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Exponential Uncertainties



by


Gordon McWhorter





























Dedicated to my Mother, who always reads my stories...”






















"It is possible to believe that all the past is but the beginning of a beginning, and that all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn. It is possible to believe that all that the human mind has ever accomplished is but the dream before the awakening.... All this world is heavy with the promise of greater things, and a day will come, one day in the unending succession of days, when beings, beings who are now latent in our thoughts and hidden in our loins, shall stand upon this earth as one stands upon a footstool, and shall laugh and reach out their hands amidst the stars." -- H. G. Wells


Gravity is faster than the speed of light.


Three involuntary muscle spasms inhabit your being: They are tree muscles left over as a gift from your true parents, the Trees.


Laughter is the first.


Crying is the second.


Sexual Orgasm is the third.


3.3.3


Frank Herbert is the most correct in imagining the future of Earth and its space knowing hominids.


All life: Animal and human, plant and tree has DNA. All things with DNA will weep with joy or sadness, laugh with pure amusement, and orgasm in the act of duplication. If sex did not feel as good as it does then there would be no off spring, no children, no seed, or blossoms in the wind to bring it all back again. Life would cease to exist. To be certainly sure, we all owe our very existence to the pleasures of sex.


There is a story told in the ancient tongues of Greece in the old style on par with such tales as Odysseus, Achilles, The Iliad and the Fall of Troy, but it is seldom known and never will it be found in print. The story is called, Gargellum; pronounced ‘gAR Gale 'um’, who was a warrior from the isles far to the North and West of Greece. A land ruled by the old magiks, the priests and priestesses of earth, water, wind, and fire. He was washed ashore near Tripolis and found by the sea folk who dwelt there; those gypsy pirates who worshiped the new Gods, the pantheon of Mt. Olympus. When Gargellum heard tell of these tales he became a ferocious convert to the new Gods and the sea folk of Tripolis raised him up to be their champion. Gargellum, you must understand, was a giant of a man, tattooed blue over most of his pale skin, which bronzed and freckled in the Mediterranean Sun. Gargellum taught them battle as he was taught by his people and the naturally fierce warriors of Tripolis learned and mastered it, successfully mixing their own great tactics of war and battle seamlessly with Gargellum's.

Gargellum took a wife of the Tripolians and with the ever watchful guard and constant protection of his new home he captained the tiny villages into an impregnable walled city that came under attack in the 21st year of Gargellum's miraculous arrival by sea. The savage tribes to the East, led by their Babylonian gods attacked Tripolis by trickery and gained entrance into the city walls as travelers, merchants, and entrepreneurs until their commanding force was, in full, inside the city walls. It would have been an utter blood bath of over a thousand, thousand innocent, hard working Tripolians if not for the foresight and knowledge of Gargellum, who was warned of this exact threat months ago, but not by any word that passed by human lips. Gargellum told his commanding officers of the court the exact plan of the Babylonians told to him by way of the Trees, and that the Trees warnings had come from the very moment that these foul savages had left their sultry gates of Babylon to slaughter beauty for gold. When asked how this could be, Gargellum told them the stories of long ago, Tree Lore, his people called it, which when told to them sent many into tears with the truth of it.


“The trees are our true parents.” Gargellum said to his tear streaked audience. “They are the old ones who still grant unto every one of us our every breath.”


Gargellum and his commanding officers prepared from that night forth to trap the Babylonians in their own plan of monumental cunning. Not only did the Tripolians achieve total victory over their foes, but the Tripolians in turn took every enemy man hostage with not one among them lost on either side. The Babylonians found themselves trapped inside a walled city that was just as impregnable from the inside as it was on the out. New Tripolis was then built around the old and eventually the Babylonian prisoners were reasoned with and became fellow citizens and loyal followers of the son of Neptune, the honorable Gargellum.


The years pass and all Greece looks to Tripolis as the pattern in which to follow. Cities and States are from then on fashioned after Tripolopolis, and Gargellum becomes a very wealthy and powerful man, taking on the pleasures of higher government as the kings and queens of greater Greece gave way their courts to Gargellum's.


But the Babylonian savages once again grew lustful of the gold poured out upon the lands of the West. They do not yet understand the powers that are in favor of Gargellum and Greece. With the largest body of men ever collected in one place the Babylonians invade Mt. Olympus sacking the sacred Capitol to the ground in one, single, fateful day sparing no one, not a single soul. Gargellum's wrath was kindled and with a mighty army of all the sons and fathers of Greece he fell upon the enemy by night in the 33rd year of Gargellum's birth to them by sea.


Battle raged on for three days and three nights. Day and night they fought and died only to fall asleep upon their swords in hopes of waking before their enemy. Hundreds of thousands lay cut open and dead upon the blood, muddied earth, which three days before had been a lovely, little meadow in the valleys just below Mt. Olympus.


On the morning of the fourth day, Gargellum stood in the midst of ten thousand dead Babylonian warriors, each one having been slain by his own sword. The battle around him continued in slow motion. Warriors so tired that they would strike out one blow only to retreat, catch their breathes, and then, whoever had the strength first, would again attack. Every warrior was paired in a strange and morbid dance. Gargellum took it all in and saw clearly the absolute absurdity of war. Then a most strange and powerful magik took hold of Gargellum, whispering into his ears by the watching forests…

Gargellum started to laugh.

He could not help himself!

Gargellum felt it rush inside of him like the lava exploding from Mount Vesuvius. He laughed so hard that others stopped their battles to watch in horror and wonder at his sudden madness. But then, a Babylonian, a great Persian warrior rightfully named Hu Morr, covered in the gore of Greece’s sons and fathers, relaxed his sword and began to laugh as well, pointing to his soldiers and then back to Gargellum. Like a wave of wild fire laughter started to burn the bloodied lungs of every man like a forest fire of such curiously powerful emotions that no one, to a single man, could control it. Laughter then turned into weeping and weeping then turned into embrace and forgiveness.


The war ended unlike any other war before or after. An anomaly of such tremendous import it was tactically sought out for many years by those in power. Intent on murdering for gold those in power sought it out, those stories of Gargellum, and effectively eradicated it from human history. How true it is that the world can only be conquered by laughter.

That’s how the story was told to me as I sat beneath one of the oldest living trees on the planet...


I guess a person can get used to just about anything. There are some people that will drive themselves so far down a supermassive black hole that they will never, ever be the same in this life. Like that kid we talked about around the campfire that one night, you know, the one we all knew...

Remember, he got caught selling acid by the cops and ended up taking off on them, running through a nearby field only to fall waist deep in an irrigation ditch completely soaking the 12 sheets of acid he had in his back pocket.

The cops found him 30 minutes later marching around a tree as fast as he could and screaming at the tops of his lungs, “Tell me! Tell me! Tell me HOW!”

He was completely unresponsive to the officer’s existence in this life, and who, even after being pinned down to the ground, would not even acknowledge them in this reality. He only wanted one thing: The tree to tell him, tell him, tell him “how?” Psychologists for weeks attempted to snap him out of it with no success as his mental and physical state degenerated to a complete shut down of all his psychological and physical responses to any outside stimuli, including those extreme methods of pain, which, in Gargellum's day, was called torture.

Three years pass.

Finally, a break through is achieved by a young, woman psychologist just out of grad school and intent upon publishing her first book and thesis: “Extreme psychological trauma in humans induced by hallucinogenic plants and substances”.

Her very first introduction to such a person is our friend trapped in his nice, little, white room paid for by the State. She sits uneasily in front of the unresponsive, it seems at times, comatose man, who just three years ago had been a normal boy. A beard now swallows his face and his dark blonde hair has curled effortlessly down to his chest.

She thinks he looks a lot like Jesus.

“I’m Clair.” She says, and Jesus is on the Moon. But Clair is tenacious and spends all her hours away from the office thinking about him.


Where inside of that handsome head of his could he be? What is he seeing? What is he feeling? How could she get inside that mind and find a key?


She gets authority to take Jesus outside by convincing the head of Clinic Operations that he needs some fresh air. How incredibly upset she is to find out Jesus has not once been outside since his internment three years before.

With an excitement that borderlines pure horror she takes him outside into the clinic gardens where there are others like him, but more lucid than he, who walk and talk in an exact replicated world of another semi normal day. Clair has Jesus in a wheel chair, he is totally unresponsive, he is drooling down the left side of his cheek and his eyes are glazed over totally unseeing all that exists around him.

“I sure wish I knew where you were.” Says Clair, as she wheels him off the concrete path into the lush green grass and then deeper into the gardens where Oak trees planted some one hundred and eighty years ago hang above them.

Suddenly, Jesus sees the trees...

Of course, Clair has no idea.

She is talking to herself, asking questions at random, whatever pops up in her pretty little head she spits out in words. Jesus, on the other hand, is now in the middle of a raging battle to take back his higher faculties when, with a super human effort, he looks up from his other world and directly into Clair’s inattentive and beautiful face and says,

“Who the fuck are you?”

Clair’s heart stops beating for exactly 1.2 seconds.

She gains control quickly enough, only to loose herself once more in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Jesus, having nothing more wonderful in the world to do, starts to laugh too.

They laugh until they cry and then the tears bring embrace and embrace brings on a mad need to be closer in the flesh. Never have two more beautiful people existed on the face of this earth than at that moment.

Jesus’ memory is restored, brought back about by all three involuntary muscle spasms happening simultaneously. Then, for reasons known only to him, he leaps off Clair's naked body and jumps head first into the nearest Oak tree and disappears inside...

No one ever sees him again.

Clair is blamed for his release and is eventually sued by Jesus’ family, but no one talks about this.

Clair spends the next several years chasing a psychedelic dream, doing everything from mushrooms to Dentura, Peyote, Ayahuasca to pure DMT. She never quite reaches an understanding of what happened to her that day in the garden, but she does finish her book, publishes it and has watched it become the bane of medicinal schools everywhere, banned and defamed by every respected doctor in every field, especially those of holistic medicine, strangely enough.

Clair continued writing despite the adverse reactions to her published works and has been rewarded with a sizable cult following that included me.

I meet Clair for the first time on one of my many travels across America. We talk over spice rum and coffee, smoke cigarettes and other less used herbs, and seal the deal of mutual commons. We talk for hours and I write it all down on yellow legal pads in scratches only I can decipher, my very own personal 128 bit encrypted penmanship. There, in this meeting, we both became enamored with the tales of a psychedelic flower rumored to grow in only one spot on Earth. We commit ourselves to travel, and on the following week we settle our affairs at home and take two, round trip tickets to China.

Inside the red world of communism we meet a man of one hundred years plus who agrees to take us inside the secret world of the Xanshi Flower. Never before have I held such trepidation in all my chemical experiments as I did on that day. Reverently, our guide places two, small, blood red buds into each of our outstretched hands,

“Eat.” He says in perfect English, and I raise the specimen to my face and closely examine it. A whole fractal world of living creatures dwells upon the flowers skin. I have never seen the likes of it before or since. It is, in my best words, a blood red broccoli where every little red nodule is a million, tiny, velvet roses. The smell is of musk and incense, smoky, human and quite nearly visible to the eyes.

Clair and I take one last look at one another and then, ceremonially, place our Xanshi on the tip of the others tongue…

Clair and I have shared absolutely everything on this trip and even though she is 8 years my senior I find her completely and undeniably irresistible. Sex with her is an out of body experience.

Three days later I find myself alone, naked, and very, very sore. For what seems like weeks to me I try reconnecting all the loose ends together into a comprehensive story line, but I end up making not a single lick of sense whatsoever. Soon, though, hunger drives me from my sad little home underneath a lone willow tree to find, by my great relief, a half decomposed wool blanket crumpled up underneath me. I wrap my naked body up like a semi-normal human being and proceed to head in a single direction. For a day and a night and another day I walk North through ever more dry and desolate earth until the setting of the sun on the second day reveals lights blinking in the distance. By midnight I have walked right into a 7-11 on Native American land some 30 miles southwest of Phoenix, Arizona. Don’t ask me how I got there…still trying to figure that one out.

I make my way home, despondent, destitute, and desperately ill of heart. My thoughts are of Clair, her well being, and my own selfish separations from her flesh. I return home to business as usual, engage myself in another relationship, and the years just slip by like sand through my open fingers…

Don’t get me wrong…I searched for her and looked for her in every way I could possibly think of, but not a single clue was left behind. Maybe she had found out “how” and would not ever be coming back. Maybe…just maybe…

It didn’t even occur to me to question my own bizarre events: How could I have been at one point in the deepest, Chinese forests to then suddenly reappear at another point in Good Ol’ arid desert USA the next? Maybe, I had learned out “how”.

Had I traveled through the trees as the ancients spoke of? What Jesus had done in the Garden? Why was I not exploring this possibility further?

In a heroic effort to estrange myself from the mundane routine of my boring, insecure and tied up life I take off to Northern California on my 33rd birthday with a vial of stolen government grade LSD25 in my pocket, an extra pair of socks, a map, and a compass. I am in search of a very specific Redwood Tree that I need to talk to. I am down for the abnormal, secretly wishing my life away, for it has been worthless since Clair disappeared 8 years ago…

That night, July 13th, 2002, I swallow what can only be amounted to as a thousand plus hits of acid and then, literally, I fry my ever loving tree soul inside the trunk of one of the oldest and largest living creatures on the face of the planet. I had no idea what was going to happen, if I had even the tiniest inkling of it I would have fallen over dead from the shock and disbelief of it. Not until this very moment did I know without a drop of doubt that what Clair had spoken of about Jesus in the Garden was utterly and maddeningly real. But for now, I will tell you what the Sasquatch told me as I sat in the trunk of my mother and learned how.



. . .



Three Billion years ago the first prototree is born to a group of evolving cyan bacterium in a freak and sudden mutation. The creature laughs to discover it is the only one of its kind and incapable of replicating itself, although it has both male and female reproductive cellular bodies. It is the first eukaryote.

In a leap of what can only be called technology, this creature “turns on” certain parts of its DNA and ejects them as a fertilized spore into each of the various species living around its immediate vicinity. With a natural need for survival (plus it just felt really damn good) the creature extends itself again and again and offspring are soon produced, but with only one or the other, female or male, cellular bodies.

Asexual reproduction soon becomes an obsolete technology. Meiosis heightens the pleasures of reproduction and it is everything in the world these new creatures cannot do but have sex all the time.

An explosion of new life and new mutations grow out of these first few prototrees and they multiply into the thousands of species you know of today, and some you don’t. One of these species directly leads to you, the human family.

Just take a moment and look at your finger prints.

Oddly enough, do they not remind you of the swirls found in a nicely cut cross section of wood? Or when you get a nice, big scab does it not look and feel just like the bark of a tree? Your fingers and toes are the remaining remnants of roots and branches and before you mark me as a complete and total nut job just take a moment to wallow your naked feet into some rich, loamy mud and stretch up your hands into the sunlight breathing deeply into your lungs, your lungs, which, by the way, are the spitting images of full grown trees...

Now, lie to me and tell me you did not enjoy that on some deep, sexual level.

Good, so you are not the lying type I see.

This is an enjoyment trees take very seriously as their roots stretch into the ground and their branches into the sky on a time line so much slower than your own that it can only be called another dimension.

Truly, if you want evidence, just take some lengthy time lapse photography of a tree over two or three hundred years and you will begin to understand.

They eat, sleep, fall in love, work, play, date, and create songs, dance, and die just like we all do…

Your kind just can’t see it, or choose not to. Your world moves far too fast for that. To a tree winter is only a good night’s sleep till morning…what you call Spring. That’s the time-line they are working with.

Now, about 2 Billion years ago a tree by the name of Pheon Ix connects the first network of roots in what can only be called a technological break through. Trees are now no longer stuck to their own little sphere of dirt, but can speak to any other linked tree on the network. Chemical packages of all sorts, including reproductive data, can now be sent at the speed of gravity to all those on the TreeNet. With such an advance in communications, systems of government and hierarchies naturally are formed.

Pheon Ix becomes the “Mother Tree” and is crowned Queen of Earth by the majority of all the trees and plants on the face of the planet. Pheon Ix then takes to root a companion who is planted exactly eight thousand, three hundred, and thirty three miles away from her on the opposite side of the globe. This union of roots grows directly through the center of the Earth, the thickness of which is quite unfathomable, but the sheer weight of them together is an eighth of the total mass of our planet.

This spiraling root system has been handed down to you humans in legends of Yggdrasil, which in truth is the meeting of the roots between Pheon Ix and her mate who is called, Níðhöggr, who is the Father of all Serpents. He and Pheon Ix create the first reptiles by “turning on” certain parts of their DNA and then packaging that DNA into two of their own children...this, in turn, will eventually lead directly to you humans...but that is another story.

Exactly 1 billion 3 hundred thousand years ago the direct descendants of Yggdrasil, the royal bloodlines known as the Dryad, that is to say, Princes and Princesses, or more respectfully, The Dáinn, The Dvalinn, The Duneyrr and The Duraþrór, discover how to package their children into pods that can survive the extreme hostilities of space. Three million years later word arrives back from an unknown child that other spheres of living earth have been found and successfully populated. A very real panspermia is then initiated into force and chemical technologies are advanced, which enable real time communication over the TreeNet through the accelerated knowledge of gravity, successfully creating what the newer generations of trees like to call “The Pipeline”.

Six Hundred Million years ago a heart broken female tree makes a tragic leap, in what can only be called the first suicide attempt, into the Pipeline. The Pipeline happens to be connected at that very moment with trees on a distant earth like planet some 25,000 light years from Earth. There had been many speculations for millions of years of this exact possibility, but no tree on either side of the Pipeline had come to this final decision to test these theories of inner-space travel. Trees are very patient you see, and borderline on procrastination, but don’t tell them I said that.

This female tree had no name, but upon her return with others from that far distant world she is crowned by Yggdrasil, “Eagle” and is placed over all those who would adventure themselves to other worlds. Just as you call your fellows who travel space “Astronauts”, so too do the trees call every one of their own who travel space, “Eagles” for they so soar the stars as Eagles do the skies…or, at least they use to.

On May first, 33 thousand, eight hundred years ago, a male tree, whose name will here remain anonymous, was granted union with one of your own. Unable to communicate with the female human the tree pleads his case for this woman to Yggdrasil. If only they could communicate, he argued, then would she love him as he so loved her. A decision was soon made and together with the Royal Dryads, Yggdrasil created a way for them to communicate with your branch of the family tree. Until this moment you humans had not so much as garnished a single shred of attention from them. Your lives are just too fleeting, you see, that you are practically invisible to them on an individual scale...

Methods of chemical packaging are developed and a series of highly intelligent plant and fungal species stepped forth as voluntary candidates to be experimented upon. Yggdrasil and The Dryad discovered and “turned on” specific parts of their DNA that would accomplish this. Now, when those who were chosen are ingested by a human the chemical packages inside them would “change” the human’s perceptions, slowing them down, and making it possible for trees to communicate with you on their level. In actual practice, the ingested plants are allowed to “inhabit” the human for a set period of time before being “purged” into the Pipeline, so to speak, to travel uninhibited as Eagles forever and ever as was their wish from the beginning of these experiments.

Unknown to all living beings in the known universe was the capacity for the human body to co-join with the trees and not only did our female human return his affections, but she in turn taught every one of us a very valuable lesson. She could meld with him, procreate with him, and travel the Pipeline as an honorary Eagle with him.

For a short, brief moment in time the family tree was one again, and their children were treasured up with all the affections and gifts the world could bestow upon them…that is, before the greed of a few, tree and human alike, destroyed the fabric of the Pipeline, effectively cutting off millions of populated worlds from one another by murdering the Queen of Earth, the Mother Tree, and sterilizing the planet of all those “sick and twisted halflings”…ogres, trolls, elves, gnomes, dwarves, fairies, floats, fliers…me.


“Such filth! Such abominations!” Hunted and trapped before we could escape through the Pipeline we were exterminated on a scale of genocide never ever to be duplicated again. Know you not that you are my brother?


No...please...

no more...I...

I need to go home...




You must understand. Everyday I get older I feel more the pulling of my own mortality. It has reached this point where I know for a certain fact that I am going to die and there is nothing I can do about it! A horrible, helpless hell of a feeling that keeps me up at night with the certainty that my heart will pop right then and there...

What about my family? The kid still in her belly? Who's going to take care of them? Got 250,000 from the company if I die unexpectedly, but is that really enough? Maybe I should go into one of those million dollar life insurance policies just to make sure. What am I doing here talking with you?

How did I get like this? I used to search for a good way to die! When I was in my teens you couldn't have told me one damn thing I’d listen to! I would do it just for the slight chance that it would be the last thing I ever did! Am I talking to myself? Are you listening to me?

“You came here. You knocked, and I answered.

“Remember? Knock and you shall receive.

Open the door and I will let you in?

In fact, take my keys, this is your house now.”

Your response is so cleverly not me that you must be a totally different personality! I cannot help but converse more with you as if you were just like another person in the room! Am I without myself asking deeply within myself if this is really happening? I took way too much acid, didn't I? Am I dead? What really happens when you die?

“Well, brother...you're no longer alive.”

What? What do you mean? I waited...I waited a long time, but the Sasquatch just sat there rubbing his furry chin.

No! Tell…me! When I leave this mortal body am I still me?

“Oh, indeed, you do leave. That is for certain. Even some of your top scientists can prove that everyone looses 21 grams at the moment of their death, but ask them what of a bird, a cat, a horse...a tree? How much do they loose when they die? Do you know?”

Clearly he was avoiding the question, but then again so was I.

YES! I know!

5 grams for the sparrow, 6 for the Eagle, 7 for the frog, 8 for the dog, a cat has 9, and a tree in the midst of death inversely squares its weight loss by the height in which it has reached into the sky!

“Pretty damn impressive, brother. Did you know a tree can take 6 years to die? That moment when you humans take your final breath is but a moment, but to a tree it is the last six years of its life. When you cut down a tree, it will live on for years, but to them it is but a moment. The trees, you see, mourn their fallen dead in such tremendous sorrow it literally takes 6 years to say good-bye! It would break your heart to actually see it.”

How am I supposed to keep pace with this? Am I avoiding the final answer?

“Not at all. Now, listen up, bro, cause you asked the question. This is my version, so don't go on thinking you can't come up with your own, OK?”

OK.

“When you die you find immediately that you know yourself as YOU. There is no, 'Oh my God where am I?' Nor is there a big group of family and friends that have passed on before you waiting with open arms, no...the whole body of intelligence is there! And without even having to say, 'Hi, welcome back to the party!', you already know it! You already know it and you will sit down in a finely crafted vehicle of your own design, a body if you will, and pulling back the control console you will plug in your soul and download your life into an endless memory bank to be archived and reviewed whenever you feel like it.

“Now, weren't you headed somewhere? The Center of the Milky Way Galaxy perhaps? You may want a vacation before reporting back to the Center of All Things. Ah, you'll get there soon enough, bro. Take some time off. Rest...

“Maybe you'll just want to do some more hanging around these parts for awhile, it's beautiful up here, you know, maybe take some time to review the last three or four lives you've lived and decide whether or not you care enough to go back for another one?”

What is this Center of All Things?

“That is the single point where all mass and energy stem from, the central fulcrum of ALL gravity, the supermassive black hole universe, the source of all intelligence, a pool of such dense mercury like properties that to have a single drop of it on Earth would suck your entire Milky Way Galaxy into it.

“Now, can you begin to understand why it is so necessary to travel the universe in these mortal vehicles of ours? Everything you can imagine is possible on the other side, so it's a careful place, one built by many lives, which truly is the school that every one of us uses to learn better the stranger one on the other side. See, as far as the universe is concerned, this whole mortal thing is pretty new, the latest in technology.”

What about Heaven? Hell? Is there a judge and jury waiting to punish us for our crimes?

“Here, let me tell it to you like this, bro. You are right now totally oblivious to anything but your 3-D surroundings and yet you fail to recognize the simple fact that you have never seen yourself in 3-D! You can never, ever see yourself as others see you. Not until you die.

“Tell me, is it strange to hear your own voice on recording?”

Well, yeah...sort of.

“Of course it is! Because you usually hear yourself from inside your own head! Ask anyone, 'Bro, do I really sound like that?' Yeah, I know it's weird, but yes, that's you, that's how you sound to everyone else. Well, this is a very real thing that happens on the other side, 'Oh my God is that me? Do I really look like that? Did I really do those things?'

“Now, if you know how strange it is to hear your own voice, you can now imagine how absolutely punishing it is to watch yourself in 3-D. “Truly you are the judge and jury of your own afterlife.

“See, you must understand, when your Jesus was born there was no pain. No blood issued from his mother's womb, it was just clear, amniotic fluid. You must know that the baby Jesus did not cry, but instead looked up into his mother's face and said, 'You will forever be remembered as The Virgin.'

“It wasn't because she conceived by some miracle of holy conception without the pleasures of sex. No, the miracle was in the complete lack of suffering involved in birthing the child!

“The signs were all there in the sky, brother, Cygnus the Swan appeared above the Northern Hemisphere for the first time aligned with a new star that fixed the Swan into a Cross forever.

“At that very moment Mary dilated to 9 cm and she laughed, cried, and orgasmed all at the same time just as the light of that new born star, 25,000 years in the making, finally touched down on the surface of the Earth.

“For the next three hours the child spoke to his Mother about the Universe, where it had come from, what it was, and where it was going. The child spoke, and Joseph, his father, wrote it all down. I was there, brother. I still have the parchment written in oiled ink, here...take a look. It is the very first book of Jesus...”



. . .



1. In the beginning was the void, and the void was all that was in the Universe. The void knew itself through endless eternities as single, alone, and without form. Heavy was the burden it bore to know these things.


2. The void then drew in upon itself in a great longing for something more, something different, and something it could define as being separate from itself. In this infinite sorrow the void voiced the first spoken word, OM, and it reverberates throughout the Universe of Universes to this very day.


3. In that moment an infinite absorption of self occurred under such unfathomable density, under such pressures unknown to even the greatest black stars in the heavens that it created HER.


4. She IS the Beautiful One, the Mother of all Matter. She is the physical, the material, the motions of sin and time ebbing and flowing forever trying to escape that which has created HER, but the Center of All Things forever remains and IS the force that plays upon HER skin to form that which all things are made of, forcing them into ever more complex things until air, water, fire, and earth are born from their union.


5. These are what you are made of, the Clothes of the Great Mother, which dresses your souls, but inside you resides that which is the Center of All Things, the double serpent coiled and eternal. In this you have assurance that when you lay down your mortal form that which makes you YOU continues on and if you so choose, at anytime, you can once again dress yourselves with the Clothes of the Great Mother.


. . .



Does that answer your question, brother?”

But...I really don't want to die!

Everybody dies.”

Bullshit!

It's just apart of life. Get use to it.”














Chapter 1


August 4th, 2022. Today I have received the go ahead for marketing my little creatures. A convenient one time pill full of billions of individual “nanodice”. That's my little coined phrase copywrited and displayed upon the label. It took me ten years in the highest courts of the land to get this far and now with the FDA's full approval the human who chooses to can truly meld seamlessly and symbiotically with technology and become Humans v2.0

Under an electon microscope they look like tiny little dice, but on the atomic level you would see a complete factory laid out in circuits of Mandelbrot Lakes, CPU's, and memory banks built like tiny cities in the shape of Julia Sets. My little nano computers installed and operated by the gracious funding and support of IBM, Google Inc., Microsoft, and the University of Utah.

Once ingested orally my little dice immediately flow to the central cortex of the brain where they will begin a chain reaction that forms them into a network of Carbon tubes 1000 atoms thick and a billion miles long as they coat the outside of your nervous and circulatory systems to the very ends and then loop back again where they layer a hive of sonoluminescent bubble pods woven in the middle like a pearl necklace.

This not only has the strange effect of making the outer skin impervious to penetration, like a shell of skin tight titanium, but also powers the muscle fibers to such an increased degree that dramatic measures in strength occur.

In 4 to 6 hours these little dice will have created a super human impervious to destruction, or decay, but it takes training to learn and grasp the drastic changes in intellect and personality that arrive with the energy of billions of nano nuclear power cells. With over ten years of experience I have concluded without a doubt that a person’s intelligence will increase a thousand fold just from the improved speed of photon transfer throughout your synaptic network, but it really is the fusion of a billion nano bubbles producing perfect stable sonoluminescence fusion that really supplies the boost in personality. Wow! How that takes practice to control! A surge of constant energy in your whole entire being that if you let it flow untapped it would cover your body in an aura of light so bright anyone watching you would see it during mid day, not to mention the absolute angelic spectacle you would make at night!

This is controllable, but will only come with discipline, time, and familiarity. My first 36 hours were spent in bed, my body shaking itself into such a tremendous seizure of pleasure that I would still be there today if I did not take hold of the energy, dim it, and learn to stop the flow all together by willing it to do so.

Inside the first month of exposure to my little nanodice I was hit by a bus, stabbed, shot with a Desert Eagle, and finally dropped from 48,000 feet without a parachute and survived unharmed, not even a scratch. The impacts are intense, so much so that my skin turns brilliant copper with the perfect heat transfer of kinetic energy.

My new body needs no food, though I eat still, but only socially. I need no sleep, though I occasionally still love to curl up in bed and drift away in my thoughts. I can go places now inside my head that can be just as real and lucid as the waking world, and in fact they are! From a technical stand point it is the equivalent of a GUI interface, but so much more than just pressing start on your PC and going to the Control Panel to change or modify a setting.

Once I learned the basic, default settings I could safely return to them if I made changes that I did not like, for example: my eyes have always been brown, but inside my mind I can access the very genes that determine the color of my eyes and then “turn on” green, so to speak, sort of like kicking a soccer ball...you just do it. That was a little weird, so after going through all the colors of the rainbow, and other colors that are not, I settled back to brown again.

It has been 10 years since I bonded with my nanodice and the only disadvantages I can ascertain is my new isolation from those I thought to be family and friends. My Grandma calls me the Anti-Christ. She refuses to see me, returns all my gifts, and tells the rest of the family to do the same.

Oh well, their Mormons.

I have a meeting with the Top Brass in Washington tomorrow to determine my nanodice in military applications, but I already told them I wanted the whole world to have the choice to upgrade. Soldiers, civilians, children, men, women, black, white, yellow, red...all of us! But they are afraid of a world where you can't kill anyone anymore, so I will give them their chance to kill me...it's the last and final step I guess. Who knows, if they don't find a way to stop my bodies processes I'll be declared immortal and then I'll tell them what to do!








































Chapter 2



I guess the military doesn't want to kill me. They just want to test the limitations of this new body. After three days of repeating some of my same experiments the military brass got creative.

“This is the top of the line industrial diamond drill bit used to drill through the hardest of carbon composites, ceramics, and metals.”

“Ok,” I say, sitting in their sterile, stainless steel laboratory. “I'm ready.” The drill is a magnificent work of technology and my hand sits directly under its point of operation.

“Prep drill!” The call goes out, and an unseen hand turns the drills engines on. The sudden, digital scream from the drill grows beyond the scope of normal hearing, but I can still hear it building up potential energy and I wonder suddenly why I am here. Why am I doing this? Oh well, what else should I be doing on a Sunday morning?

“Standby!”

There are numerous video and audio feeds, covering a wide range of spectrums and frequencies that are being recorded. I think I just like the attention. Maybe, that's it...

“On my mark!”

Or, maybe it's the curiosity. Yes, that's it. I want to know just as much as the military does!

“Mark!”

The diamond hard drill begins to spin and then lowers towards my outstretched hand, but, just as I imagined it, the drill with all its force and pressure behind it instantly goes red hot when it touches my skin. For me there is a slight discomfort of pressure where the drill is spinning in a shallow dimple of now hairless skin and then the tale-tale copper begins to glow and spread up my arm stopping just short of my elbow.

“Jesus.” I hear the soldier to the left of me say low under his breath.

“Are we at full capacity?” Asks the Lieutenant General, a man by the name of Connelly.

“Yes, sir!”

“Temperature reading?”

“Sir...”

“Do I have to repeat myself, Captain Parks?”

“No, Lieutenant General, Sir. It's just these readings cannot be accurate.”

“Just tell me what we’re looking at, Captain.”

“From these readings the drill itself should be melting, Sir, but it's...”

At that moment the industrial, diamond drill bit arcs, flashes, and then oozes out of solid form to plaster itself all over my hand. The metal cools quickly enough and I am intrigued at how perfectly the diamond crusted metal has caught the shapes and contours of my fingers. It's quite beautiful.

“4,254 Kelvin’s, Sir.”

“Alright, gentlemen. We have a heli waiting at 1300.”

It never fails to amaze me how precisely cold the military can be, but you cannot let emotions get in the way when you are dealing with National Security.

I was boarded onto a slick, black metal HA-76x Apache War Machine that looked more like a flying beetle than a helicopter. 2 hours into supersonic flight a huge mass of dark clouds penetrates the Eastern horizon and the chopper dips down to make a covert landing in a huge field just at the rim of the oncoming storm.

“We've determined that your newly added atomic makeup is highly conductive.” Said Connelly, as we walk further into the rain splattered field. “I assume you know what is coming next?”

I did, and the first scattered cracks of lightening start arcing their way perceptively closer to the field. We are somewhere in Florida, lightening capitol of the world, and this storm is easily supporting the formations of some serious wattage.

“I love lightening.” I say, tasting the word, “You know, Sir, there is still heavy debate as to this phenomenon’s actual status.”

“Yes, well...that is why you will be carrying this.” Captain Parks hands me a very dense metal instrument that looks like it could survive a lightening strike. The question was could I?

“Let's do this then.” I say, a little too dramatically, but the excitement is beginning to be overwhelmingly erotic. More than anything I want now to battle with the worst Mother Nature can throw at me. I am Wild Pecos Bill who wrestles tornados!

Alone, I walk into the coming storm. I know I am super close when the hairs begin to stand up on my skin and then instantly I am somewhere else. I am...someone else...

Liquid light pours all around me like some water park playground. It is warm and comforting and an all too familiar Déjà-Vu drapes its magical hands inside my head and tells me I have done this before.

My skin is deep, dark gold next to the shower of light running off of it. I am completely naked, hairless, and my personage under this freakish heavenly manifestation arouses me, turns me on, and without a single thought of who might see or misunderstand I climax. It is the first time I have done so in 10 years, sex being a worn out novelty I had no interests in entertaining, not much, anyway, since Clair's disappearance.

The phenomenon doesn't end more so than I tell it to leave me...until next time, my love, saying good-bye to the lightening as I would a lover early the next morning as she lay sleepily naked and satisfied in the bed next to me...

The storm itself has disappeared altogether when the field returns to my view, but it is not any field belonging to good old American soil, but someplace quite new...

The device that Captain Parks had given me is my only article of clothing. It must have had a GPS inside of it, for within the hour I am met by a team of Special Ops in their stealth Black Hawks.

“Where am I?”

“Argentina.” Says the soldier in command, “About 40 clicks west of Rio Gallegos.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” He then hands me a mobile SAT phone, “Lieutenant General Connelly wants to talk to you.”

“Thank you.” I say, and I take the receiver from him. “Yes, Lieutenant General?”

“Have a nice flight?”

“You could say that.”

“Still in one piece then?”

“Well, I'm naked as a jay bird and I think I have been given permanent electrolysis, but yes...I am still in one piece.”

“Sweet Jesus,” He says, “Well, we have a few more tests to run if you are still willing.”

“Of course, Lieutenant General. Whatever I can do to help out in our countries best interests.”

“That's what I like to hear.”

18 hours later I land in an undisclosed location somewhere West of the Hawaiian Islands under the close scrutiny of military and medical personnel, but it's hard to do a complete physical on someone whose skin does not allow a needle to draw blood.

“Lieutenant General.”

“Yes, Captain Parks.”

“The isolation tank is ready, sir.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

I am an attention whore. That's why I am here being poked and prodded. I walk right into that isolation tank with no more apprehension than at any other time before. This is all just cotton candy and gumballs to me. I have no idea what is really going on inside the military mind of the Great United States, and then again, I really don't care. I am immortal, there is nothing they can do to me and I revel secretly in this knowledge.

I am placed inside of a 6 foot thick think tank and told it will be a 72 hour isolation test. No problem. Three days to meditate, go deep inside my mind, and take inventory on the lightening phenomenon.

“See you in three days, Captain Parks.” I say, as he leaves me in hand with a similar gadget as he had given me the day before.

“Good luck.” Says the Captain, and then he presses a number of digital sequences on the control panel, which closes the door. I smile at the absolute darkness that then surrounds me, happy as a jay bird, just me, myself, and I.

I am the epitome of narcissism, naive, and super stupid.

I lie down on the cool carbon steel floor and busy myself in preparation for the inner journey to the master control room. I can live out totally vivid and real existences in my head if I want to, dreaming away the hours where ever I choose, but when the three days comes and goes I know it.

I know it, and I don't care.

You see, they conveniently got rid of me. They didn't want to waste time and money finding a way to kill me, no, they just figured out a way to “bury” their problem.

Out of site out of mind.

While I had been deep inside my mind my friends in the military had carefully air flighted the three thousand ton, carbon steel isolation chamber and dropped it over the Mariana Trench.

I had touched down at nearly 33,000 feet below sea level only 36 hours into my meditation.

I had no idea.

Inside my head I was dancing along the billion mile road of my DNA, poking and prodding my own little experiments turning this gene on here and this gene off there, but never committing to any one change or another.

On the fifth day I try busting out of the box, but find to my ultimate humor that no matter what strength I have gained from my little nanodice I cannot build up enough momentum to break free! It didn't help matters either that I unknowingly had nearly 16,000 pounds of pressure per square inch pushing in on all sides of my little prison.

For the first time in 10 years I felt absolutely terrified, helpless, and...alone. Breathing air had run out at 20 hours. I didn't even notice. I didn't have to breathe anymore. What a shame, but I inhaled and exhaled just the same. Inside my head I could see my oxygen rich blood being fed and sustained by the billions of sonoluminescent bubbles wrapped up in the carbon tubing that coats my nervous and circulatory systems. Oxygen just happened to be one of the simple byproducts of the whole fusion exchange. I was totally self contained, self sustained, an immortal trapped in a box forever and ever...

I convince myself that the military is fully aware of my stability, the gadget pulsing with ionized digital LED readings that must be getting a signal out to them. They know I’m OK and just want more time to see what happens. I say this to myself believing none of it.

Yes, that's it. They only want more time to see what happens...

A week goes by. Nothing. A month. Nothing. Two months, and still nothing...

I loose more and more time inside my mind and notice for the first time that the levels of dopamine in my system are steadily dropping. I am becoming depressed. I start seeing the world through their eyes and realize the last thing the US military wants, or any other military for that matter, is a bunch of super humans they can't kill running around causing all sorts of problems.

I also saw in my mind the complete destruction of all my years work at the University of Utah's Bio Engineering labs, my sponsors simply paid off to forget I ever existed, family and friends, who could not care less that they had not heard from me in months, never even suspected that I was missing in the first place! It all comes crashing down around me inside my head, so I retreat even further until I reach a state of perfect Zen, a stasis of bodily functions prone, frozen, unmoving on the floor of a metal box at the bottom of the Mariana Trench.








































Chapter 3



500 hundred years slip away in a dream of synapses and neurons firing away at a billion times per second, but my heart only beats once per day. I live outside my body and travel the Milky Way Galaxy visiting star systems that are so magnificently beautiful that I become transfixed upon them, hypnotized, and then obsessed as I touch down on the surface of neutron stars with my finger tips and create perfect karesansui rock gardens before flirting with the edges of black holes postulating the outcome of such pressures on my mind, in my mind, of my mind, and by my mind...

In a way, I guess you could say, I was happy.

But then something happened that pulled me back to a conscious state of being.

Utter darkness surrounds me, but the whole of my cage begins to rumble and creak with intense changing pressures.

Unknown to me on the surface was the impact of a 1.2 km Near Earth Object that landed in the middle of the Pacific Ocean two hours ago. My constant companion, my only friend in this insignificant little world, displays the time and date.


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