.

So, I let them wait for their friend to return with the caveat that they not leave their car unattended, since the boss gets a great deal of pleasure in having such vehicles towed away. They thank me for the courtesy and as I get back to work, the big guy says, "Nice shoes!" and I'm like, "Someone must have PAID you to say that!" He doesn't deny it, just adds, "Yeah, but I do like'em." use, I can't piece together the story after getting kicked out of the Mosque...maybe it was a bit too ambitious--my having gone back to '84...maybe if I recount something later, like around '98, '99, or 2000.

Maybe it will finally help answer Your question, "What! Are you Clueless? Stupid? Menopausal?"

My answer, "It's not like I'm deliberately not trying to be Obtuse, just to keep up pretenses!"

In retrospect, it's really hard to believe the stories, not because they are some kind of embroidered fish tales, or flights of fancy, but because the events were so marginally extraordinary that it was easier to rationalize them into some type of mundane happenstance than to have to see them for how surreal or truly removed from Reality they really were.

I think it was sometime around 1999, not any later than 2000, when I was asked to audit a meeting related to work at Point Mugu (according to my records, it was Tuesday, December 10, 1996). Good luck finding the video, meeting minutes, or video log on that one, but I was not the only one there and it couldn't have been a more conventional work-related activity.

Working for a regulatory agency, go sit in on a meeting, take some notes, fill out a mileage expense report, and write a summary. Inconvenient in that I would have to log over 70 miles on my vehicle or commute an extra 60 miles to pick up a company car to avoid having to do that, fight the traffic, and try not to toss my cookies should I cave in to a chronic illness that my doctors were trying to convince me was due to stress, or allergies, or a misguided need for attention.

It was a particularly grey day as I headed out from home directly to the base before sunrise to allow time for the commute and not be late for that morning's meeting. I got past the security gate, found the building where I was told to check in, parked, got out of the car, put on my jacket, tried not to look like I was just released from a 3 week hold in the psych ward for complaining of a massive 3-year headache and pain in my shins that felt like they imploded which made me turn into a screaming mimi around my kids. The burning sensation in my skin and funny audio-visual effects were like minor inconveniences compared to the sudden projectile vomiting and pain in my chest that felt like a heart attack but was not a heart attack, they tried to convince me it was something I ate.

I remember thinking I needed to wear a jacket over the skirt I had on, not only to look more professional and pulled-together, but because I had recently lost about 20% of my body weight and my skirt wasn't fitting right. A jacket can hide a lot of flaws and when you're sitting down, all anyone else sees is the neatly tailored jacket (if you remember not to slouch).

As the majority of meeting attendees gathered in the reception area, a polite man in uniform walked us into the conference room, I think he gave us a little run down of what they were doing that morning, and we may have stepped into one of the control rooms on the way, but I'm not so clear on that. I know he mentioned something about some testing they were doing over one of the Channel Islands.

I was more than happy to quietly find my way to a seat around the conference table and just get off my feet once the little tour was over. I knew some of the people in attendance; some of them I had lengthy telephone discussions with in the past, others I had actually met over the course of my work on this particular issue. They probably thought I was standoffish or ill that day, but all I was doing was trying to get through what promised to be a long meeting followed by a long drive home.

The meeting didn't get underway once we all settled in, apparently someone was running late. The door to the conference room was left open in anticipation of the one to get this thing started. A man was standing by the door, a further clue that there was someone else expected to join us.

After a minute or two, an officer comes through the door. I guess he was an officer; he had stuff on his shoulders (not bird droppings), thingamajigs on his lapels (not breakfast) and more stuff on his breast pocket (not from a leaky pen)--the decorations were how his important stature gets communicated in some unspoken language to let everyone else know he can operate equipment the rest of us couldn't, or that he can press a very important button the rest of us shouldn't.

His fashionable lateness and overall deportment led me to think he must be an important fixture at the base, probably one of the people who get to use the $3,000 toilets or the super-high-tech urinals--the digital ones that sing or light up when they sense moisture--or whatever is the selling point for top-gun urinals-- I don't use them so I'm not well-informed on that subject.

I remember looking up when he arrived because I heard him speaking and not because I was watching the door. I guess that was the intention, arriving fashionably late to make an entrance, and he leans in a little to the man awaiting his arrival and says, "Do you know who that is?"

The fella, thinking he was motioning at me since I was not a regular attendee to the meeting says, "Someone the agency sent over to audit the meeting."

And without missing a beat, the late-comer says, "That's my Wife!"

On hearing this, I turn to the woman sitting nearby that I know to be a contractor charged with writing a formal report on the subject of the meeting and wonder how she and her company got past the nepotism clause on this one; if she is married to the top brass and writing a report that is clearly supposed to make recommendations that would be a conflict of interest with the operations at the base. A report that the contractor gets paid twice my annual income to write based on findings my agency generates and are in the public domain; basically free for the asking--which is how I knew her, she asked me and I gave her the information for free.

In retrospect, I now know that he was not referring to her, and over a decade later, I get why the term 'the WIFE' is so offensive to me. It conjures up images of the Wired Integrated Female Electroencephalograph (aka Karen Plankton, first television appearance July 1999 episode of Spongebob Squarepants). She can be wall mounted, or mobile, and she has a nag-chip installed along with a Chicago accent. Can't get much more offensive than that--if that doesn't make you want to push that button, Michael, I don't know what will.

Maybe this--the fact that I have been forced into performing all of the duties of a wife, without having any of the privileges such a station entails. Some say they can't live in a world without Love, the very ones who turn around and make like they don't believe there is a God, or in extreme cases think that they are God.

I never believed that. Just take a gander at this blog. I actually am not intending to prove the existence of God for my own edification, since clearly I can articulate the concept to those reading here that I've known there is One all along.

I wanted to prove it to them, because when they whisper to each other how 'weird' it is, or marvel at how I can 'rationalize' what happened to me, I can demonstrate what I have known all along, and believed all along--unequivocally-- that there is A Final Justice, An Ultimate Truth, by virtue of the fact that there is only ONE Outside Observer--God.

That's why where there is essentially a Multitude of possible Outcomes (The Multiverse); we all experience just one Reality (a common history)---that one which is His Singular Point of View (Viewing Plane). The only one that is the Absolute Truth (where all the divergence is ablated, parallel lines converge, the Node, The Zero Point Field--watchmacallit, I know You get Me).


Mad, Glad, And Sad

How often does the word 'bipolar' appear in syndicated crossword puzzles? (NY Times 25.03.2010)

المص 7:1
كهيعص 19:1
ص وَالْقُرْآنِ ذِي الذِّكْرِ 38:1

7:1 Alef.Lam.Mim.Saad
19:1 Kaf.Ha.Ya. 'Ayn.Saad
38:1 Saad. By This Recitation Worthy of Remembrance...

قُلْ مَن كَانَ عَدُوًّا لِّجِبْرِيلَ
فَإِنَّهُ نَزَّلَهُ عَلَى قَلْبِكَ بِإِذْنِ اللّهِ مُصَدِّقاً
لِّمَا بَيْنَ يَدَيْهِ وَهُدًى وَبُشْرَى لِلْمُؤْمِنِينَ 2:97
2:97 Say: "Who can be an Enemy to Gabriel? He Imparted It to your Heart by God's Authorization; Certifying what is 'between their hands' (prior Revelation); a Guidance and Glad Tiding to the Believers."
مَن كَانَ عَدُوًّا لِّلّهِ وَمَلآئِكَتِهِ وَرُسُلِهِ وَجِبْرِيلَ
وَمِيكَالَ فَإِنَّ اللّهَ عَدُوٌّ لِّلْكَافِرِينَ 2:98
2:98 Whoever is an Enemy to God and His Angels and His Messengers
and Gabriel and Michael, (know) that God is an Enemy to (Does Not Support/Is Against) the Unbelievers.

مَا ضَلَّ صَاحِبُكُمْ وَمَا غَوَى 53:2
53:2 Your Companion is Neither Crazy Nor Deluded
وَمَا يَنطِقُ عَنِ الْهَوَى 53:3
53:3 And Does Not Speak Of his Own Accord
53:4 نْ هُوَ إِلَّا وَحْيٌ يُوحَى
53:4 He is Revealing What is Revealed
عَلَّمَهُ شَدِيدُ الْقُوَى 53:5
53:5 Someone Mightier Has Taught him

{-Do you Remember when we all landed in the psych ward and all we could think to do was send out for pizza?
-Yes, but I still don't know how You got the broken D# key to play through Fur Elise or how on Earth you managed to check into a secure ward with a lit cigarette in your hand without anyone asking you to put it out--I should have held on to the number you gave me, but I wouldn't have known what to say.}


Cloudy Or Clear

Chapters 88 Ghashya (Obfuscation/Cloudy; also Overwhelming, as in Preponderance of Evidence) and 98 Banyiah (Elucidating/Clear) may be referring to the Weather, but it is more than likely that these chapters are talking about Evidence.

Signs 88:2-88:7 describe what happens to those who thought they got away with the cover-up (a good assignment for independent reading) and Signs 88:8-88:12 compare the reaction and position of those who finally can benefit from removing the murkiness. And while Signs 88:13-88:16 seem to digress and go on about the Furniture, the subject at the heart of the matter is how Evidence Furnishes Proof.

88 Ghashiyah (Obfuscation/Cloudy; Trance)

هَلْ أَتَاكَ حَدِيثُ الْغَاشِيَةِ 88:1
88:1 Have you been given the discourse (the truth) about the Obfuscation (clouded/suppressed/obfuscated/zero-foot-printed Evidence, in other words 'the cover-up'; or Trance)
وُجُوهٌ يَوْمَئِذٍ نَّاعِمَةٌ 88:8
88:8 Some faces that day will be blissful

لِسَعْيِهَا رَاضِيَةٌ 88:9
88:9 Satisfied with their quest

88:10 فِي جَنَّةٍ عَالِيَةٍ
88:10 In a superior/high/lofty garden (protected prosperity)

88:11 لَّا تَسْمَعُ فِيهَا لَاغِيَةً
88:11 They will not hear therein any relapse/reflux/(negative feedback/inane talk)

فِيهَا عَيْنٌ جَارِيَةٌ 88:12
88:12 Wherein is a running spring (active/recurring state; ongoing supply)

88:13 فِيهَا سُرُرٌ مَّرْفُوعَةٌ
88:13 Wherein (there are) lofty/raised couches (seats/beds/ but also 'briefing/or summary statements presented in a particular way')

وَأَكْوَابٌ مَّوْضُوعَةٌ 88:14
88:14 And cups placed (cup==one's lot in life & placed==subject to study/on view/exhibition)

وَنَمَارِقُ مَصْفُوفَةٌ 88:15
88:15 And cushions matrixed (cushions==pads==protection/protective and مَصْفُوفَةٌ ==matrixed or arrayed; and Nothing Protects quite like the 'Mantle of Death'--does it go with what I'm wearing? --Oh, and I hear tell you got my mail--please forward!)

88:16 وَزَرَابِيُّ مَبْثُوثَةٌ
88:16 And carpets scattered (زَرَابِيُّ ==carpets or rugs but also coverings; زَرَا ==buttons or keys; مَبْثُوثَةٌ ==broadcast, scattered far and wide (ie., keys or buttons that transmit or broadcast far and wide;; the more fantastic rendering is 'cloaking device')

98 Baniyah (Elucidating/Clear Evidence)

لَمْ يَكُنِ الَّذِينَ كَفَرُوا مِنْ أَهْلِ الْكِتَابِ وَالْمُشْرِكِينَ مُنفَكِّينَ حَتَّى تَأْتِيَهُمُ الْبَيِّنَةُ 98:1
98:1 The Disbelievers from among the People Of The Book and the Polytheists were not unfettered (lit. untight) until they were given The Clear Evidence (Al-Baniyah)

رَسُولٌ مِّنَ اللَّهِ يَتْلُو صُحُفًا مُّطَهَّرَةً 98:2
98:2 A Messenger from God Reading Purified/Clean Scripture (untainted Newspapers/uncorrupted printed accounts of the News)

فِيهَا كُتُبٌ قَيِّمَةٌ 98:3
98:3 In it Valuable Books/Writings (a prescription/compilation/inscription to appraise/evaluate/account by)

وَمَا تَفَرَّقَ الَّذِينَ أُوتُوا الْكِتَابَ إِلَّا مِن بَعْدِ مَا جَاءتْهُمُ الْبَيِّنَةُ 98:4
98:4 And they who were given the Books (Inscriptions) did not Differ/become Differentiated until after there came to them The Clear Evidence (Elucidated Evidence)

(In other words, 'There was No Difference among those who were given the Books/Writings (People of the Book) until after they were given The Clear Evidence' (Now, you tell me, what 'Jew?,' what 'Christian?,' what 'Muslim?'...yada yada yada....All hatched from the one egg!)

Simply put, there are not now nor have there ever been any apparent (genetic, birthright, etc.) differences between People as one ilk being Superior or Inferior to others (ie. Chosen); the only difference is Ideological--and methinks lacking the Ability to Grasp such a Concept has turned Many of the Denizens of this here Planet into Idiots!


The Trip To A Museum

...or How To Keep'm Separated

And still Not Enough Distance:

43 Zukhruf (Gilded with Gold)

43:38 حَتَّى إِذَا جَاءنَا قَالَ يَا لَيْتَ بَيْنِي وَبَيْنَكَ بُعْدَ الْمَشْرِقَيْنِ فَبِئْسَ الْقَرِينُ

43:38 In Time (After some Length), when he comes to Us, he says: "Would that between me and you were the distance of the Orients! Such evil company!"



Manamanamanaman... ar. 'I am dreaming'
Man am... en. 'Man I am'
Man am... par. 'It's Me'

The above furthers our discussion on language and its proper usage.

"I believe that always, or almost always, in all childhoods and in all the lives that follow them, the mother represents madness. Our mothers always remain the strangest, craziest people we've ever met."
Marguerite Duras

The following is a restorative Sanity Check. Many of you are old enough to read this by now having first heard it over 12 years ago. See if you can remember how to fill in the blanks.

'Children. Children! This is your_____
If you can hear this, IF YOU CAN HEAR THIS
Then Know that you have _______'

You probably also can remember the rest; what you were supposed to do then and what you should be doing now.

After you finish with what you are doing, have had some nourishment and a little rest, you might like to read James Rogers' PhD, Our Keys to a Golden Future, Peace, Abundance, Fulfillment, Joy.
This self-published opus (Mar. 2008, ISBN 978-1-4347-0862-4) was adequate reading with a couple of points of interest, however, it was catalogued under Humanities, History, making the subject matter a bit misleading. The author does admit it was published in a rush and without a final edit, which begs the question, What's the hurry? Had it been indexed as fiction, I may have enjoyed it more.

Excerpts from Our Keys to a Golden Future...:

' The lesson for us is 'Don't blame the Sphinx, or God, or Queen Elizabeth, the Pope, or even the Man in the Moonscape.' When we stop blaming other people for something we do ourselves, love will be let out of prison. (The author's broad-stroke presumption being we all share the issues he has with love).

Of course, all of the above is metaphorical despite the embedded truth. (Note to self--has not yet mastered the use of metaphor).
Reality is a bit harsher. (Yes, when you are deliberately poisoned then have people try to white-wash it, and then say you did it to yourself, Reality Sucks Lemons!)The prison of love is not built of stone, bricks, steel bars, it is built of bioelectric grids in the human brain. (Again, here the author is professing we share his stilted love issues and builds a case to somehow justify tampering with the brain's 'bioelectric grid'). Now and then love is let out of prison on 'work release' and we get glimpses (I must needs to interject---those of us knowing where our Love/Heart is at had no need for a 'work release' since to many of us it was already a labor of Love). But, as I say, only now and then.' (p 3) (Funny, I still see those Waxie Time trucks everywhere and over-built steel cans of 'air freshener' with metered nozzles--indicating this 'only now and then' cosmic event is still happing more often than not--don't you think?)
Then the author goes on to describe an interaction between space Cadet JPLTRML (rough translation 'Hill of Sand', or better yet Jet Propulsion Labs Training Mojave/Las Vegas (Fort Irwin?) and his/her mission to go down to 3-dimensional Earth; an interesting dialogue but not as sensitively handled as Gordon Egan's The Real Game.

This detour into JPLTRML's assignment is followed promptly with a rather invigorating chapter aptly titled Speculative Pre-History wherein a hairy gibbon by the name Evi is rudely launched out of a tree in a painful fit of a seizure from a cosmic (comic?) event taking place 250,000 miles away that manages to spew particles into a compromised ozone layer plunging the unwelcomed beam into her head.

The effect being:

'....some neurons probably died...billions of neurons..scrambled, severing synapses by the million and making new ones by the billion.

From that moment on, Evi was different from the other(s)...' and takes her other gibbon friend Adamie aside, shows him a few things, and they have kids together.

The author elucidates us further;

'Whether the cosmic shock had fried some neurons or 'jump started' new modules may never be known. Almost certainly, Evi had a headache for a few hours as her discombobulated neurons formed and reformed strategic alliances, all according to neurological programming provided by biology for such emergencies.'
And then comes the topper---the author's ominous warning and thrown gauntlet: 'Now that you have been warned, what are you going to do?'

A L M الم Command

eStop Functions
eReach Final Answer //Computer, recall you were set to work on this over 14 years ago, so a
final answer is reached by now//
eRun Final Answer

//Henry, how are we doing on that fractal subroutine? No further instructions necessary. //

eResume Functions


Children, do you see how tiresome this all is?

This thinly guised cosmic event about Evi (who BTW is not all that hairy, has never been known to sleep in a tree except with a hammock) that triggered Evi's headache (that has lasted more that 14 years thus far and not 'The almost certainly few hours') espoused by James Rogers PhD, actually took place while she was at work, in a building sealed tighter than Fort Knox with automatically dispensing 'air fresheners' carefully formulated with known asphyxiants and neurotoxic chemicals. She had the misfortune of making the connection between what was in the can and why everyone was getting sick.

She, having earned one of the best undergraduate degrees she could muster on a full scholarship and attempting to do some public good while raising her young, beautiful family (none of whom are all that hairy or related to any primates) was sensitized to this ambiance and with deliberate and malicious intent on the part of all those involved in orchestrating this cosmic/comic event (the they); she was made to succumb to it. First, by her employer that refused to move her out of the building as they had done for all the other sensitized co-workers, and then by her treating physician's refusal to grant her a medical leave of absence in order to avoid the toxic environment without going AWOL until the toxic spill was remedied. There were of course supporting actors in this scheme of things like the other doctors who were not really doctors but posers (one MD comes to mind, who is licensed in CA but only has a mailbox and no one has seen her or knows anything about her at the clinic she has presumably been working for over 14 years), and others who have a knack for re-writing her medical history or magically making her medical records go missing altogether. After about a dozen years of giving them the benefit of the doubt and trying to believe it was all an unfortunate accident she finally had to face the fact that they sadistically set her up for all this punishment.

And they did not stop at poisoning her then refusing her treatment. They had to discredit her, marginalize her, OD her, institutionalize her, deprive her children of their mother during their formative years, stress out her husband and make him doubt her, alienate her (and she is convinced they abused her body when she was unconscious and can not account for time lost while transiting from Harbor UCLA to UCLA Medical Center), and then stuck her with the bill for that ambulance ride. And this is how they treat Our good will.

Ash-Shu'ara (The Poets)
وَإِذَا بَطَشْتُم بَطَشْتُمْ جَبَّارِينَ 26:130

26:130 And will you, when you lay a hand, lay a hand cruelly, without any restraint?

Why couldn't she just quit? Somehow, her young children were convinced they needed food to eat and shoes on their feet and her spouse refused to accept widowerhood.

Clearly, James Rogers PhD has kept up with the subject matter here at A Page In The Life but just doesn't sound authentic. In fact, he may not really exist.

Holy Quran
Fussilat (Explained in Detail)

سَنُرِيهِمْ آيَاتِنَا فِي الْآفَاقِ وَفِي أَنفُسِهِمْ حَتَّى يَتَبَيَّنَ لَهُمْ أَنَّهُ الْحَقُّ أَوَلَمْ يَكْفِ بِرَبِّكَ أَنَّهُ عَلَى كُلِّ شَيْءٍ شَهِيدٌ 41:53

41:53 We will show them our Signs (Our messages) in the utmost (farthest, highest) Horizons and within them­selves, so that it will become clear to them that this is indeed the truth. Is it not enough that your Sustainer is witness to everything?

Zaryati (The Scattering Winds)

وَفِي الْأَرْضِ آيَاتٌ لِّلْمُوقِنِينَ 51:20
وَفِي أَنفُسِكُمْ أَفَلَا تُبْصِرُونَ 51:21

51:20 And on the Earth there are signs to those endowed with inner certainty,
51:21 just as within your own beings: can you not see (are you so unaware)?

And did she even get a 'work release' to regroup, restore--recover? No such animal--because her employer refused to acknowledge any neurological damage had been done to her (so much for the 'brain power grid' discourse). Instead she has been forced to continue working just to keep her medical benefit so that she can continue to treat for damage that was only expected to last for a couple of hours because they--the 'event planners'-- thought they were dealing with monkey brains like their own and not what once was a genuine human's brain.

But, don't feel too bad for Evi; while her neurons were not adept at making new alliances, it appears that she herself did.

31 Luqman

وَمَن يُسْلِمْ وَجْهَهُ إِلَى اللَّهِ وَهُوَ مُحْسِنٌ فَقَدِ اسْتَمْسَكَ بِالْعُرْوَةِ الْوُثْقَى وَإِلَى اللَّهِ عَاقِبَةُ الْأُمُورِ 31:22

31:22 Whoever submits his whole self to God, and does good overall, has indeed grasped a most trustworthy hand-hold: and with God rests the End and Decision of (all) affairs.

You can't see them, you can hardly hear them, and you can't sense them readily in any other way; but when she got to the point where 'the buck stops here' He had something to say about it and now you can't see them, you can't hear them, you can't sense them in any other way.

And if a few of them managed to get away, rest assured there is not a rock or mountain big enough for them to hide under, because as it turns out her alliances have quite a reach.

Al-An'am (The Cattle)

وَعِندَهُ مَفَاتِحُ الْغَيْبِ لاَ يَعْلَمُهَا إِلاَّ هُوَ وَيَعْلَمُ مَا فِي الْبَرِّ وَالْبَحْرِ وَمَا تَسْقُطُ مِن وَرَقَةٍ إِلاَّ يَعْلَمُهَا
وَلاَ حَبَّةٍ فِي ظُلُمَاتِ الأَرْضِ وَلاَ رَطْبٍ وَلاَ يَابِسٍ إِلاَّ فِي كِتَابٍ مُّبِينٍ 6:59

6:59 And with Him are the keys to the things that are imperceptible, none knows them but He. All that is on the land and in the sea; and not a leaf falls but He knows it; and neither a grain in the earth's deep darkness, nor anything living or dead, but is recorded in an evident decree (record, book).

Why did He have to step in allofasudden?
It turns out she couldn't think of a crime big enough to commit that would earn her the pain and suffering they fomented on her and her family with their 'get-love-out-of-jail-fast' routine.
Al-Imran (The Family of Imran)

مَّا كَانَ اللّهُ لِيَذَرَ الْمُؤْمِنِينَ عَلَى مَآ أَنتُمْ عَلَيْهِ حَتَّىَ يَمِيزَ الْخَبِيثَ مِنَ الطَّيِّبِ وَمَا كَانَ اللّهُ لِيُطْلِعَكُمْ عَلَى الْغَيْبِ
3:179 وَلَكِنَّ اللّهَ يَجْتَبِي مِن رُّسُلِهِ مَن يَشَاء فَآمِنُواْ بِاللّهِ وَرُسُلِهِ وَإِن تُؤْمِنُواْ وَتَتَّقُواْ فَلَكُمْ أَجْرٌ عَظِيمٌ

3:179 It is not God's will to abandon the believers to your ways: so He will set apart the bad from the good

Al-An'am (The Cattle)

قُل لاَّ أَقُولُ لَكُمْ عِندِي خَزَآئِنُ اللّهِ وَلا أَعْلَمُ الْغَيْبَ وَلا أَقُولُ لَكُمْ إِنِّي مَلَك
إِنْ أَتَّبِعُ إِلاَّ مَا يُوحَى إِلَيَّ قُلْ هَلْ يَسْتَوِي الأَعْمَى وَالْبَصِيرُ أَفَلاَ تَتَفَكَّرُونَ 6:50)

6:50 Say: "I do not say to you, 'God's treasures are with me’, ‘nor do I know the things that are beyond the reach of human perception'; nor do I say to you, 'Behold, I am an angel'…

Al-A'raf (The Heights)

قُل لاَّ أَمْلِكُ لِنَفْسِي نَفْعًا وَلاَ ضَرًّا إِلاَّ مَا شَاء اللّهُ وَلَوْ كُنتُ أَعْلَمُ الْغَيْبَ لاَسْتَكْثَرْتُ مِنَ الْخَيْرِ وَمَا مَسَّنِيَ السُّوءُ إِنْ أَنَاْ إِلاَّ نَذِيرٌ وَبَشِيرٌ لِّقَوْمٍ يُؤْمِنُونَ

7:188 Say: "I can not bring benefit or harm to myself, except as God wills. And if I knew what is beyond that of human perception, abundant good fortune would surely have befallen me, and no evil would ever have touched me. I am nothing but a Warner, and a herald of glad tidings to people who will believe."


New World View

Despite all that's happened I find the one thing I resent more than not being treated equitably is being Censored...One can always say this is all 'experimental fiction.' I mean is it news to you that God put everything in your hands and all you can think to do is set fire to each other?


Think Different

Now, your turn--pick your favorite subject and help Us make You a Vortex Engine!


One But Not The Same

K H Y 'Ayn Saad كهيعص Command Language


Track : do c=1,present population

Span Z0

If Z0<>1

Z=Z0^2 + c //This answers John’s question “Where was the explosion?”//
Code Z=” ”&delete Z //This is how I stick to my answer because they all pretended like DO Track

As evidenced by the pseudo code above I lay claim to being the worse programmer in all the Universe(s), but so as not to be out done by a 4 year old in a Ninja costume (black cape optional), I am not too proud to at least make an attempt.

If by any chance the Master Programmer in all the Universe(s) comes across this Bridge and finds others do not like what I have come up with, please add a fractal algorithm of your choosing providing a subroutine whereby ‘they’ may ‘leave.’


Forms, Shapes, Depictions, And Rides

There are compelling reasons not to be misled into thinking anything or anyone can actually ever usurp any kind of power from God; and why it is imperitive not to have any preconceived images of what God is.

Al-A'la (The Maximal (Uppermost))

(87:1) سَبِّحِ اسْمَ رَبِّكَ الْأَعْلَى
(87:2) الَّذِي خَلَقَ فَسَوَّى

(87:1) Glorify the name of your Lord, the Supreme (Maximal; Uppermost)
(87:2) who creates, and ‘sawa’ (delineates, makes, forms, describes, shapes, levels, squares, planes out, organizes, categorizes, arranges, ranks…)

Al 'Imran (Jesus' Family--The House of 'Imran)
(3:6) هُوَ الَّذِي يُصَوِّرُكُمْ فِي الأَرْحَامِ كَيْفَ يَشَاء لاَ إِلَـهَ إِلاَّ هُوَ الْعَزِيزُ الْحَكِيمُ

(3:6) He depicts you in the wombs (places of Mercy/Matrices) as He wills. There is no deity but Him, the Almighty, the Truly Wise.

( يُصَوِّرُكُمْ means to picture or imagine; no doubt where the phrase 'in his own image' comes from misdirecting us into thinking somehow God looks like a person and acts like one, but the true value of this phrase is that we are what God imagines us to 'Be'--if there is a 'person' out there that can do that-- create something from nothing but their imagination--I would most certaintly love to meet them--otherwise, let's come to terms with our own humanity and be grateful we think we are here).

As-Sajdah (The Prostration)

(32:9) ثُمَّ سَوَّاهُ وَنَفَخَ فِيهِ مِن رُّوحِهِ وَجَعَلَ لَكُمُ السَّمْعَ وَالْأَبْصَارَ وَالْأَفْئِدَةَ قَلِيلًا مَّا تَشْكُرُونَ

(32:9) and then He delineates (‘sawa = lit. levels; makes, forms, describes, shapes, squares, planes out, organizes, categorizes, arranges, ranks…) him, and breathes into him of His spirit: and He endows you with hearing, and sight, and hearts (sensitivity; feelings; minds); seldom are you grateful.

(Parenthetically, if the abortion issue means anything to you, you may want to study the above passage to try and settle when a zygote is just a clump of cells and when does it become a living viable human fetus)

Al-Hashr (The Gathering)

(59:24) هُوَ اللَّهُ الْخَالِقُ الْبَارِئُ الْمُصَوِّرُ لَهُ الْأَسْمَاء الْحُسْنَى يُسَبِّحُ لَهُ مَا فِي السَّمَاوَاتِ وَالْأَرْضِ وَهُوَ الْعَزِيزُ الْحَكِيمُ

(59:24) He is God, the Creator, the Maker, the Depicter! His are the attributes (names) of perfection. All that is in the Heavens and Earth worship Him: for He is the Almighty, the Truly Wise!

Nahl (Bees)

(16:8) وَالْخَيْلَ وَالْبِغَالَ وَالْحَمِيرَ لِتَرْكَبُوهَا وَزِينَةً وَيَخْلُقُ مَا لاَ تَعْلَمُونَ

(16:8) And (He creates) horses, mules, and donkeys, for you to ride and for their beauty; and He creates things that as yet you have no knowledge. (Some of which you now call UFOs—any guesses as to who the riders are?)
Now to proffer a few words of comfort to those among us who have actually been instructed to shoot them down and are now having an ‘aha! moment’; no worries really, among the riders could be your mothers and by far they make for safe targets because they don’t generally shoot back and what child doesn’t secretly harbor the fantasy of shooting their mom? In fact, the need to shoot one’s Mom must be quite pervasive as it provides comic fodder for prime time TV; Family Guy chronicles baby Stewie’s fantasy to do in his mom Lois at least every other episode.

While someOne goes to great lengths to ensure you have mothers, we all know they are the last people their children ever listen to; and that's why I questioned why I should bother at all (Michael) because a couple of years of diaper duty would have been absolution enough for me.

Al A'raf (The Heights)

(7:198) وَإِن تَدْعُوهُمْ إِلَى الْهُدَى لاَ يَسْمَعُواْ وَتَرَاهُمْ يَنظُرُونَ إِلَيْكَ وَهُمْ لاَ يُبْصِرُونَ

(7:198) and if you call them to guidance, they do not hear; and you may think they see you (pay attention to you) but they do not."

This last Sign is a tad troublesome since this particular convergence has been a difficult one. Understanding that the Ayat (Signs) can be understood on a multitude of levels, I think a practical explanation is called for at this time. First, like the others, Ayah (7:198) can be taken at face value and it might even seem a bit mundane; but please be cautioned that there is a deeper meaning.
The other day I was standing at the market service counter when a young couple came up to place their order. The young man stood close to the case so he could place his order and his companion took a couple of steps back in order to have a more panoramic view of what was on display in the deli case. A server called the next number and a patron whose number was called came over to the very spot that was right in front of the young man's companion; not only blocking her view and inserting herself between the couple, but seemed completely oblivious to the young woman now only about an inch behind her.

The young woman was so incensed at this patron's rudeness that she blurted out her frustration at being so completely insulted by what appeared to be such a total disregard for her 'space' and took a few steps away from the offender and around to my side; still muttering to herself how she can't understand how anyone can be so rude! The patron was in a state of absolute shock that this young lady was carrying on like that and the confusion registered in her eyes and the questioning look she shot at me, who happened to be observing this scene unfold.

I could tell it was not in the offended party's character that she was given to such a tirade, and it was painfully obvious to me that the patron clearly did not even see this young lady (tall as she was with very long, thick black hair--you would think no one could miss her) simply standing there when she cut in front of her. Despite my strong predilection to keep to myself I had to say something to explain to both of them what had just happened and I kept it in simple terms.

Patron: "What just happened?"
Me (as gently as possible): "She is upset that you just cut in front of her. She was standing right there."
Young Woman (still in a huff, embarrassed this is out of character for her): "How can anyone be so rude!"
Patron (still stunned, because she absolutely did not see her, but sincere): "I am sorry, I didn't see you standing there. I didn't mean to be rude."

The young lady collected herself and went back to the other side where her mate was standing, and the thoroughly bewildered patron moved away from them, having woken up to the fact that just moments before she was completely oblivious to someone whose physical stature actually dwarfed everyone else's in the vicinity.


The Real Game

There’s some characters amongst them. That’s for sure. There’s one bloke who sure looks like he needs to get a few burgers into him. He’s the skinniest critter that u’s have ever seen. His arms r pretzels and his legs r matchsticks.

He moves like strings r attached to them. His nickname u’s soon discover is Brains. Obviously because that is the widest part of him. That’s his main muscle.
He’s wucken skinny though.

A 3 out of 10 fart would blow him away.

by Gordon Egan