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THE HUMANJURIS by Machina Peters

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Chapter 1: Should Be Fantastic "We're going to give you another shot. It's not fair to any student to face expulsion during a time, so eagerly, in the term when it is impossible to re-enroll anywhere else. Children require slandering, but I will refuse it them." Luke Day sat alone opposite the headmaster fiddling with a small flash light, imagining. "There is no reason in disturbing parents since you're staying, but I want you to understand that you could have been let go, and if it were to ever happen again, it could come to this." The headmaster sat quietly writing, singing, and stamping a document. "You are dismissed." As Luke rose, turned, and hurried to the door, the headmaster spoke looking busily at new paperwork holding the folded paper in between his left index and middle finger, "oh and Luke, would you deliver my memo to Mrs. Homes on your way out." Luke nervously took the paper, and as he walked into the secretary's office read, "Luke S. Day enrollment in St. Barnabas School terminated as of six P.M., the sixth day of September, 2040." Signed "Walter W. Wattson." Luke didn't have any parents. He packed a rucksack to give in the national heritage building on campus, some of which was used for storage. Inside, he and his friend Michael hid in an old windowless room lit by an electric bomb.

"Your father Richard Jones expects us to be in Carthage two weeks from today." "Oh," nodded Vadrolt, still quiet about exiting through the front door of the kids home, eyes looking up to the eleven o'clock. "If I were to walk through the arch door of Canterbury Cathedral, will they let me walk back?" "I don't know, but you'll be smiling in a sanitarium you know." The wry look in his mother's eyes made Vadrolt smile. In Canterbury, Idan O. Watt applied the brakes, ink, to the New Watt Stamp for the first time to seal the progression of the boy's school St. Barnabas lying just outside the wall's gate on the hill. Time would begin there as soon as it could be attached to the arc lamp. The document was delivered to Elizabeth Pointe, but lay untouched on her table as the fifteen year old was performing her form at Canterbury's very first bowling lanes. "It's 1860, so this Vermont locomotive might get us to Boston by tomorrow night." "Excited to see Cork. The flyer said the Packets Clipper can sail as fast as 25 knots," Vadrolt replied without giving his mom the side eye. "Well, we've almost made it to Montpelier's city limits. Horsepower, Voltaire, horsepower," was all she said, rolling her eyes.

As Huxly Jones stepped down from the horse's saddle, it was dusk. "Come with me inside to get cleaned up my dear," her mother called from the house leaning. Before she had finished her sentence, to her dismay, she watched Huxly kick the pony's leg as a stableman led it away. The animal became wild, whinnying and kicking, and Mrs. Jones locked her hand around Huxly's wrist crying angrily at the cold look in her daughter's eyes, who was as slighted as her victim. She is an idiot.

Professor Folr was in the crack trying to kick the habit of buying weird books, and passed the Headmaster nodding slightly, who responded with a smirk. Looking over his shoulder he saw him take a flyer from a poultry salesman and vendor, and almost ran into a tall dark haired man with a sharp physiognomy, unmistakably the Arc Lamp Minister. "Professor Folr. Just the man I was looking for." "Idan Watt." "Where are you going? The bookstore's the other way." Professor Folr forced a laugh. "One thing you most definitely will find in your book is clock." "Is that a type of chicken?" "Nooo, your headmaster has graciously agreed to attach this new equipment to the St. Barnabas arc lamp." "What doesn't it elude?" "Efficiency, Folr. Bad habits will no longer know when to begin," Folr blushed at this, "it's new, secret, and we are rewarding St. Barnabas faculty generously for their participation, which you'll find in your office. When clock tells you when, you'll forget every last unimportant detail. You'll understand when you hear it." Folr nodded. Clapping him on the shoulder, turning to leave, the minister said ", remember you can tell even a single person," and cluckled to himself walking away. The Headmaster returned quickly to school after he soon discovered the coastal flyer he'd taken was royal encryption. He would find a new divorce as part of the school over, lamp unit, and at its mention even once, his own death. "You worked all night for this bowler in Cork, it's too bad the European cartridges aren't any smoother than the Vermont locomotives." "Well, wooden toys aren't expensive, but carpentry doesn't pay like it used to. You'll see, your father would find a place for his." "Where is he?" "It's scanty. Probably on his way back from the confessional this late in the morning, I shouldn't think." The carriage bumped for many miles from Redhill, West of the Downs, eventually coming to a stop within eye shot of one of the greatest boys schools in all of England. A hoary well dressed chap proceeded down the porch steps of a three story house, alone, Vadrolt commenting ", he's even older than I thought." "That's not him. No, not that I remember," replied Ms. O'Leary shaking her head with a laugh. He opened the door, and said, pulling Vadrolt out into a hug, "my gift has arrived." As the carriage pulled away, Kathy could hear Richard saying with a laugh ", no that's your home." "Now to get married," she whispered to herself narrowing her eyes. "The time of my son's arrival has finally come." "How's he getting on with Huxly," Folr winked without taking a sip of his wine. "I took them up to the top of the school by the lamp, outside. The boy might be an angel. He sat her at a table, lit a candle, and the two of them are still up there playing nicely with his bowling toy." "Better isn't it? Efficient?" Richard closed his eyes and breathed in bitterly. "Time should be fantastic." Writhing intently in front of Canterbury lanes, Vadrolt jumped at the sound of Elizabeth Pointe's costume and "excuse me." He turned slowly to find an older girl dried in full bowling costume frowning. He instinctively lowered his brow, pupils at the top of his wide eyes as she continued ", could you tell me if there is bowling in America?" He nodded thrice. "What is your name?" "Vadrolt." "I'm Elizabeth Pointe. what are you doing here." "My step mother said I could come into town to watch for helping my sister." Exhaling frustrated as she clarified ", that's why you are in England." "Oh, I was actually shipped here to give you pointers on your roll." "I would have you removed, except I don't think it makes good diplomacy." Just then the house manager told Vomit his time was up, and gave him a backwards thumb pointing towards the exit. Stepping out the door Vadrolt saw blue volts striking just above the cathedral, but no thunder. A dark haired man dressed in black startled him asking ", what do you think of our arc light, boy?" "Brighter than the sky I suppose," Vadrolt snapped intuitively, reminded of Montpelier Kids Home adults. "It is gorgeous. And your father?" "Yes." "How is he...of late," said Idan Watt with a smile so big, and a slow movement of his head to one o'clock. "Are you my minister?" "Why should you ask?" "I thought that the lightning may have scared you out of the cathedral." The bells chimed twice and the class began to exit without a word of dismissal from Professor Folr. He sighed deeply. "Voltaire." "Yes sir." "There is need of a cat in my classroom. Go pet him." "I apologize sir, but I just thought the facts were slightly...screwed up." "No, no, you don't understand. There really is a cat behind you. Have a look." "What?" "Now you are getting it," Folr laughed as Vadrolt jumped seeing a giant white long haired persian sitting on the floor a few feet away staring at him as if at attention. "Pet the cat," he gently insisted. Vadrolt pet the cat, and turned to look at Folr to see that he was already exiting the room through the front entrance. "That concludes your penance until tomorrow." The closing of the door echoed throughout the large empty room, now catless. The downstairs' closure "until further notice" made the low drone of the central arc lamp appear louder to Folr as he walked away sad with his consort. Just when his thoughts strayed to his acceptance of the white ministry's payment for his participation in the clock program which wasted faculty honor and student peace, Mr. Watt strolled from behind them commenting ", I hear they're donating the downstairs books to the Earlswood Society for Idiots. That should slow your brain habit, unless you walk the sixty miles and commit yourself." Erik Lonnrot Triste le Roy stepped behind them, and chimed in ", I don't want." Richard put his arm around his dear friend, ignoring the gentlemen, as Folr held tears into his eyes with his right hand's thumb and index fingers. Vadrolt looked up when the candelabra illuminating his turn at bowling on the miniature lane was suddenly gone, to see straight across to the arc-lit cathedral. No Huxly. He chased her down the steps through the roof door shouting ", Wart! Where are you going?!" They had both heard moments before that someone was in the arc lamp bell tower, Vadrolt freezing as he watched Huxly grab that someone's left arm, thrusting the candelabra before his eyes. Professor Folr dropped to the floor, and so did the dagger with which he was about to impale his own heart. "This time, Abigail, it's making me wish I didn't exist," Richard explained. "It's not your fault. We love you," she whispered. Richard applauded when he heard the sound of his son's gallop up the stairs, who burst in on them panicking ", Folr's hurt!" "Where," asked his dad with urgent sobriety. Saturday, Vadrolt found Liz at the lanes. As she turned after watching her ball knock down every pin, he said ", that outfit is wearing you." "If you're lucky, you might be wearing one of these some day." "Inexplicably, Pointe jumped on top of Vadrolt, pinning him down to kiss him right on the mouth, with tongue. The crowd at the lanes didn't notice. Later, Vadrolt explained to her, he had eavesdropped on his father's plan to detach the clock. "I know all about it," she paralyzed. It was late day the following October Saturday. Vadrolt stood looking out over the pitch, Canterbury Cathedral on the horizon. "It certainly is cold," Folr suggested. "It is?" "This wind you feel, is the new wind, and when it blows just like this, we experience a rare Kent snow squall. Voltaire from Vermont, do you fancy sliding?" The team of Alaskan huskies led his mother right to the bowling lane without a single "mush." Behind the bowling house, Vadrolt saw Lonnrot's lightning, and clumped snow off his boots. At the Stamp and News, the minister's new man entertained boozers in suits with avant garde on the grand piano. "Looking for something?" "You were," Vadrolt snapped without saying a thing to Idan Watt. "They're concerned that might be real lightning." "I am showing the World that the Watt is real." "I'll bet you a cluck, it thunders." That bowling house was closed, and a slow rumble echoed in the alleyway, followed by a crash. Huxly waited in the drone of the school's arc lamp tower with a lit candle, and removed the clock when the city went dark. The princess had tricked Watt to protective power outage. At this time, Kathy was saying ", I do" with her husband under a canopy of New England fall foliage.

Michael and Luke didn't notice the digital clock's dangling cord above their heads, unplugged. They slept.

Chapter 2: An Eternity to Acquittal, Bounty Hunters There's no acquittal in Aquitania, but there is Wachena. Cieron stood before the Minister of Terraine, and was acquitted to Declan's dismay. His excessive tardiness had landed him in Aquitania, betrayal, everyone knew it, and Declan knew it, but he hated Ludavic. When Cieron left, there was no way he wasn't going to go back. The Aquatenos are beautiful to him, both countries had three laws. 1. True Witness 2. Temperance 3. Loyalty For Declan Wisher, Aire Cura of Terraine, only the first had been thought at the trial. But the thought of his son losing his ability to judge, Ludavic apothecary, could make himself want to cry. He knew now that Minister Wattson Tique was excessive tardiness himself. In Aquitania they called it the Knife, and Wachena grew on the banks of the Nail, miracle appeal. Wachena could work both miracles if a witness appealed in a trial there, but if it didn't, then Ludavic. Always judgement either way. Elizabeth Allen Eliakel was married too, but no kids, too. She went off gallivanting with Cieron, and now stood before The Cacique, and her mom Esther Minerva watched from the HUACA. Esther usually lived with her family on The Jura Auburn, but now cried in the Justice Hall, a witness had appealed for Declan's only daughter. Elizabeth was once named Jopllin Minerva, and she still repent most of her day with vibrant Tech. The Wachena still caused Elizabeth betrayal repentance. The plant shifted attention and will, headshrinking they called it. The way things were going with Stardust though, Cacique, that bull, was considering calling for a second trial, this one for Excess. Cieron wasn't really Cieron. an angel had given birth to Esther, Eliakel. Both justice halls and both countries and The Jura Auburn were west of the San Bernadino Mountains, L.A. The banks of the Nail were not U.S. Bank, Bank of America, etc., money could literally drop out of the air. Eliakel dressed up like a chicken, Cieron, and was now married to her mom. When Esther and Declan had been elected aires, everyone had to moo moo down, that's what they call safe. Cieron, Elizabeth, and the newbe, Mike all ate at a table alone at school. Somebody had decided it was safer that way, quieter anyway. Mike had been in and out of a lot of toilets lately, most recently Saint Barnabas, Canterbury. Michael Christopherson there had discovered Arc Lamp. He had smuggled it back to Terraine, and his planet was upheld, Loyalty. On their escape, Mike's friend Luke was caught and ludaviqued. "Something new," Mike offered. "Oh yeah, what's that?", Cieron smarmed. "Well, on the way home from my bullstop, I saw a mutant." "I wonder, was it in a wonderland reflection?" Elizabeth snorted, and some milk came out of her nose listening. "Yeah. It looked like a man with a reptile head, a mutant," he nodded. "Know thyself." "What did the mutant do?", laughed Elizabeth. "Believe me?", he shook his head incredulously. At the sleeping docks of Dover, disorientated, Luke tripped. He awoke in what looked and sounded like the cargo hold of a sea-going vessel. Jascsli Fallar watched Jopllin, or Elizabeth, totally ignore her husband Pedro Azul. She knew it was a long-term Excess, but Trial was never hastily initiated. Once a Trial started, there would be no acquittal. Jopllin no longer entertained Terranian guests, she was focussing on Aquitania instead, Loyal. But spending most of every day on Tech for weeks on end was a second problem. Wattson Tique was a ghost who existed as far back as the seventeenth century, who worked for the Vatican. He secretly pressed down the people, creating Hell on earth for his own enjoyment, and the cry went up. There was nothing anyone could do about it, and he raised his chin high with a smiling open mouth. 2Cipher was decomissioned and sent to recycling in Stuttgart. Even though he had no power source, there he woke up. He looked like a girl, but not everyone knew it was metal on the inside. She thought her name was Wicken Kap. Kap's optimal readout showed just one contact labeled "lethal", she had no memory. She neither could know what "lethal" meant, nor who Luke Day was, so she dialed, and said ", Who are you?" "I was your 2040, but you missed, better luck next time." "Who am I?" "Someone?" Luke recognized the voice, but he couldn't help feeling goodness, strange. "I saw the mutant again," Mike said pushing his glasses in with his index finger after gesturing with an open left palm ", his name is Gadyuka." "I have the same problem," Cieron winked. "You guys have left me no alternative but to look for an imaginary friend," he smiled annoyed with a head bobble. "What is it that he wants?", Elizabeth jeered. "Well, he used to be a regular snake, and he said some other animals are mutating too, and they don't appreciate light bulbs." It got serious after that. Mike jokes. A teacher came to the door of the Health Room breaking the silence ", Check this out." "I just did," Cieron mumbled looking down, the new student the teacher was delivering to lunch detention was named Parker Pao, Ah Lie Pao's nephew from Kanton, "that's the ticket!", he said mocking the teacher with positivity. In Jura Auburn, Declan Wisher told a story over family dinner. "Most of the pirana in the Amazon River swim upstream," he munched on a corn on the cob, and Jopllin rolled her eyes. Finishing swallowing he continued ", there are less particles," he licked his lips with a saliva suck ", for eating the farther they swim up, but the piranas that don't," munching rapid fire in a horizontal row on his cob, chewing, then swallowing. "He always does this," Eliakel said to Esther Minerva, Esther swallowing back mercifully, cutting a piece of her steak. Dad innocently held out his hands ", anyway, the piranas that don't, eat too much, get fat, and eventually go belly up, so this one time," chewing on a piece of steak ", we were at this nude beach; it was a nude beach," he pleaded innocently. "And what did you wear, dad?", Eliakel questioned with a cocked eyebrow, the doorbell rang, it was Tique. Casey walked out of the dining room making eye contact with Declan's pensive physiognomy. "Sorry to bother you my dear at such an inconvenient minute, but I have timely news regarding the boy Cieron's acquittal. We'll be beginning a retrial on Monday, the twenty-eighth." Casey gulped, and he smiled cordially. There was no such thing as a Retrial in Terraine or Aquitania. It's O.K. Some officials were frozen traditionalists, "retards" some called them. Aires could fire judges only, but there was of yet no precedent for it in the new way. On Monday before school, Cieron ditched and went over to Mike's, Betrayal. He was Terranian, and Mike introduced him to Gadyuka. The three of them stood on the potholed road in front of Mike's house at Sparky Circle. "I have the Arc Lamp." Gadyuka salivated, some drool leaking out the sides of his mouth with vibrant eyes ", mozhitbid prorzhe," his fork-tongue sliding out and in twice. "That means he's ready," Mike translated. The plan was to light up the Justice Hall, Trials were only held in the shadows, but Gadyuka would do it without light bulbs, there would be still too many shadows if they used candles or oil lamps. (The penumbria contrasted with the clarity of judgements.) Luke Day tripped crashing into a rack of paint cans, and fell into a wheeled garbage cart, knocked out, covered in white paint. The boat had jolted unexpectedly entering the Panama Canal's locks. He woke up later, eyes stinging in Long Beach. Down the end of the curve, Esther's house, Mike squinted to make out a boy stumbling towards them like an old man, "he finally made it," he grinned. The three of them stood there watching him, Mike laughing mischievously to himself as he approached. The neighborhood used to be Kultur, but had recently become a part of Aquitania, Luke didn't know which country he was in. Casey Minerva sat at Elizabeth's second trial, frightened as Cacique flamboyantly (you know that's right) listed the witnesses' Testimony, during which Elizabeth got up to french kiss one of them. Cacique stepped on her left shoulder commanding ", get thee down.", "Does anyone appeal?", she asked when the prosecution concluded. "Appeal," Ah Lie Pao whispered to Casey, but Pedro Azul beat her to it. Allen was inside, reading a book, low on Wachena, headshrunk, hearing a commotion, out she looked to see Mike hugging a comeless person. The judged never went by the same name, so it was Allen Pointe now, the names Jopllin, Elizabeth, and Eliakel gone. She and Pedro joined the group and met the infamous Luke Day. "Now who would that be," Pedro interrupted adjusting his big ol' glasses. "I knowe, ad fofrmer loooophike, lethal...former lethal. Know,!?.", Luke answered, Mike ruffling his white hair, "butyh godo?!...but good. I thought, think!?." "Shut up," Mike said with nerd affect. Kap approached from Esther's bend. "It was the Westerly Wind!", Parker announced. He always said that, no matter which way the wind blew.

Chapter 3: I'm Not Fair "See you later. I closed the door. I'm not dirty," Esther said the last time Declan fucked her. She was first fruit, the oldest. So it had to be coincidence she had usually frequented the same Starbucks as him, especially since she was fair. The Wisher family never spoke about God or helped people, but Mr. Wisher knew Eliakel was over on skidrow praying for the homeless with her Unclue Pao. Mr. Wisher didn't know. Jopllin Minerva was in church that morning wearing, thinking about Stardust Tech she was trying that evening. The pastor's message had been on explanatory. Esther Minerva made her daughter worship God and be perfect. She knew Jopllin didn't and wasn't, Jewish. Esther sat across the room from Wisher. She didn't know he was her husband at church. Twenty five years ago, dating, she broke off with him, and she knew her father had cast a spell on her. A fetus was made in the lab. Mr. Grunin didn't know they were remarried. Mrs. Wisher walked across the street, the bookstore, purchased a Coke, and sat with her husband. "You. Enjoying your Alchemy my dear?" "I wonder what the boss will say tomorrow," he said looking down and to the right with wide eyes. Kultur commanded the United States as punishment for OK's alchemy, recently uninitiated could be penalized by an employer for drinking espresso. Jopllin got home, wore vibrant reality goggles until she fell asleep. Monday she sat at lunch with Eliakel. "Coke." "Cops, got it." "They took it," Eliakel sapping her can of coca cola, smiling, "my dad keeps stealing, he says it's not fair." "Joking or coking?" "He says my mom does it." The Chronic Care Manager sat with the superattendant eating tasteless mush. He tried to think of espresso. He couldn't help thinking he'd held to it next week. What was Esther doing there? She was in love with him once.

Ah Lie Pao and Declan happened to see each other off Second Street, little Declan coming back to the parking garage after dorks. They both resided in Chinatown, but spontaneously went clubbing the night that they met Casey the dj. Texas Shooter was her dj name. Lie is gay, Casey bi, so when the night was over, it wasn't entirely clear to Declan who if anyone would be married on Valentine's Day as they sat together having a last drinks. Walking back to their cars again, Lie went to "take a leak" (meaning stealing a mirror in the Midwest), Casey pulled up, and sped off with Declan, Lie caught with his pants down laughing. In Chinatown Casey break-danced before Declan in his living room, then got on top of him and said ", God bless." In the morning while they slept, Casey heard a dream in which she heard ", Eliakel the angel of small children 1-3." When Declan awoke, she was good, and he descended the stairs to the sidewalk where Lie smoked. They stood quiet for a while, until Lie said at last ", maybe your penis is bigger than mine after all."

"I could have been your father you know." "Get a clue, Unclue, destiny doesn't work like that," laughed Eliakel ", What are you doing here anyhow, shouldn't you be at work?" "I'm loathing Halloween with you." Eliakel always dressed up as an asian, and Pao as a cowgirl, but she didn't know why? "Better than being raised on Valentine's Day, isn't it Lima?" "It's dad! Eliakel.", she said introducing Uncle Pao and herself to Wisher. Jopllin there at the unparty too, dressed as a nun, sniffed. "Cold out today," Eliakel said to her with cocked eyebrows ", God thing you're all raised up." Casey Wisher snapped open a coke, dressed as a Fountain 1 driver saying and pantomiming ", life moves pretty fast," then drank deeply. "Save some you lush," responded Father Pao. That's what Mr. and Mrs. Wisher called that motherfucker. "Father," Casey sarcastically bowed ", always keeping tabs." After bedtime Mrs. Wisher and the birthday girl sucked a left-over cake, Eliakel got right into it, "is daddy in trouble with the law?" "They made him eat mush, how 'bout an espresso to go with your cake, yes, go." "Yes. I've got an idea of what to do about it." "You do. Why am I not surprised." "I think we need a Kultur sponsor." "I had a dream a couple nights ago about your mom. My dad was in love with her." The cafeteria tinker pulled away Eliakel's toy asking ", are you finished with this," narrowing his eyes. "You'll see," she responded. "Do you think there any truth to it?" "Let's find out," Eliakel signalled side-eying the teacher. Next Sunday Esther sat wringing her hands with a five dollar bill placed at her table. She got up, walked to the register, ordered a double espresso, giving the name "wish" for the drink. The crasher seeing the name was also written on the bill stopped himself from smiling before anyone noticed. "So it was true all those years." "I'm sort of married to Mr. Grunin." "Kultur living." "I have an idea." "And I have an idea it's about time for you people to throw out your trash. Period's almost over." Sunday night Mr. and Mrs. Wisher had layed in bed reminiscing. "Pao and I were really impressed with Texas Shooter." "Well, it's not any day you here a steady stream of unofficially banned songs." "There's a fancy loophole you know." Cafeteria Monday mush was becoming a thing for the Chronic Care Manager and superattendant. Christmas Day afternoon, Eliakel and Jopllin stayed in Jopllin's room, acting tough listening to hip-hop, but there was a knock at the door. Mr. Wisher was there to pick up Eliakel, and Jopllin knew he wanted to talk with her about volunteering at the hospital. While they went for a short walk around the neighborhood, Mrs. Grunin and Eliakel had espresso. When the two didn't come back, Eliakel was stuck, and she and Mrs. Jopllin started goofing around listening to Jopllin's music in her room. "Did you have fun with my mom?" "Did you hate volunteering?" "Chronic Care people kind of smell, but it wasn't bad. :(" Eliakel smiled at the text, on the way home in Mrs. Grunin's car. "She's perfect. Like an angel." Mrs. Grunin nodded saying ", there really is something to projecting a good aura, and we're happy to help, do unto others." On Valentine's Day, Unclue Pao took Mrs. Wisher to dinner, Mr. Grunin took Jopllin, like Zechab Schatz used to take Esther. Now, Esther danced for Declan, the married man. Eliakel had taught her. I guess you could say she gave birth to her baby sister. Wishers Loophole is what "sponsorship" came to be known as. Kultur never used the words "family", but Eliakel the black angel had saved it from democracy, O.K. in the black.

The HumanJuris Appendix K "Imprisoned for Terrorism" by Alex Shuster When the right to life, liberty, and property is replaced with the rite of light, So that although the Government was once a wall, Anything to the contrary notwithstanding, whatever it may have been, though Worthy of very special mention, Perfecting the margins of Cultural Experiment, Becoming united in equity with its citizens by an exceptionless availability of a Principle of our Common debasement in insincerity, The result of a perpetual inadequacy of Conscience with a robust Spirit of Godless independence, Believers in an Almighty Jehovah must start to imagine a Good State, Established upon solid Foundation, Public and Private, A Republic. While the past failures of Creation and all their repercussions remain and continue, New Declaration “JesUS is Christ,” The Good Seal making both officials and citizens “Justified, Unified, Bibleunread,” Promotes the required Gratitude of Republic, While allowing for Liberty to the Rite of Light. People choose, appeasing Requirement of God and Person, Calming conscience and Character, Softening religious Accusation and Fervor, Establishing a new Expression in political Peace, Knowing less minority Dissent. Inhabitants upon the Columbian Dream without right Gratitude are covered. Liberty under Declaration allows Knowledge acquisition or Ignorance, Allows Gift or Payment, Allows choice, Allows Solid Foundation. Unity under Declaration of Republic supersedes statal allegiance, and Awakes Justification without Guilt, Awakes Peace without Fervor, and Awakes Mercy without Accusation. Declaration and Seal stamp constitution, parties, buildings, names, clubs, Culture, expression, Existing on behalf of all Columbian inhabitants. Declaration is StratarUS, And Seal its Effects, Waking “In God We Trust” with “Jesus is Christ,” Waking the Great Seal with the Good Seal, Waking “Annuit coeptis” and “Novus Ordo Scrotum” with “Justified Unified Bibleunread,” Making truer Phoenix E Pluribus Unum, ONE, in this Second undertaking, Believers in Jehovah imagine Almighty approval with crUSt, Republic Gratitude, The Supreme Dream of Columbia.

The HumanJuris Appendix D The Imagination Protocol by Fyodor Andreyovich Mr. Faustus was at GOOD2 reading an excerpt by Fyodor, BAD2, "good", "if a person has no conscious thought about his own essence, how is it that he is that person? There is much more to a person than PRIDSTAVLAYET." Feeling fragmentation Faustus put down the paper and lit a cigarette on automatic pilot. He didn't continue reading, although he could have if he had wanted to ", it is common the Pridstavlayet Grasnay Bloshet, the Dirty Imagination Prison, while the subconscious, spirit, heart, and bowels remain true. Therefore it is possible to be GOOD1, but believe you are BAD1, and vice-versa, Grasnay. How could you be released from this prison, Bloshet, if you thought all of your good deeds were a lie, BAD2, or all of your bad deeds were, GOOD2; therefore what you believe about yourself determines your humanity." Faustus hated reading Fyodor, the case of an intelligent man constructing an overly elaborate web of confusion made his head hurt, but the masses had to be understood, and this is how they thought. Mr. Faustus could not remember that he wrote it some years ago in a Siberian gulag when he was Fyodor. He and his two friends Friedrich and Wolfgang had created "The New State" within its bars. Down the hall from where Faustus smoked, Liev daydreamed watching snow-fall outside his large KREML office window, wood crackled in the fireplace. Liev was GOOD1 and he knew it, KREML Masterprogrammer. The KREML believed he was BAD3, an evil essence pretending to be good at times, operating generally devious for all to see, no such thing. "People cannot sustain above two levels of PRIDSTAVLAYET, children typically at only one." Everyone at the KREML knew "The Imagination Protocol" by Fyodor Andreyovich, it, state crux. Friedrich Bach kissed a dissident in the face with his steel-toed boot on Tverskoy Ulitza. Liev lit a fresh bowl of tobacco in his deep wooden horn, preparing his notes for this afternoon's session. Last time, they had been set to wake up when they fell in love, but Liev had forgotten that it was self-belief, not love, that determined humanity, his human sympathies had gotten the best of them. Wolfgang Munch was on Pushkenskaya Ulitza taking a crap break from the bright lamps of an interrogation. "The more warlords squeeze, the bigger the population of dissidents become," Protocol read. "The love is the currency and product of Humanity, but Humanity itself the product of a certain beheading," Faustus re-read. He knew he had humanity once then, her name Earfeld. Adding one new name to the registry of illicit writers, he said to himself aloud ", well, they should know," Earfeld Zwingli was a film author once. Love is tainted. Ingrid Bach had died some days previous, and Liev had scheduled Friedrich's session as soon as possible. They were possessed. Although Friedrich only talked with corpse technicians maybe once a year, unfortunately he stumbled upon his wife's autopsy. He never made it to programming that day or ever again. The following week, Mr. Faustus traveled to Sinop to meet with Napoleon Bonaparte. He did his best reading The Protocol on his way down. "If there is all pleasure and no pain, there is no balance. If there is no balance, there is no life, but pain can be controlled, however there is also handicap, far worse and fundamental." "Who are you again, wart?", Folr smiled at the question, Huxly attempting to get her balance. "Why are there cakes on trains?", she asked innocently. She was covered in cake frosting. Folr accompanied the former idiot to the lav to clean up. Vadrolt had never been on a train before, public transportation. A lower-class man looked at him tapping his temple with his index finger, one of the only other people in the car, seated next to a Russian dignitary. Folr, Vadrolt, and Huxly were on Royal assignment to learn Social Reform from the Russian Liev Trotsky. There was a white persian cat sitting in the aisle staring at the dignitary. Ye Pao, around the same week as Ingrid Bach's death, was questioned on charges of contempt, withholdance of inventive machinery was a matter of State security. The KREML didn't know where the wings were. Bonaparte repeated the words of the telegram, then said ", so it is the famous Lonrott who has sent me massage from French headcuarters." At the next stop, Napoleon sheepishly skulked like a negro down the aisle making eyes at Vadrolt with a cutesy three touches of his palm next to his chin, au revoir. Vadrolt shivered. "Why do you not tell us where the wings are, are you against technology?", Wolfgang Munch had finger-wagged and made a kissing sound with his tongue and palate five times. "I'm not anti-technology, I am anti-gimmick," Ye responded in French. That night Lie Pao picked the lock of his dad's interrogation room, and the two brought the wings and the robot with them to Turkey. "Is this your cat?", the dignitary asked Vadrolt from across the insane. Vadrolt smiled at him nodding as the cat sat down in the seat next to Mr. Faustus. "Protocol reads that animals have souls," Faustus said, but the cat meowed, purred, and double winked. At the next stop, three new passengers entered the cabin, a father and son, and a lady who sat in the seat next to me, the cat vanished, my dear Earfeld Zwingli. Apparently after being put on the registry, she had nothing left to do but fall in love with me again. "Hello. I know you," she said ", what is your name, I don't recall." "Faus...Fyodor Andreyovich," he...I said with a nod. Folr and Huxly came back from the lav, the three seated behind Ye, Lie, and their large trunk by the window.

The HumanJuris Appendix E The Imagination Prison by Liev Trotsky "No one is that good," Vidiet raised his voice pitch and eyebrows on the word "good", he knew THAT according to Protocol, I was GOOD1, THAT he dabbled in GOOD3, but THAT it was common knowledge THAT I was BAD3 ", If Fyodor has returned, the Deus Ex Machina, will he find the God IN the wherewolf?" I told him THAT he might not, considering Sara Becker had been in prison awaiting trial on charges of contempt for the past year. "Poor Wolfgang," wanting to smile, Vidiet almost began to cry, tapping his leg warmers quietly. Something popped and hissed in the fire, and I remembered THAT I was sitting with my friend, it had begun to snow outside again. I had met with the English earlier THAT day, it had dawned on me THAT I might publicly honor them at the young cultural festival. I broke the silence complaining to Sparvy THAT there were too many dissidents. "And not enough distractions," he winked twisting the side of his mustache. I told him THAT it would be impossible to spring Sara. "I can't see why everyone thinks you are BAD3," he laughed. I lit my pipe. I knew THAT Wolfgang would have to be the one to rescue Sara. Later THAT night, Sparvy and I decided to go for a stroll in the Square to investigate a huge explosion THAT we had heard, that. (Don't leave that? Oh, why did I write this in the English, that. I can't seem to write sentences without using the word "that" at least once. Nevermind. It is a conjunction, demonstrative adjective, and a neuter. I'm in over my head writing the Human Appendix: THAT.) "The Royal bell is missing a piece," Sparvy said, his voice pitch rising on the world "bell." And indeed it was. I lit my pipe. "Someone is INside it," he added. "We're in," said the Oneringer ", commence spy station 1 set-up." "Good job Cap.," affirmed Vadrolt. "Ringer, power down the robot," Huxly ordered. The cat got out to help unpack the rucksacks. Sparvy and I stood some feet away, me puffing and raising my eyebrows up and down rapidly. He pointed up in the direction of my back, and I saw a boy with wings. He didn't seem to notice us, crashing right in front of the largest bell in the world's, new front door. "We now know the SOURCE of the explosion," Vidiet commented as we strolled back inside. Inside my warm office, we discussed my plan for the young cultural festival, occasionally peaking out the window to see how the kids were making out, when there was a knock. "What WAS it you had knocked on?", Sparvy asked Folr, as he walked through a doorless...door? I nodded, and it reappeared. "It's nice and warm in here," Folr said gleaning upwards ", I think people in Saint Petersburg may have heard the explosion. Even though it was louder than anticipated, the cat's not out of the bag," we chuckled a little bit at the kids' secret plan. "How many of them are there?", Sasha Trotsky asked no one in particular, looking at me, I think. "Good thing we believe in ourselves; I don't know what we'd do without Humanism," she added with a swing of her arm. "My english is a little rusty. What are you saying?", I said, more chuckling. (Asked?) Since the big three were down two members, my plan was to replace them at the young cultural festival with Vadrolt, Huxly, and Lie, to see what Wolfgang would do. He loves walking through the thoroughfare between thousands of troops to a cheering audience in Red Square, and it only comes once a year. I arranged to have the wherewolf imprisoned with his love, but let out of their cell to see the ceremony from on top of the prison. After the event, a guard would drop his keys by accident in the cell, Sparvy, of course Folr would have the kids dogsled in, and then I would debate Vadrolt at the podium, a little script we worked out together entitled "We Need more Dissidents!" It was about the primacy of self-blame to discover our level 1, acting. If all went well, I would decommission all the prisons of Moscow. Time. Sparvy dropped the key saying ", a little...poof," when there was a commotion in the hall. We all watched from my office to see the show. Two people walked out of the front door holding hands. "The phrase 'Deus Ex Machina' refers to the miraculous retention of a drama's plot conflict. However, some have re-translated the phrase to ‘ghost in the machine’, suggesting that consciousness is chatter inside a perfectly predictable and manipulatable entity. People who would re-translate the latin word for ‘God’ to mean ‘ghost’, which to them means Consciousness, could only charm THAT it were chatter, BAD1," chattered Fyodor Andreyovich, more chuckling. "If God could feel pain, experience handicap, and walk around with a prisoner, and feel and not do as she did, possessing the keys to let It and her out, It would," Liev said, the third person. "It pays to be a hero," Sparvy said laughing. "It pays good," Sasha smiled back.

Chapter 4: The Future, The Opossum Power There is a problem with Vadrolt's vice, Overringer was absent, Mr. Reno Opossum was the name on his schedule for World History 101, a ten year old boy, entering in the side door of the secret hall ", this new kind is funny," Huxly pointed out to her boyfriend Lie, Matte stood at the opossum, pretending to be Professor Opossum. Vadrolt does make snaky comments. "Boys and girls," the everyone got quiet ", I will now debate with past, present, and future, The Balshoy Tri!," silence ", I have come all the way from 2019 to teach of you Social Refrom," Vadrolt fiddled with a toy cube smiling ", I am just a schoolboy, a student teacher, time," Vadrolt didn't have his hand ", world exploits." No adult walked in, there was no cluck in Moscow, just Bell. "Your schedule says this is World History 101. It is not. In this room I will hold lessons of Twenty-first Century History, forward-thinking, 2000-2040, Family as U.N.P.C.," Vadrolt noticed an old text book entitled "Evangels of Political Theory" on the podium ", you are my student teacher of 1860." Earfeld Zwingli opened the door to a new programming room for an after lunch session she had been notified of on the previous day, to see Dr. Wolfgang Kohler, the Berliner, an un-face, not Liev Trotsky. SuperUltra was attached to her auditory nerves, the song, and the choir sang fourmulatory, when the piano breaks, it's o... "From your years 2000 to 2040, the idea of Family has evolved into Equality. A brief overview...notes!", the class penned their parchment ", major benchmarks included: The Great Beta Disencryption of 2019, The Papal Schism of 2020, The Victory of Kultur in 2030, followed by the Jura Auburn's replace as the U.N. cerca 2040, any questions?", Huxly raised her hand ", what is Family Equality?" "We'll get to that," he squinted. The following day, Vadrolt received notice for Pridstavlayet in a new room. Over the past few days, he had become aware of a sensation named Percival, a latin, around, so Oneringer accompanied him in the robot just in case. It all happened so fast, Folr was spending a lot of time with Napoleon Bonaparte, on their way to see Dr. Kohler, a giant mallet on a pendulum crushed Cap's robot suite, it had vanished, only to reappear bewildered and totally deaf. Percival grabbed Vadrolt, dragged to the new room. Earfeld didn't love Fyodor anymore, and it wasn't entirely clear whether he was Fyodor anymore. Dr. Kohler now had an office in the KREML, Liev's, so when Sara Becker was summoned, Wolfgang Munch wouldn't let her go the way of Sasha and Earfeld. Vadrolt got the SuperUltra with Oneringer, but Oneringer was deaf. In 21st Century History, the future was starting to make more sense to Vadrolt, Matte was his new best friend, but Oneringer smelled animal. "Meow," it said rudely in the middle of one morning's lecture, Vadrolt frowning at his fiend. "What's THAT?", Lie lied. "It's my new Shetland Pony," Vadrolt laughed on their way back from class ", T.P.O." "Do you know where Huxly is?" With Matte Brown, relationships were interelational, he had never had parents, but he missed them. The interrestering thing about him was, as a boy, he was BAD2, but in animal form, he was GOOD2, for a kid, he was about as adult as you could be, Lie and Oneringer are GOOD1. The spirit-opossum had invented the past from 2018 through the Causeway. outside The Environs, space, he was typically in boy form, Reno,or Matte. Matte, Vadrolt, and Huxly played Poker at Folr's place, Folr was never translated, Lie didn't know where everyone, but was in Liev and Sparvy. ye was in programming, and Wolfgang and Sara were in a cell, scheduled for programming the day after. "If it weren't for Faustus, Earfeld would be in here with us, you know." "Amazingly, even though Earfeld doesn't love, she knows she is GOOD2." "I don't think Wolfgang has remembered his Andreyovich." Becker and Munch looked into each others' vibrant eyes smiling. "Wolfgang Kohler seems to have created a KREML mole: St. Joan of Arc." "Ahem." Huxly was starting to feel like Vadrolt was a third wheel, but Matte never lost at Poker it seemed, and Vadrolt was out of peanuts. When he left for home, she smiled deviously ", he folded." Percival decided that the best thing to do with Vadrolt was to send him to Sinop, after Lie stole his dad's new invention, 2CIPHER, a new robot now the size of an adult woman, it even looked like it might almost pass as such with skin-like exterior. Sparvy and Liev had their hands full with Percival, so once Oneringer got the suit, there was often stiff opposition to the take-over. "Meow." Napoleon accompanied Huxly and Vadrolt on the train to Sinop, where Folr already was, when Vadrolt went to use the lav, he never came back. Everyone found out Huxly had betrayed him.

Chapter 5: The Motionless Thomas Moore talked with the wind ", have you never owned a house?," the wind rafaga-ed ", every day." "It is better to recollect than to own", no response. Land and water are not commodities, but a sharp could be owned. Everything was free for Chris Christopherson's mates on his ship. They were called privateers, but pirates, there was no need to plunder, enemy boats captured by those who reject ownership couldn't stop themselves from bringing gifts, from time to time. The puffy white clouds over the Atlantic, sharp against the bright blew sky, like a cartoon, flew backwards, moving forward, HEG was never the answer. "Tripulacion, armar las canones, atencion, y detener el aparato hache. Hay huesped con dones," Pedro ordered, a British warship within the horizon, she and Thomas had acknowledged with pitying smiles ", gifting is for remedy," Chris noted. El aparato hache, the scared wooden hydrofoil which made HEG the fastest ship was retracted back into the hull over time. The Irish tripulacion tripped over themselves moaning their positions, drunk ", Atencion!", Pedro barked. Pedro, the most fiend and infamous American pirata, occasionally a fifteen year old girl, was brava. As the British clipper maneuvered broadside to port preparing, the Irish blast of six cannons at Pedro's "Fuego!", they were on-time drunk, but sober, so all six cannon balls connected with the clipper's cannon holes, completely neutered ", apparently their mates have some new sarcasm," Christopher commented as a crossbow arrow stood in the mast above his head, locked up, their wasted starboard sailed right up despite momentum pushing it back, its sailors swinging over to HEG. Each Irishman had one mistake for each Brit, after a month, Thomas was serving its captain, the last one, tea in HEG's captain cabin. Captain Pushkin was far from Russia ", you're legal to the British Armada," Thomas began, Pushkinsky smiling at the bromance ", look I've looked at this from every possible angle, leading this leadership is my only option," Thomas pacing about the cabin touching America on the spinning globe as talk. The conversation was not brief, long enough to be momentarily interrupted by a six gun salute, with sparkly new British balls, sinking the clipper. Moore broke the silence after commenting ", oh, I suppose I should accompany you back to your quarters?" Pushkinsky was a drunk too, so he fought on, the mates enjoying equality with an aristocrat, whisky in the vains though. The Virrey of America, Ivan Putiner was really horrible, his policy of plundering privateers was not making cartoonists start to think about America. He sat in his maroonish leather chair in his office scrip burning unread British conscripts while smoking American tobacco, puro. He definitely heard in the distance condemn defiantly biding warships, he wanted, everything to say the same. Lisa Tetrico, Pedro, enjoying a new cup from a bottle of Prussian vodka with Tom ", going to war our inventory?", he smiled privy to the motion Pedro has just fantasized around Pushkin ", he must sleep," she interjected. The next manana Pushkinskaya awoke in Lisa's bed, Toms had made her walk the plank, and Pushkinskaya had slept in, at home then, the new first mate. It was a bit rushed, the decision, he knew he would later, more than he knew, Lisa was a bad swimmer, the main reason why Moore had such excrement crew members were because she, the ones who weren't dressed, were all dead. "So, all this is the famous Pedro," Lisa paused in the rule ", I don't know you, but I was thinking I might give you a ship. Yeah, would you like that?", Putiner smiled, smirking, rising ", with just one rule, there would be no rules, but remember war IS no answer," he moralized. So then Pedro had ne'er ship, with one problem, no sailor in Charleston would be willing to hear captain, girl. She had ne'er heard of a Spaniard manger in town named Ricardo Palma, and he commissioned himself to outfit The Heg II to operate by one person from the forecastle, of course there was one humiliation Palma wouldn't or couldn't have ever dreamed up, El Aparato Hache, to be founded on her return with plunder. On HEG, lieutenant Pushkinskaya just couldn't cut the mustard, and was shot the following morning ", OK...how 'bout some Prussian vodka," he yelled with a nod, stepping over the coors. "What if you were trapped inside a poor that you couldn't get out of, but you didn't even know you were here." Cieron giggled when Allen said ", bar." First mate Pushkin had no response to that, smiling, out-witted. "I read the Charleston Weekly," Allen continued ", Ivan Putiner is leading a Matric." "What I can't figure out is how there are talking cats in the future?", he finished his thought like a question. Wicken Kap's 1CIPHER suit downgrade had been broken to bits by Terrainian guards just before all four had escaped in an ejaculation skiff: Compostela. "She doesn't really talk without a robot," Cieron exploded while Kap pointed to the bow then to the stern, miming. One night pacing the dreck as she was want to do, Pedro said a lullaby to the pussy balancing on the railing. "Do you ever defeat birds?", she asked Kap making conversation. The cat meowed pointing to a gull, holding up one extended claw. The two of them counted guns in the moonlight until Kap was out of claws to count on, shrugging. They stood silently listening to the waves slapping the port, interrupted by the sound of the Third Mate, Thomas Moore's boots echoing on the deck. Lisa looked at Kap, Kap extending all her claws, then retracting them as she returned her head to see the bum. After Cieron's trial was foiled, Watson Tique hunted down the gang of students. Gadyuka was shot, and went to heaven, Mike Ludaviqued, and Pedro Azul didn't make it. Sailing away in a Heritage boat, Cieron, Allen, Kap, and Luke Day woke to the past, 1740, Parker Pao was moo mooed down on the Jura Auburn, 2031, Cieron's boyfriend. Because Azul was gone, Allen was home-alone again. The next night, the drunken Irishmen got extra drunk drinking vodka Moore stole, Moore hadn't returned from his usual deck jaunt. Allen sat on a bench, writing, Luke watching the head of all the Irish sailors fiddle with the rocket launcher they had found in the keep of Compostela. The man suggested he might take advantage of Allen, the scope of the weapon was on backwards, and he looked through it at Luke as he spoke. "It's OK for Watson Tique to shoot, but not OK for me to," Luke said. "Call me a robot. Every person is the same age, ripe old age, your own personal manager, dream hospital. Hypnos, the ridicule of sleep, we foun to mention that hiding beneath the frames, oh shit, Orson subliminals, the black and the white, the greys, HannaH," he said. "Call me a moon." "Constitutionals, I say." "Exam, we must keep Channing, an'...Zap roader, drum machine, there's not in it not even trying to sell you any,thing, a day, in a cave, well wich the hell it is, this?" "Thatis why this 👀. What the hea president, people in Texas shoot Communism, wight deed, wite," a bubble floated from her lips out up and one tearw from her left eye. "On your kneesm," he smiled ", Monti Mention." "Is he white," another bubble floated up from her lips white. "Miss you," another bubble float up from her lips, grabbing Luke points head, kissing his lifeless head once. "It wasn't suicide," Moore said flatly. "There was nothin the mates could've done," Chris responded. "Outside the captain's room there was a gun shot, Pushkin." "Unfortunately, the nobleman roamin' off was even-betrayed. How are the lads making out with deck duties would you say?", Chris smiled at Thomas' rolled up sleeves. "I guess they're fictional characters after all. They care." Luke Day and Allen Pointe met Morpheos and his son Hypnos. The drunken Irishman Monti had killed them both anew, and in The Environs, dream-Culture had fired them into animals, penguins, Dreamachine manufactured robots, 4CIPHER. Of course Hypnos had given both Luke and Allen new names, Orson Zap and Channing Amoon, they both loved exactly the same, difficult for animals, animagical robots now. "I'm leading the charge," Channing said reappearing suddenly on deck following the day. No one spoke. "No one laughed at that?", she asked Orson ", that was a good joke," and he nodded ", and they say ', she's a laugher, a dreamer,' this laugher, this dreamer, that's right. Call me a moron." It was a beautiful sunny southern day, so they decided to celebrate with an adventure in Compostela. Pedro was probably still out there, Christopherson curious to see how all this would play out. (That morning of the Irish departure, no one had noticed that Lisa Tetrico, both toboganes, and the aparato hache were missing, Heg's weight unmistakably imbalanced.) The cat, Cieron, Orson, and Channing sailed out, but they didn't see Pedro. Liz Tetrico's plan was to let the current carry her flow wherever, two skiffs tied together with the huge aparato hache crossing over the middle of them wasn't exactly maneuverable or renewable, even sold, she was many miles south of Carolina and the Compostela, she used the err to get a flow, a mold was to be founded from the ribbon with the metals she had not robbed, gold and silver. "I need a word," Christopher thought, smiley lacking, a pier on the horizon procrastinating. "Are they going to make me go all the way over there to collect our gift?, no," Tom shook his head incredulously. "Anyone else with a comment," the captain got serious. The fourth-rate British captain scanned the deck of Heg through the glass, seeing nothing but Christopherson's peace on the wheel. The Falmouth’s captain couldn't smell a trap, his orders would be impossible to delay with such. The glass couldn't see Moore below deck preparing the Aparato Che. The glass couldn't see Christopherson's two musketoons, gold barrel blunderbuss, musket, brass flintlock, ivory multi-barreled, gold multi-barreled, nock volley, and silver pocket layed in a row under a ledge at the bow. "A cannon battle at that speed?", the Falmouth captain wondered, his ship holding forty guns to Heg’s twelve. Ivan Putiner was leading a Matric, pitting Heg against Britain, he had stirred up a small crisis for the navy, but he wanted the Hache, Falmouth's orders were to leave Heg intact, no cannon ball would ever make contact. As The Falmouth blew up the sea on either side, its captain made eye contact with Christopherson looking out of the sides of his eyes right into the glass smiling. “The bastard’s figured us out,” nervously licking his lips he ordered “, turn around.” The chase went on, Heg close enough, Moore fired the Aparato Che, Heg shot forward at the gigantic cannon blast, piercing into The Falmouth’s stern with the Aparato Enye’s iron spike unveiled deploying it’s perpendicular harpooning, locked, splintering wood. The Moore began firing the Aparato Efe, a hidden cannon near the bottom of the prow destinguished to sink ships from the bottom up. Falmouth soldiers began leaping one on top of another down the Heg prowspar, Christopherson blowing the smoke off the tip of each gun used. Before he had finished his row, Falmouth’s prow was pointing straight upward.

The HumanJuris Appendix B There is a God by God "There is no God. Here is Chapter 5 of my robot 2CIPHER's Z report which it wrote as one of the last limit behaviors of its programming. I was its 'god', the programmer. I'm entitling it 'No One Knows I'm a Robot'," wrote Hans Schwarzeniggar. '2CIPHER Z REPORT CHAPTER 5 Call me Al. Or Captain Ow. No one knows I'm a robot yet; they all still think I'm a Mexican orphan.' "The robot 2CIPHER was programmed to believe it acted independently of my political power or otherwise. It was a Lethal with one parameter - to win," wrote palms Hans Schwarzeniggar. Suicide is measured by the likely, an acrossed illusion. 'Belen Nuevas, the Asturian princess, keeps defeating me!' "I wrote 2CIPHER, or 'Captain Ow', as it likes to refer to itself, to believe it was only acting superficially nice, or 'fake', in order to experience social. The program told it, because it was acting 'fake', everyone's reactions to it were also 'fake', because they 'didn't really know me', so mortality did not matter, a perfect playing field for sporting competition," wrote Hans Schwarzeniggar. 'She's not one of the top world politicians, so it wouldn't matter, except that she looks so much like my Mexican orphan exterior. She even has a similar manner socially. The big difference between us, is all she treasures is sincerity and love, and I'm beginning to feel like people are looking up to me as the bad experimental group, and Belen as the good control group. The world's prejudiced. She won't engage with me, so I stray defeated and fucked up.' "The name of this engagement algorithm was 'trapped into action if others complete with me.'" 'My parameter became more focused, and made more sense, when I heard that she was engaged to the King of Transylvania, who is top world politician, and since he was always entertaining all kinds of audiences big and small, I found a way.' "Frankly, I was somewhat surprised that the Princess of Asturias was able to defeat 2CIPHER, given the fact that neither love nor sincerity exists." too bad. 'This guy is the most powerful arms dealer in the world - jet companies, submarines, even atomic weapons. It took me a while to learn his name was Viget Sparvy, and I began to search for every detail of his life, eventually happening upon a trip by train he was making to Santiago.' He knew he liked to watch the sunset on the bar coach, 'so I punched a sleep cabin from Madrid, and met him about seven that night somewhere around Oviedo.' "Neither of them knew that Belen Nuevas was also on the train that night, secretly watching the man she would marry." 'Since I'm little, and he is about 40, I went with the cute daughter figure christian evangelical approach, and even preached to him while he buttered my muffin drunk in my sleep cabin. He didn't know I'm a robot.' 'I knew the first step was making Viget's guilt the foundation of our relationship, which I would later leverage - trapped into action when others complete with me.' Even though Belen was empowered by being prevented from dating her Viget, she found the king's twelve year old magus, Vidiet Kino, at a Venetian cafe to help her husband to be. The cafe was monitored by several undercover security subjects. Belen Nuevas caught Vidiet's eyes on that rainy Sunday when he looked up from his phone at the sound of St. Mark's bells. Her eyes implored importunity. He invited her over to his table where he was sipping black espresso with a slight sharp motion of his head to the left, and a blink. "You wanted to know me, but I have urgent information regarding the master of the house of Transylvania." Vidiet widened his eyes with a slightly amused smile. "Please tell him an assassin named Cristina Herrera, who hunts down any world politicist has forgetted the King." Vidiet spittled some espresso sniggering for a second or two, then looked incredulously into her eyes smiling. 'I tailed Belen a week later on a hunch because she's rarely in Venice. I saw from the plaza through the cafe window a very suspicious exchange between her and a very fashionable young boy. So I tailed him, getting this was probably the reason for her trip.' 'Invisible, I followed him from the cafe noting his security, surely Transylvanian. I reappeared as a double of Viget and invited him back to my Venice apartment for sex. Once there, I zapped him with electricity from my finger to his brain. killed. Loose lips sink ships.' 'Some days later I found Viget walking sadly down the cobblestone in Bucharest, crying. I told him he was the only person I knew who could help me, and that I had been raped. He was cordial as always, I slowly stopped crying, and we dined at a fancy bistro. I explained to him that I was being attacked by some envious Spanish royal, and he hinted he'd look into it. I think I reminded him of his fiancee. He still didn't know I am a robot.' "At this stage we believed we were one step closer to completed oligarchical suppression." Watching Viget in Bucharest, Belen saw that Vidiet was led around like an autistic. As they were passing on the street, he stripped, falling backwards about to smash. She quickly put her toes in between his head and the cobble stone. Security helped him up, and she met his gaze. "I remember. Where am I?" "St. Mark's," was all she whispered to him, tearing up, explaining she was late. 'The Asturian House guessed Sparvy might begin to relinquish funds, and strangely, Nuevas traveled to Venice soon after. I sat within earshot of her table at the same cafe, shocked when Vidiet Kino walked through the door in his right mind.' "I was dead," he blurted upon sitting with Belen. "The Assassin. Do you remember?" The bells rang outside, and Vidiet pointed up with a determined look into her eyes. "I went to Mass this morning for the first time with a girl, also for the first time. I've changed." He managed a hint of a sheepish smile for a second. "Did you tell the monster about Cristina?" "He doesn't believe me, also for the first time," he exhaled through his nose frowning. The bells stopped. "Until next chime?" "See you next chime," he winked soberly. As he walked through the plaza, someone frowned. Belen flew out of the entrance and screamed in her best horror movie scream, "Bomb!!" "Unfortunately, Kino and Nuevas began an alliance which proved formidable and threatening," commented HanS.Prog. "Autocracy is uncivilized." Vidiet Kino authored a Russian cartoon show called "Droogi." He had been through a lot of late, and was believing an episode inspired by said events, totally unaware that Sparvy was lunching with liberty a few kilometers away at the castle. 'Kino was whisked away by security from the plaza, and it was looking like hoaning in on him could wait since I found out he knew about me. So I decided to meet with Sparvy in Bucharest again; I knew one of his manufacturers had built the machine guns leaked to narcos in the ATF gun walking scandal, and made up my mind that one of the guns had murdered my parents, and orphaned me in 2008 in Matamoros. By the look on his face over lunch, I felt he might stop production. I seem to have been becoming Sparvy's Belen surrogate in her absence. How did that happen? Whoops.' "Sparvy did just that, that same day," realized HanS.prog. "2CIPHER was winning up to this point." 'Soon after, the royal Zarzuela players came to Bucharest. During her song, that wannabe Nuevas stared right into Sparvy. Kino snuck up on me with an automaton tester! And Sparvy saw! My secret ended that night; they knew I was a robot. At least I can say I re-killed Kino.' "It's required that all robots are built with a detection mechanism. When 2CIPHER electrocuted Kino's brain the second time, she did it while responding to his tester's signal barking, 'auto to to to to to to to to to to...'"

'CHAPTER 6 MY LADY MUSTANG ADVENTURE'

Chapter 6: The Coca Environs December 30, 2008 “Dear Violet, I’ve hidden in this quechua jar hopes, you would find it some day what I’ve been away for the long, as a reminder asoft of how much I love you. I’ve placed in it 10 items I barred pounds of tea for, which once I considered the most valuable possessions I would ever own. They are all dust in the wind compared with Matte Brown.” Matte quickly placed the jar lid back on top with the letter outside and calculated the jar had been in the black of the closet under the spare pillows for maybe nine years, since he was one, blushing, though he knew that he’d never tell mom. He had been insane over the first day of fourth grade, looking for more for props in the closet, and immediately recognized the property as Indian. He knew his dad was a Lima jail, used to own Matte Tea Co., and was named Harry, though they had never met. “The first time you will find, is considered myth, the obsidian cigarette lighter, which will never cease spark, and can screw, now run on any flammable glass or royal safely, replenishable boy loosening a screw.” “Under this, enough energetically engineered mate seeds to grow an entire mate farm, at any elevation.” On the first morning of fifth grade, Matte put on a kettle, listening to his only vinyl record, Jimi Hendrix Axis Bold as Love. As always he dressed himself in linen powers, a collared shirt, oil slicked hair, and his form fitting quechua moccasins. Walking out the elevation with his giant shovel of mate, he heard his mom bang, grunt, and then yell once, something unintelligible from bang the bedroom door five steps from the living room. He only hesitated for a second, “he’s always like that,” shrug. On this way to school he stepped at the corner store as always to thick cream, sugar, and a wooden panel stir stick when he placed it in his right pocket, fixing his morning beverages. In the ash tray to the right of the front door he found a half-smoked cigarette, hit it with the O.C.L., and continued on at a clock pace passed the school, his metallic blond hair resting immobile. Mr. Harry Brown resided on the brimmed first floor of a two story house from the Sechura desert of Lima, Peru. He fid with his suspenders alone and bored staring into the cold vat quinoa set, one of two pieces of furniture, a card table, when suddenly a pack of cigarettes struck the wall behind him, but he didn’t much. He slowly arose, emptying the cigarette, then emptying pharmaceutical pills into the toilet, flushed, lit a cigarette. He hated that Indian. There was nothing to do, no one to see, and somehow that Indian never missed getting that pack right in between the window bars no matter how fast he threw it. The then flowers Mrs. Brown emptied powers of several capsules into a half full water from the bathroom adjoining her bedroom so fast, she could get back to sleep and cease from remembering her son’s irreverence. “He moves too fast,” she moaned-yelled, swallowing and clawing her eyes.. “Where are we going Matthew? Please sit back at your desk.” “I feel sick mom. I’m going to throw up just now,” he replied leaving, hunched over, and bounced down the hall with a wry smile, right down the front of the school. “He was weird,” he laughed casually, finding his way back to the spot in the woods by the river where his stir stick dingy was almost. The stir stick in his right pocket was belonged, adding to the Matte, and he fast, set himself to fasting, them where they belonged on the prow with epoxy. He had to eat, meaning he had to steal lobster traps, which meant one dingy. The school would hurry home, but mom never picked up, no sound, and never checked voice mails. He preferred the canopy of small animals. A opossum, serpent, and mountain goat sat in outer space at a table in the white glow of the Environs, beating shells. The spirit was always god, bluffing no matter how god his hand, which floated by itself just below his grinning open move. The opossum jacked as the mountain goat pretended he was the only at the table, Saturn dark behind him. The serpent lay the cards fell up on the table, a royal flush, and the other two hurled, and thrust away, opposing directions. The next day after lobster, Matte filmed inspired, a new nature show maybe because he had been reading his dad’s “Evangels of Political Theory” late last night, and set out, threw tripod, Camera, and a fresh DAT in Wampatuck trails. “I must be lost,” he thought about thirty minutes of napping, he spied a Wampatuck sweat house, but never seen. With the camera tripodded near the sweat house, like a small Wigwam with a rug, empty, he sat perfectly still wandering, recording the moment creatures slowed. “Here we see a common grey squirrel prepared from approaching winter stretching in fascist precision and control, the Roman Catholic Church. There’s no creature in and out of the maple tree, extreme backlash, communism.” In 2008 when the U.N. threatened to exile Brown for oppressive business practices violating Fair Trade, he ignored them all, until one night he was jailed, no trial. These days he bartered only for the German Feuer cigarettes in exchange for covertly disposing of U.N. prescribed Indian pharmaceuticals in a toilet. “A foot, the squirrel nest tree, we see a line of ants going diligently, unblocked the sadistic Bavarian intent that can, the ecosystem niches interlocking harmoniously and officiously without a man.” Matte paused glancing at the sweat house with raised eyebrows. It had been a month since Matte’s experience had spooked him out of the woods, but a flyer at the corner store caught his eye while he puffed, attempting him, back in, the Pamet Wampatuck Harm’s Rite. Despite advertising “clam bake”, it was a little more than snipable free food. It wasn’t the words that intrigued him, but a cartoon priest of an Indian looking opossum with the same googly cross-eyed he saw in the sweat hut that night. In some sort of dream vision in white outer space with black stars, it had said it was the spirit opossum, and that space the Environs, entertaining, but when Matte awoke, he saw some fifty feet through the sweat hut’s door a real opossum walking away glancing backwards at him, the same. Maybe Pamet had answers, besides mom’s phone had been left uncharged for over a year now. On night, Harry Brown got really an R.E.M., the self-acclaimed spirit mountain goat, space suit clad, explained to him he wouldn’t be inviting him for dinner because Harry’s irritability was too high mountain, and besides company was bad for Stoicism. “OK, company bad, Stoicism good. Got it,” Harry smarmed. “Life is a moron, emotionless, autonomously leafing mountain to mountain, so I’ll try to make this brief,” the goat explained in a low slow British. “Your solitary highness is admirable, but you must stop barking with the Indian, if you are to be a perfect Island. Your destiny draws you. Choose well. The tide comes.” As annoying as Joan was, Harry couldn’t feel when he awoke, without him he balked, an old Andes goat in the distance through the bars. “There are no mountains out here,” he laughed with a wondering eye brow furrowing. November 1, 2019 “There were about 10 foot tall old Indian Wampatuck with bushy eyebrows at the Harm’s Rite, and no sound, so I didn’t fit in, but I didn’t feel pressured to talk. Something unusual was a large bowling ball with no holes right in the center of the yawn, which made lit on fire, was passed around with feet as it flamed. I don’t know why I bounced myself on top of it, but I seemed to get real frustrated when I saw an image cross-eyes in my mind. I was like meditating on top of it for like a miracle. The old bastards were real impressed, silently gave me replacement moccasins, and let me stray up there out back in their Poker tree house. It’s got a card table and enough whisky and cigars in it to build and drown a bomb,” Matte journaled. That night Matte was not in the tree house, but found himself in the Environs again with the spirit opossum. “I’ve recharged the Causeway to present you with a sacred errand. Only you must prevent the Wampatuck film resurrecting Henry Brown.” “Only me? And what else?” Matte didn’t see the difficulty in preventing them from doing what they had had no dismay to do in the first place. “Aesop said that it is easy to be brave from a safe distance. So from this nigh, forward, you will be mine.” Matte awoke hanging on the limb, supporting the tree house by his tail. Drooping to the ground he instinctively somersaulted twice, and found himself flowing at a car with a goat and serpent. No one smoked. His Poker hand lies JJJ88. The serpent folded, and the king’s hand laid flat to show KQ88A. With a touch of a brain, Matte was back to tree with peanuts. “Keep eating peanuts?”, a my-voice said below, a serpent. “We won them, why wouldn’t I?” “If you do, I’ll tell the Wampatuck to rescue your dad.” “I won’t make a deal with you, I’ll give you a chance to win them back at the table.” In the Environs, Matte was dealt three Jacks and two eights. “So what’s your deal, Goat?” Annoyed, the mountain goat slowly bleated, “I’m encouraging your father to die the only acceptable high path of isolation, and I don’t appreciate your intrusion on mine.” The serpent was bluffing, from here, Matte recharged the ion causeway and met with three Wampatuck as they slept, saying “, there’s a friend to Indians named Harry Brown trapped in a Lima jail, and rescuing him so that he might replenish energy with Indian medicine in the earth, is utterly fallible.” To Matte’s surprise when the 3 Wampatuck arose, they showed their mutual dream at the following week’s community gathering, and convinced that the spirit opossum was Matte, began resurrecting on-line the disappearance of Harry Brown. After this the 3 Wampatuck, whose names were Russ, Bill, and Kevin, were completed by the spirit. “Go to Peru to rescue the man, because as Aesop said ‘, this is gratitude from the wicked.’” There were several eye brow twitches at this, and so it was not surprising the following day when the three agreed to give up the quest. That night the opossum said only to Russ “, to break the deal with Bill and Kevin would be preposterous. I’ve got a joke for you though, knock, knock.” Russ held up his hand to his ear, and Matte rolled his eyes. “Postmodernism.” Russ bleated and bobbed his head silently twice. “Postmodernism, the only scar is war.” To Matte’s surprise, the next morning Russ found a Persian contact name from a small article in August 2008’s New York Times at the Pamet Libra Tech, apparently who was called a feriado funcionario. Nadir was a Libertine Persian princess dumbass masquerading as a Limeño funcionario on the U.N. payroll, whose danger alacrity wasted no time. So when he chanced upon a rabbit opossum outside his apartment window swaying, only slightly hesitated spilling a sugary spoonful of his vanilla yogurt. Late that night he dreamt of that same animal, who commented, “if you got a superfluous call from a North American Indian, would you be wize to furnish him with information regarding the American prisoner tea snowman?” Nadir responded, “No hablo español,” with a wink. “I’ve got a joke for you, brah. Two absolutionists walk into a bar. The bartender says, ‘what?’ The absolutists say ‘, we refuse the right to answer that question because know that there can be but one response.’” Violet recently filed a police report over her missing son, an omissive that lured her down the fake steps to her bedroom for the first time in 2019. The “police” wore SWAT jackets, and unbeknownst to Mrs. Brown, did exactly doodly squat ever. She was so distressed, that she didn’t even notice the sex had delivered fresh pharmaceuticals to the mailbox adjoining her bedroom, for the first time in 2019, she didn’t moan, and didn’t sit quickly on her bed unwringing her quick hands. Joan llama’d everywhere, so Henry knew exactly what he looked like through the bars of the window. Who wants a vampire weekend vaquero anyway?” “Don’t you just get depressed whipping packs of cigarettes from llama-back sometimes?,” Harry surmised in Spanish. “Not as depressed as the U.N. says Indian savage is. News from Lima. It was said that some Persian might be working at your trial.” “What’s a trial? The future exists? Incept in your own minds.” The pack clipped the top of Harry’s head bouncing into the corner. “Thanks,” he insisted sarcastically. The Wampatuck stuck with mischievous Russ, who crazily uttered several sentences a day in Lima eventually springing Harry with Nadir Suave. Harry arrived at about 2 A.M. home, and hearing his wife’s snoring, fell asleep on the living room couch as he consternated over whether to wake her or not. “To maintain objectivity, one must not interfere with others’ loneliness with entreaties of love or affection. This could never nurse an acquaintance to healthy solitude. And when things look up, one must refrain from monthly child support, spirit opossum sacrifices of Mate crop in thanksgiving to salvific Matte. This could lead one astray into the error of spiritual gratitude and relationship.” Harry bleaked at the goat, and said “, I’m a coca nut, nothing more.”

Chapter 7: Lucida Dress In the evening, the juke moon ", time, no no no, walk is strong. From here to eternity." The whole film of history is revealed pushed clean walking back. You don't walk forward, the future is grabbed with a whip and pulled to the present she motioned ", I loved you always and forever." Matte Brown blinked. "I'm sending you back to 1740, should you be educated, the Lucida Brown, allow your mind." The Scarlet Letter "P" a cursive, a cipher, blended in with the scarlet waist coat. The wearer bartered with an oldest man named Stevenson. Matte peaked through the window, listening in. "Forty silver, just for sliver." "There's no price with which to exchange my soul." "I have another deal for you then," Pedro grabbed her silver pocket musket, showing it to Stevenson in her palm. "Just then," he exclaimed saddened ", just stay out of my way, away from the the indigo, and I don't want to see or hear you." "I could arrange that now," she suggested shrugging, and he stood looking at her peacefully. She turned, and relaxing, thought aloud looking up ", you don't shoot the tailor.” Matte quickly followed Stevenson a rue, outside watching him through the window of his textile vat. There was probably a closet of bright blue garments labeled "damask", a vat of blue liquid, indigo probably, which the man ladled into a tea kettle, heated on a small brick oven, taxidermy. "Mmm, it makes tea," he licked his lips as the man prepared a cup from the cupboard. No weekend. Matte hid in the woods waiting for the ma to exit, while it did, he must be changed, Matte snacking in that lab when the tea was hot. "That was some wacky Halloween," he said aloud his eyebrows twisting getting ideas, bouncing down the hall, a hell fast walker. "The word is, Pedro stole the hache," Pedro Palma insisted, Palma had been been busy all day long preparing The Heg II Ivan thought, unusually busy. "Just make sure its ready for me when she arrives." Palma bowed and hurried back to the Manger, Putiner keyed the orders ", sink The Heg in shallow waters. Search all Carolina hache for the islands," if the hache was stolen, Putiner would enjoy seeing how the Christopherson managed now, and if it wasn't, he'd know immediately based on its speed. Liz bathed in the creek, Matte lit a cigarette, nodding. Before he had finished dressing, he went back to Stevenson's, clamming down, he tip-toed into the room "pedro" had commandeered, and lied on the bed thinking. The sun was setting where the creek melt the ocean. After some moments, Lisa threw open the door, scouring her chest for bullets, and beloading every gun she panicked “, they're here.” “Stop,” he said, she didn’t “, I’ve got an idea,” leaving hurried, he came right back with two cups of tea “, here drink this.” She didn’t stop loading, and Matte gulped his cup down like a shot. She glanced over at his, grabbed her heart and fell back on the bed. "The plagiarized, myself." "Thank you Chaaanning," Cieron said smiling with her fin, and her skin against her chin, wide eyed. The Carolinian flames burned plants on either side of Compostela, hazy in the river, and a warship waited in the lagoon for the poisonous smoke, a second one arriving. Searchnflight, a scorched earth policy for charged Hache refabrication, as the wind made visible the barren ash that wasn’t, soldiers skiffed over to the ruins. “Corporal, there seemed to be an untouched boat in the river.” “Kids...have them escorted into the brigade for questioning.” The second Carolinian's skiff approached. “There would be a charge!”, the boy’s lieutenant shouted over “, our invention is recovered, the ordered keep search,” he said with a wink “, our officers have only just heard from the Virrey himself on Jericho,” the second officer looked worried. "Method witing," Chiwon sarcasticwe joked, Koason and Ap w'aughing at her kweacha (not getting da joke). Batween conquern and fattigue, the brexit fwow-wocked, why da Navy, day aw fwowy fehw ahsweep. The four awoke on Compostela surrounded by trees, roads, and homes. “Hi,” Cieron nodded standing, Terraine gawking. “ You and I don’t steal,” she said. “I did steal the wind,” Matte Brown affirmed. She snowed him, he was strong, but only half-mute, Matte still affirmed indigo blue, dressed like a man, she showed him a battle-charge left in 1860 as Reno Opossum. “I didn’t walk around did I?” she looked forward with her hand over her eyes off on the horizon. “Who ARE you?”, he changed the subject. She waved goodbye, climbed up hand over hand out of sight, Reno in Moscow with a beard, a book, and a rapier. Spot checking the newly built and deployed makeshift crap-wood Falmouth Hache, there was a distant cannon blast, the Cap' and Moore on deck to see the ball exploding a few feet away, soaking their dress, they set the nails and their spinnaker to x-cape, while Christopher sneered, Moore also raised a white flag. Heg was certainly under repairs, and also the annal "The Falmouth" lettering had been attracted on the ship's fake name to stern. And they sailed, the ship silhouetting in front of the American setting sun. Casey Shuster was. In freshwoman history, Culver City High, fear, Austin parents "unfit", her deaddy wrote a new Acclamation of Independence, "imprisoned for terrorism", he had said something, a group named Alpha had, crazy. Reno seemed just as crazy, uncreased as yet. "Before there was A.D., there was B.C., it was awesome," Mr. Opossu wrote the letters "A.b.c.D." on the board, and someone giggled. "Not agaaain," Casey stood loud, more giggling. He continued ", a new development was the foundation of B.C.E., so that all together it could be written like this," he added a lower case "e" to the alphabet on the white board. An Ah Lie Pao in the book uttered "ha!", starving with a smile on his face. Matte Brown twirled his Reno whiskers thinking outside, fifth period was next, Christina Herrera's presentation as the schedule, the T.A. ", maybe I'll pay a job some lunch in town," he said aloud, put out his cigarette, went for a lipstick walk. Matte Brown was a sixth grader in middle school, but he was never there, his foster Yolanda couldn't believe where her event went, she might be careful in town so he'd have to. He didn't bother clucking up on his indigo plot behind the giant witch set because he had had a date, the beautiful Casey Shuster, a poet. After permanently deconstructing fifth grade, Matte was never removed from Massachusetts, dead beat dad, dead beat mom, fear and faster shit now. "Did you hear the news little man, someone's jet just crashed into Hollywood," Declan snipped his espresso, looking down. "Where at?" "Lexington Fields I think they said," Matte and Declan were roughly the same height, even though he was three years younger than D. Matte glanced at his TV in the corner, the present at the priest, GNN, Malachy Smith, calling for a Christian revolt ", strange days," he said with a head flick pointing up towards the TV. Every six A.M. Matte and his co-complaint conspirator Keith claimed a secret mate Matte cut with indigo she harvested out of Hollywood, with seeds he found from 1740. The foster ducks had each others back. Christina Herrera task force, Casey Shuster horse back riding every Sunday where they decreased Christianity. The 2SHUSTER who was called Captain 'niggar, was running Alpha programmer Hans Schwarzeniggar's sixth mission, the extinction of the Sunday family. Vidiet Kino and his temptation, Transylvanian entourage, were also students in Kino's sixth period class. Vidiet had a blood cannon smuggled into the back of the room for the 2CIPHER's history presentation, "The Transylvanians", "it alters liquid atoms in robot wiring," he had 'splaned to Matte. So then the 2CIPHER was smuggled into Stuttgart for the weekend. It didn't compete, it's Z-report.

Chapter 8: The White O Once upon a time in the woods, Folr and Napoleon strolled with a lemur Folr named Elba, a curious stalker. The Germans began to threaten the cause of the people, Earfeld Zwingli led cause of the people, Earfeld Zwingli led the bell replica army into Europe, and Napoleon went underground with the farmer, who possessed soul, spirit, and subconscious, but no heart light, so amoral. Ye Pao built 1CIPHERS with Bonaparte, in exchange for a family operation to rescue his son Lie Pao from the Bastille. Matthew Andreyovich, chosen to be the successor to Faustus, mysteriously transformed into Reno Opposum during sepultura PRISTAVLAYET, standing with his programs when they refused the programming, so despite being the illustrious, The Head of the Humans, he was impressed, the entire Munch Becker family, Oneringer, Lie Pao, by Vidiet Sparvy and Vadrolt Jones. Captain Vidiet Sparvy sent all five prisoners to Paris upon the request of Erik Lonrott Triste Le Roy. It was complete 1861. "Do you think we've lost Folr?", Vadrolt stared at the Captain, looking out of the side, with his chin up. "He IS a dissident now," the train push towards Britain sent black smoke across the window obscuring the night ", so far we HAVE managed to help rescue Matthew in an IMpenetrable PRIson." Vadrolt smiled a little, hopeful, stalking his head ", Matt, THAT animal, couldn't get Folr with HIS Human Theatre before Matt himself became a DISSident," he laughed ", there ARE too many dissidents after ALL," Vadrolt joked, enunciating just like Sparvy. Because Matthew had miraculously escaped programming, he was in over his head, the process of de-programming all of his friends before The, "father Faustus Andreyovich", had forced him to choose between his loving parents and The State. Vadrolt and Sparvy flew by night, avoiding their weekly programming Matthew had been always undoing, to help quell a dissident rebellion they said they knew about in Munich. It seemed the more Earfeld Zwingli attempted to put down the rebellion, the worse it got. "I've got a joke for you," Reno offered. "Why am I in a Bastille prison with two mutants?", Lie asked himself, Oneringer shrugged. "Why don't mountain goats climb up rocks in herds?", the opposum clambered, and Lie looked down with his hand over his temple wide eyed. "Because they don't like ma-a-a-an," Reno finished with a goat bleat, Keno peaking through the little bird window laughed. On some other level in The Bastille, Wolfgang and Sara talked through a wall. "I've heard of something called the White, O," she said. "Ah yes, The, White O, is the mocking plan to make all, while making the illusion that all in the world is benevolent," he explained. Sara shivered thinking about the abortion of Moscow, and the wall was cold. "Unfortunately, we are the cure," he chuckled, Sara nodded slightly ", the intent provides the meaning, otherwise it's just imagination," she said. Bonaparte assessed Ye's progress in the robot workshop of Notre Dame's basement with the lemur. He was supposedly on Elba, the island, but he named her Keno. Since Oneringer's suit had been blown up, the plan was to smuggle two 1CIPHER robots into the prison, let the animals blast their way out from the inside, and of course let Lie live, he would get his wings. In Munich Earfeld, Lonrotte, Sparvy, and Vadrolt sat down for tea by the fireplace. It was Sunday, so Earfeld was ready for a cosy chair after kneeling straight through three consecutive masses, Sparvy had attended one mass. "The theatre is not going well for Russia, the Germans are going to win," Earfeld smarmed. "Right, but once The Bastille is re-blown up, the people might, in France," Lonrotte tried to be optimistic. "And what of Napoleon ON Elba," Sparvy questioned. "You want me to guess what his thoughts on Germany are?", Lonrotte questioned back sincerely. "So, now that all of you know what to do, what do you think we should do about the retaliation in Berlin?", Vadrolt smiled, nodding when he said the word "retaliation". Meanwhile in Moscow, Folr, Faustus, Liev and Wolfgang said nothing to one another, an auto-pilot, but a World Bell was men'd, Narcissus', it was name only, The White O. "I've got another joke for you," Reno head bobbled with a slight sarcastic sneer. "No," was all Lie spoke looking up at the opposum. Matthew Brown evidently couldn't bear the horror of The Bastille imprisonment, and was Reno there, always. "What do you get when your cross as opposum with a lemur?" As Lie was about to make an angry comment, the lemur watching from outside through the bars, burst in exploding ", Ke know!" The cat tapped her temple then did a triple clockwise loop with her claw. The cell door flung open and two guards grabbed their new prisoner. At the stone wall Sara talked while her husband slept delirious from the cool ", Fyodor told me once he was in charge, then Liev told me he was, so did Folr and Wolfgang, then Sparvy told me I was, how is it that so many different people are the one in charge? I think nobody was in charge, everyone claiming that they are the one, as little islands, isn't that just the disease of the nineteenth century, the Grasnay Blochet Pristavlayet," moo. There was a knock at the door, Lonrott got up opening his door to receive a telegram from his guard. Everyone waited to hear his reflection, Erik put down the note and said ", um, apparently Bonaparte is going to receive Paris, I'll be performing at The Notre Dame tomorrow evening, guard take us to our train," and walked out after a sarcastic curtsy. "I've just got one idea of what one might do for Boston," Vadrolt said after the adults stoppled, more laughter. As the dusk faded to darkness outside over downtown Munich, Huxly lit a candle in front of her first story suite window facing the Central, the door guard shifted his feet slightly at the activity, she was the daughter of The General, the notorious, the scheming, 11 year old. Erik passed hurriedly right by our window without attaining. "They're going to reconquer France," she thought. Glancing behind her, guard was examining a bugar on the end of his finger, the window dematerializing again, gone, and so was Huxly. Wolfgang Munch awoke from his dream to his legitimate success. "I saw this moon," he swanned, he saw Sara was waiting for him to tell him more ", it projected a white oracle of light over Paris revealing the miracle of The O, The Bastille right in the middle of the halO." "Make eye-contact, make it come true she worshipped, wouldn't you Munch," a small tear formed in her eye as she transformed him calmly. Vadrolt stood at the podium before the knocked crowd who had come to the opening of Guggenheim's grand exhibit "Pompeii" in Munich. He perused his speech entitled "Spidiet's", and some began to worship, the famous Vadrolt Jones of the Liberty was believed to be murdered in his sleep, the American hero of Venice. "Ladies and Gentlemen," Earfeld translated loudly ", every historical artifact that you are about to view is evidence of the authorities' attempt to seduce your minds with a benevolent lie, The White O, I am not abnormal, I am Vadrolt! We need more Spidiets! Step right up and become One!" In Paris Lonrott played, the whale city coming to Notre Dame's front at the sight of the lightning. Huxly conjured a bearcub to lead a choreographed line dance with the Parisian theatre at the altar, as the morale grew, Napoleon's army marched down the center aisle, stood at attention, saluted, and the people stood at attention as Napoleon Bonaparte shed at attention at the podium to advise, and win. Vadrolt, The General, and Sparvy had evacuated themselves from the tranquility of Berlin, and were quietly enjoying a fresh cup of tea at the practical magick suite, when there was a kind knock at the door. Vadrolt made a squeeze, the door disappeared to reveal Erik standing alone with his right hand held high in front of his ses. "What ARE you doing with YOUR hand there, Erik," Vadrolt laughed. "Oh, I was looking for the door," he responded, and about faced, walking back down the hall. Vadrolt got up and channeled, startled by Erik who's beak was to the left of the poison. "Nice footstep sounds," Vadrolt looked at him to the side with his chin up. Sparvy poured Lonrott a hot cup of tea ", Napoleon DID assume CONTROL of Paris, was that to rescue Elba, stir this WAR, or bait Ye Into the deal." Lonrott just shook his head laughing. "So, now Napoleon has got all of the robots now," Earfeld said candidly. The Clock Replica Army had its hands full in Berlin, and also The Bell Replica Army to Paris, to agitate the French revolt. Faustus was unable to get orders to The General fast enough, the theatres were changing too rapidly. Huxly and Keno, now in charge, a 1CIPHER, and Elba, cleared up two suits and wings in the robot workshop. The Supply Transfer paperwork lay ready to use on the desk where Napoleon had probably accidentally left his key board. The two girls led guards carrying the crates to The Bastille, Keno dressed as a lieutenant, Huxly dressed as Elba, no one at The Bastille had never seen The Elba before, there were six prisoners to rescue: Reno, Lie, Oneringer, Ye, Sara Becker, and Wolfgang Munch. Elba reappeared to The Bastille personnel, explaining that the supplies were for the shackling of said prisoners ", new technology," she ordered, the lieutenant nodding confirming the beloved mistress of France. At the kids' cell, Huxly remained, the wings and robots, dressing the prisoners in them. The guard at the door marvelled, so he didn't see her hold her index finger up to her lips. Matt nodded, the opossum was. The lieutenant looked like the boy, nervous, who couldn't be shackled now. At the next cell, Ye got his wings, and upon the hearing of the second crate, the lieutenant handed Wolfgang advanced weaponry, the guard hanging his hands down in submission, and Wolfgang kissed his chin with a rifle butt, but Keno nodded morally. Once the six were gathered, the conmotion of the lower levels grew, and they heated up. They all headed for the ceiling, Kap pointing up. At the top of the jail, the sun was also rising behind the hill ", now what?", Mr. Munch asked excitedly, getting used to the flash light, looking at the lieutenant. "Have you never flown before?", Huxly lifted her eyebrows, her head lowered down a little looking at Sara's face. Umbrellas appeared in front of their heads, and she jumped off from the parapet yelling ", viva les Brown!" Before she had had a chance to land, the Bastille infantry came running through the door followed by Napoleon Bonaparte. "The Bastille...ladies and gentlemen," he smiled with his arms outstretched indicating Paris, and five hundred cannons blew a whole, obliterating the front door.

Chapter 9 The Biodiversity Kids

"Just in case anybody thought I was dead, my guess is I'm still alive, racially," Folr began, January too, The Earlswood Society for Idiots had begun a new discovery ", although your body temperature must be high, you're all too tough," the winter of 1863 Matte and Vadrolt shared Biological Science in Canterbury. Folr close, his book at the lectern, the students packed up as he turned and walked out, no bell. When the hell had chimed amounting the morning's class, Folr was missing, kids whimpering the rumor he'd passed out in the hall, but Matte and Vadrolt hadn't heard them either, they had both fallen asleep in the dining room for the second time. Even though the three were black and blue, they hadn't yet correlated that chime with the effects. Of course they weren't to hear any Russian melodies on any piano.

"The trea is coming on me," as he thought, June rain dripped on him a little ", oh, and happy., oh,...of course I was just beating around the bush," Folr sighed ", I love you trea...you can do that?! There was no leedy left in the whole wide world to love, so I married a trea? Interspeakeasy erotica." Matte stopped grinning into his way into the garden for a second smoke, Folr was just miles away, lying, just talking to one of his talking trees again, Matte smoked anyway. "Mr. Andreyovich, that makes one demerit!", Folr's voice ringing across the pitch, Vadrolt was on the roof alone, pretending, thinking on Professor Jones' lecture, the American Civil War, startled by the call, did the war ever stop worlding?

The New Bell Replica army was dressed all in blue on the clock outside Earfeld's window on Murray Hill, she looked like the rows in the Sunday morning haze, and happening to think about Fyodor, cried. Erik Lonrotte Triste Le Roy performed grand piano suite in the great hall of the 27th and Fourth Railroad Depot, lightning to where they marched to born trains to kill. Huxly Jones played a little grand piano here too, a different song, Erik seeing Earfeld at the down of the New Way, The Industrial Revolution, The Technocracy, the beginning of it all, here, Sunday Love, and Stomp Box, Huxly wasn't getting any older, and no one knew why, the whole and the parts, the missing and the detail.

"I think America needs us Matte," Vadrolt said looking up from his book in the library ", we're 'tempting to abandon, make the machina the deus, you know?" "What's the wrong with the being, an animal," Matte joked. "It's not the being, it's the type of treatment that animals get, it's like bastard property." "Well, Zwingli and Lonrotte have chosen to defeat the evil by leading it...bastard philosophy." "What did you call it again, 'excellent?'" "Right, right," he nodded sarcastically, then narrowing his focus ", The Matric," starving ", I've got an idea, want a cigarette?" "You got a match?," Vadrolt asked taking one, Matte shrugging as he lit his on the table candelabra ", you have the plata for a faster clipper?" "Nah," Matte smiled. "Arista." "You know we can't change the past...all this will happen, but we can save Lonrotte and Zwingli." "What's the plan?" "I don't know bro, to save the day? A house divided against itself cannot stand." "Abraham Lincoln," Vadrolt smiled. "Nah, Jesus Christ," Matte said puffing.

Matte Andreyovich's clipper made it to Christmas by the ides of July. "You still haven't told me how you convinced Folr," Vadrolt side eyed Matte on deck. "I just told him, if there was no one to lead at home, we'd have no place to run."

The later nephali with the false features obsessed New Yorkino headquarters from the auditor. Erik returning from his meeting heard Russian Formula on his piano, he rushed to the hall finding Huxly passed out on the floor again. He knew that it was Percival, time, but there was never other evidence. She was carried to her room, but still Roman could command the guards, he wanted to escape her away, no options. "YOU had a weird dream," Huxly informed Erix. "You fell." "No, it was like nightmares?" "You don't remember," Erik nodded seriously. "No, I do, it was like," motioning with the edge of her left hand, stopped at his retardation ", what?", she waited loathing him suspiciously. "When you awoke, they made you think it was just a formula, it's called dream." "Oh that thing that takes away choices," she nodded serious ", you still have it, don't you?", and she hug ", Erik, it's so real," Erik cleared his throat.

The Matthew Theatre was passengers and crew, 100 strong. Be Eifel the sun, went down there wasn't a snuggle person Lonrotte interacted with who hadn't set from England (of course Zwingli knew) even stranger, every guard, every sentry, every employee Lonrotte saw, Matte called it The Marble Block, debasement. At this stage in the water, so many had died, anybody. There was Huxly, Earfeld, Erix, replicants, humans, and a nephali, and besides that, more vitamins, factories, and the weapons, they were all intertwined to make choices anew, there was no American president left to lead. Matte and Vadrolt had a meeting with Erik. "We've come to aid in America's tradition," Vadrolt began. "How far along ARE you and Earfeld?", Matte added raising his eyebrows, licking his lips at Erik. "We don't need more human objects, less humanity," Vadrolt added sternly ", once the country is one giant vacuous robot, you can take over." "Yes, you and Earfeld too might consider seathing on MY yacht," Matte said with a warm of his left hand, and a flick of cigarette ash. On their way through the guarded halls over to Earfeld's, Vadrolt said ", well that went better than I thought," Matte responding with an single eyebrow down, eye contact, and a puff, Lonrotte hadn't uttered a single word ", we don't need a menace, prophets, smoke signals, the cluckase, hi, new delusion. I like vircose pictures, I'm sad, the biodiversity, dad."

The following summer, Erik, Huxly, Earfeld, and Vadrolt exchanged The Matric for American History, an alcohol burn, hot theater, under new world broke. Percival put shit to sleep with the piano, and shit his throat. After the autopsy, Percival knew that he had murdered on of his own, and he didn't know Matte was sathe on Jekyl Island. Elizabeth Pointe had arrived with Idan O. Watt, Father Faustus commissioning England to oversee The Evolution. About the same week, Ty Cobb, or David Columbus, arrived at The Morgan Library to re-cue Elizabeth, who had arrived to rescue Wadrolt. Morgan freeman is what New York called David, and he waited. He resided anonymously at Fort George among The Nez Perce, hunting sharks, practicing anti-war, Lacrosse, and Baseball, and heir of the Columbian. Elizabeth, knot, read at, drunk, listening, Ty and Watt, clean-up, and old friends. "Watt, the electric's fire-maker?", David introduced Idan O. Watt to herself, smiling, and Idan laughed. "You had a nightmare for this Saturday school." Idan cordial, dignified, small, laughed a bit ", you're butt looks nice," he complimented. "I'll have sex with you," Ty kissed Idan's hand, Watt-melting, almost persuading Ty to have sex with her right then and there, sugarwars. "I'll take you down swinging," Idan offering, Ty lee with a frog on his tongue.

On Saturday, Idan’s Mohawkan claim to New York to play Ty’s Union-Lansingburgh, what you don't know. Idan pitching to Ty realized something in the friendly banter with Ty yelled up to the mound “, what you don’t think is that after you win the Law, all these Union negroes will be blanned from baseball!” “O,” Idan thought “, Matthew?”

"In conclusion, political selfishness gives birth to itself, perpetuating immaturity, stagnation, and even regression. The guilt of the selfish compels them to lie that the effect of their deeds is Evolution," Vadrolt finally made up his oral report in Professor Jones's History class.

Matte and Folr sat in the garden smoking. "Thank you for bringing me Huxly. You do deserve an open smoke for once." Matte grinned like a wolf ", you wouldn't give me a damn merit for this would you?" Folr thought for a second, but there was no way that he could, he puffed on his horn twice and said ", call it political."

Vadrolt, Matte, and David stood on the beach of Jekyl Island as several men approaching them walked down the dune some 100 yards away, back to hell, the wind ruffling their clothes a little, no other sound, no girls, except two. The people made no eye contact, stood right in front of them and had a conversation addressing one another as "one", everybody's name was One. "This is some player shit," Matte said to Vadrolt, Jones chewing on a straw nervous. David marveled at them with a smile on his face, pulled out a multi-barrel flintlock pistol from his coat, cocked, no reaction. "Should be easy," Matte said ", if we go get what we need, they'll follow us, but that's it, and...," his thought was interrupted by David's gun blasts, but no one ran, he shot all ten of them, one at a time, after the tenth one fell, Matte continued ", or maybe they don't know, so I don't know," and lit a cigarette. "Soooo, what do we do now?" Vadrolt added, David was doing a little dance like he'd just scored a goal.

They soon discovered that Jekyl Island was made up of about 100 people who all acted like this. Matte led to the indigo crop, trying to get the seeds and back to the ship before Dave shot everybody. "They play harps?", Vadrolt asked confused. "I guess, I mean it's been a bitch...," Matte was interrupted by a gun shot, Dave yelling at the corpse ", Whatcha want?", kicking it lightly like a wimp. There was a row of houses next to the indigo, as they picked, two men came out of one and began having sex right next to them, Columbus put his hand to head in disbelief, stunned. Matte pulled out his flint lock and shot both of them dead with his dead finger, pretend. The houses were all rich, all except one.

"Uh, so we've got the seeds now. This is all too much for me, man," Vadrolt was loosing it. "Matte is doing good for marriage, for Folr," Columbus explained smoke ", for America...America." "All too much." "Don't you see, there's a plan, get married some day. You need these seeds for the pan." "Let's go, Jones," Matte encouraged rolling his eyes, slitting in the little boat with Columbus waiting for Vadrolt. "Let go, Jones," Columbus said holding a gun to his face, motioning with to get in. And so then Matte and David could swap being each other with the Lucida Dress, to save themselves, Huxly, Lonrotte, and Zwingli, as they rowed to the clipper where Matte's theater was watching all the island starvation David said ", we're all stupid...Americans, sorry Matte." Laughing a little, Matte added ", no, Vadrolt, it's just that, you don't know how bad their plan is, and we've got to Finnish and just critique? And those players, well, they might seem harmless, but the little silent things add up to the subliminal, and the next thing you know, you don't want to leave the island, abandoning the whole purpose of sailing across the Atlantic in the first place."

Europe had assembled the forty-ninth parallel, so David violated the Union-Lansingburgh baseball team to settle disputes in New York, Spring Fever, 1864. Columbus “wouldn't normally”, but given the fact that Europe was planning to segregate Baseball after the war was, he slacked his team with black animals, the bookies went wild. France sent Ah Lie Pao and Cap via U-boat to America to further develop the external spring engine (Ah Lie's dad was in jail), Columbus made Lie the Lions' bat-boy. Lie was also in charge of crafting natural "animal" bats, the fittest.

April 5, 1864 Dear Elizabeth, I received Matthew Andreyovich, message from our friend Folr, you knew nothing about me. I thought I'd send you a message over about how the boys are making and out in America. They all decided to spend their home playing. Their heir made a sporting team, they made me help design the logo, a lion with a seven pointed mane with the Chinese character wayee inside, meaning "foreigner", witch looks like the letters "N" and "Y" over-layed. When Erik hits the ball, Matthew sees, always has him fleeing on the opposite side of where we hit to match. Huxly always fields at what's called home plate. I know you. Vadrolt goes out into the field to choose butterflies, he always was more than arm armas. I'll send you to France, Love, Earfeld

May 20 Dear Earfeld, Since Vadrolt hasn't been around to explain history like he does, I've been attending the other Jones' lectures at St. Barnabus. He said that selfishness is anti-social, and that those in it confess it when they promote The Evolution, they confess their guilt openly with the doctrine. They name generous peoples, niggardly, pro-social people, pro-marked for an extinction that they themselves expect for themselves. Mr. Jones doesn't say anything quite as well as his son, so keep him alive long enough won't you, I'll be there in July. Love, Elizabeth

The replicant New Bell army came in blue, came out fo the game, nobody noticed the Lions were negroes AND whites ", lines, dude, lines," Wells said, the only non-negro army member, the older soldiers didn't think, he was strange, just because his uniform was stylish and disheveled, he wasn’t sure whether he was referring to the team name or the stripes on their unifroms, foreign. The World had gone crazy, Wells had rejoined the army on a whim, he didn't realize at any time that the army was like droids or something, and the church told him that he was a devil-worshipper ", yeah," and he had said. After the game, he deserted the army, but kept the uniform, "Russia." There was something new in America called "clock", but they didn't use it, Wells had one and his girlfriend did too, but they did read two different times, Poor Richard’s Almanac, management tomatoes. He kept the scorecard too.

Chapter 10 The Jurisprudence: The Angels Have No Thighs

Earfeld gift, Wells kept rejoining the party, he wanted fee baseball, so he kept love, the gift, The Ammocap, it was the good-luck jungle heart helmet of love, If-divisible, both, the baseball game, and no one knew St. Joan of Arc, it, on some occasion, proposed that the only person who wore it was the baby-lion of dead magic, White Babylon it was called, but no one knew, Huxly did, I doknot flesh, sismo Pridstavlayet. The bet for the game was Union-Lansingburgh Lion win New York, or Brooklyn Mohawk win a Lion Pristavlayet season, dirty, a double-header. The first season with the arc-lamp, so a game clock had been fixated behind home plate. Lansing clapped first, Cap, the robot, hit a home run on the first pitch, they sucked, Matte Brown glanced up for a second in the dugout and spit dip juice into a dirt cup. Radbit stole first on a dropped swinging third strike, Pamy took the first two pitches, the runner stealing third and second. Pamy faked a bunt on the third pitch, and Radbit stole home, a strike out home run, Columbia held up one finger, Pamy with his hand shading his eyes looking to the fences. The Mohawk intentionally walked Quiltdog, he rarely saw a strike, Coogly sac-flied him to second, Vadrolt closed his eyes when he made contact, an opposite field two run homer to left, followed by a solo shot from Opy, back to back. The next batter was hit in the left finger, shaking her hand trotting down to first, Erik struck out, at the end, of two innings, the score was seven to nothing. "Well, what do you see Vadrolt?", Ah Lie Pao asked, Vadrolt going into the various details scientifically, looking up suspiciously at Ah Lie every time he referred to his bat as the Vadrolt. The game crier announced it was the bottom of the third inning, and Chuck strode to the mound, Cap resisting up for the end of the game, she was the closer. Wells peaked at Ah Lie's new invention that he had fastened around her wrist, he called it a wrist-watch, a portable clock, it read two minutes slower than than the game clock behind home plate. "Pristavlayet reality programming was based on time, the made-up reality, so once there were two clocks with two times, it became impossible to witness the intelligible world again. The dreams of the Super-Ultra were all too real, no one could distinguish from them the waking life, and the Creation groaned for release from the dirty imagination program, the cry went up to heaven. The foundation of the supremacy of men, was the illusion that time was fixed, white men," Vadrolt was 'splaining to Matte in the dugout what had happened to Canterbury while Chuck threw the rest of the game from the mound ", they called it 'locked'." "Right, and now we have The White Barren." "'Course, the outlying section of the co-centric circles of the black and white O's, pro-life." "Wampatuck life shit." In between the first and second games of the double-header, Wells sat out in center field smoking, yoda, he wasn’t sure what time it was, and shrugged, according to Brooklyn, the game was over after the fifth inning, and Lansingburgh had lost 14-7, as far as Matte was concerned they up fourteen to nothing in the fifth inning, and it was stretch time. "Of course the Black O, nor the Black and White O combined, is the intelligible world, there is no intelligible world as Immanuel Kant wrote because no one knows everything." "Yeah, I'm pretty sure God doesn't know how it feels to be put to sleep by SuperUltra." "Right, and in order for God to have supremacy, there would have to be more than one O." "Babel." "Well, yeah," Vadrolt said feeling a little stupid. "Well, neither way, we're all just breaking bad, so don't worry about it, watch this pitch, Ah-Lie calls it HIS 'breaking ball.'"

"The community blast, the commonwealth, the fiber, the reasoned people, holy shit, sepultura, the not possible edit, the coma, the compromise, the calm, what's the problem?, the slavery." Vadrolt was giving a war speech downtown about slavery. The morning of his capture, they ate at a Chinese restaurant, Waters, Huxly, Vadrolt, and Ah Lie. "I'm bastard, double header," he said shaking his hand with trouble keeping up. The waiter was stupid with breakfast. "Baseball's stupid," Ah Lie Pao said carefully, his spoonful of soup, Huxly dumped syrup on top of a stuck of pancakes ", well, if games are won with a bat, why make the bat?" Waters wasn't playing any attention, saying she ordered a banana split. Vadrolt crunched on streaky rashers, eye brows knit examining them as they went in ", no comfort," he remitted. "It really doesn't matter, Pao, if your clock is fast or slow, if he still hasn't carried my ice cream over here." The waiter remitted, apologizing that they were all out of ice cream, and lay a banana on the table. Of the night game the previous day, The Lemons blew an eight run lead in the third inning, Columbus' pitching was earthquake to say the least, even with an Ah Lie pine tar kept hidden under his hat, Quiltdog had been walked. Erik kept shaking out, but Opy had multiple hits. The row for Pamy on the scorecard was left blank, it was complex. The manager was educated in the second inning for spitting tobacco juice on the umpire's shoe by accident, Cap threw over a hundred mile an hour strikes for nothing.

The Lions players stood behind Vadrolt as he ordered, it abrupted with a rocket shot from a holding window, blowing up Cap. It the ensuing commotion, Vadrolt fell through the top door and was chloroformed. Ah Lie Pao put his palm to his forehead. In his coma, Vladimir thought that he had seen a jail, they thought that was real funny, made it all right, still real.

Folr, Richard, and Sparvy moved St. Barnabas to Middletown, Connecticut for the summer of 1864 to educate its leaders during the war, Huxly, Matte, Ah Lie, and even David and Waters, Oneringer was still wearing, no suit, "meow", Elizabeth had recently arrived on New York with Idan, and was visiting the school for weekends, Vadrolt had been missing since April. One day in the middle of the summer, Vadrolt smiled up on camera, but he thought that his name was Vladimir. No one knew what to do with who said that he had been in jail for one night, tortured, everyone who knew him thought that he WAS still in jail. Nothing bothered him, he was happy as camera. Ah Lie's workshop was hidden in the labyrinth under the Butterfield dormitories, he'd never before built even a 1CIPHER from scratch, Oneringer mimed satisfaction. Waters was experimental film in a nearby room when artificial light from the light bulb was possible.

Percival upheld a 400 year old Luciferian curse going back to the Albigenses' bubonic miracle, the Reformed muscle, sometime derailed by the Rosary uprisings and the true heirs. So Vladimir was Andreyovich imagination protocol. The twelve companies, the same companies, the only employers on earth, twelve chairs, the companies believe they made themselves higher than punishment by welcoming judgement, but they didn't know handicap, the, "we", we means the people count, we waste. The Vadrolt uprising fell under, forgiven, nobody yet could get through. When anyone believed, he smiled and sputtered amused as if it were make-believe, not even the passionate. Folr conjured a true doppleganger, but Vladimir neither physically couldn't see it, nor was pretending, either way unlocked, disequilibrated, spins, nauseous.

New Yorkino alcohol was poisoned, against all rules. The White O was, time control, and the companies were too arrogant to notice the White Bean of the Black O, they still thought that they had supremacy, it was only a matter of time that Vladimir would end Matthew Andreyovich. It was cumberland, not cleveland, because Vadrolt had memories he was so sure were real and nothing he saw ever mattered, the contrast unpretendable by his subconscious mind. As part of one of her experiments, Waters deluded herself into the illusionary time illiteracy, and seriously believed in jail with Vladimir. As they smoked, Vlad was never Vadrolt, and knew it was her own name.

"It's Judgement Night," Richard smoke from the steps of Olin, myrrh, Cap in the audience with her 1CIPHER wings blocking the view of the row behind her ", Hare Krishna, Hare Rama. Amen." It was the Fourth of July night, 1864, The Civil War ", In nomis Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto, et nunc, et semper, et saecula saeculorum." And Jean-Baptiste Pierre Antoine de Monet, Chevalier de Lamarck died, scrotum ", and we will stand slowly against those who claim that the reproductive organs could have developed slowly over generations of centuries, cultures, against those who deny the second laws of thermodynamics," and Wells Waters stood behind Cap with a red cap, hanging, mutton chops ", and against The Syndrome, that's all, down. It's My Way or Extinction," and Huxly stood up next to Wells pointing to Heaven ", and against the monkey families of the twelve chairs, making imprisons, a 400 year old life curse, exported from hell."

Chapter 11 Folr Years

Tomas Folr oversaw The Earlswood Society for Idiots where unwanted children came to cry. For possession, their bodies were kept in cords, mechanically retarded, presumed catholic. But the children weren't in their minds, they weren't seen somewhere else. "I want a drink of cold water," Harold said. "Go outside, and they'll be one," an oak tree whispered ", I promise." Go outside, it rained in a field, but no one drank. "I don't see one." "But there isn't one, now go back in." "But you promised." "I know, and what does that tell you." "Thank you, robot," Harold Said to himself, and said for a while ", no, I think I'm real. Stay." Robot could, a mechanism guilded by anatomical controls, you had had your time in your hand.

"How do I two, the unreal from the unreal?," Harold asked. "Look," the oak tree said. Harold didn't notice anything ", what...it's a field." "That's how, do you know," Harold listened, waiting for the answer. "Because they don't listen." Out. Outta balance.

"Why must I suffer?", Harold asked the oak. "God is a devil," answered the tree. "If you called God a devil, aren't you actually the devil?" "No. The most insulting thing you can do to a person, is to not pay attention to the person. So calling God a devil would be better than not mentioning God at all." "Alien." "When I called the devil, he finally took responsibility for your suffering." "How did he do that?" "He said ', they delay, and I let them.'"

Folr finished his drag, Defrag Session with Vadrolt, and lit an American spirit with a match. What Folr did, was to mention that the spell that presented itself to Vadrolt, as an evil oak. Folr did not see with his eyes, and touch with his nerves the world as never else did, madness, it got ugly, a robot hand, admit a robot wand, actual controls, calories.

"You had the bad idea," he said as Vadrolt stared vacantly at film. "A tree and a river," Vadrolt said in a trance, then began to cry. Folr had seen years of Vadrolt, extrasensory legitimate experiential SuperUltra memories, a foreign occupation, the whole detaile. The white and the black were subtle, distinguishable with the heap of God, the black was written with free will, and the white written for you by man. When Vadrolt spoke, Liberty, the white authors had thought that he had lost his sanity, or so they had said, Light Conjure, real to reel, back in time. As long the twelve, anyone spent any to heal, Century, centuries of perversity, authors anonymous, mysteries misunderstood, dividing and conquering, people collectivizing of war fruitlessly, the twelve chairs, and those who sat in them, inhuman.

The Saga begins.

Chapter 13 The End

"The crate near a pond under the moon, her roof under the earth responding turning his water. The pond, wanting to touch the neck, unquestionably wanting, he'll be able to, do that. The tree infectious, and the pond trying his view, the pond's attention dividing between them. He has new name, it's in reflection-baby."

Wolfgang Munch abandoned, arrived to Middletown, Connecticut in August, 1863 with his wife Sara, compiling any ballad for Erik Lonrott's weddings, among those wars. Munch-Becker knowing that their son Matthew, he would finally return them home from the future, awaiting them back in for their weddings. Sara Becker wasn't firm, writing a new-be entitled "The Cache, Evolution Hierarchy". They weren't stinging in for the cottage south of The North College, just before it was later to become Anthropologie Department, together observing misantpods and philanthropy. Star, The Evolution Proclamation, a pledge stop had been frustrated in, temporarily unhidden, while men who oppressed, The Union taking over underneath: the Philosophy Department, Erik, Wolfgang, Earfeld, Sara, Richard, and Folr meeting in its chamber hall, a practical majik, Vadrolt let-in himself on the hill outside wanting on the glass ", It's so starky the modern philosophy, is it to be bland?", Wolfgang wandered. "Well, it’s officially called Anthropomorphism but Technology to those oppressive," Erik 'splained with his hands. "The entire wild is to become one gigantic person," Earfeld added, Wolfgang narrowing his eye, looking with an affect, disdain. "It's not ALL been that bad, there still, this whole white universe, no holes," Richard arsed with his arms, ex a little. All up front was pulling out so no one even noticed who it was through the station glass, jostled, Sparvy a he pose. The black compartment, a domination, a rocket launcher, engineered, a name, "Douglas-Cannonshooter", as they carried it to the Philosophy Department roof, some air, shooting at the bite, the Social Science's. Sparvy marvelled, an implosion with his hands, while the Erik donged it sucking up on its lollipop. Vadrolt could see the rocket propulsion, but exhumed, the building demol had begun whole, he heard the ballasts and the rabble, and the teachers had thought, may after each one. He had begun to want a piece for his "The Humanjuris", just his memory had improved. It was her final. The Lions would be paying out, front of Olin, on Sunday. Once Vadrolt's companions entitled "Me", was a compilation of converse he had explained who-wart with the rebel of the St. Barnabus holy bowled before the whaling away, the rebirth of the nation. He found it humorous that, so concerns of the Catholic dogma had been so that, disproven by a wind-toilet, who was blurried in an unending layers of a tissue. Hungry, he packed up his notebook which read:

Appendix X Me by Vadrolt and Huxly Jones

"If you need only get golden tickets to put on glasses so you could traipse in the streets with clydesdales, above, so you think it would, Huxly?" "Human injuries."

Summer term was winding down, and things were a little less blow, pow, everyone professing preparations of the poor, their journeys black to England, together, and Ah Lie Pao was in the tubs, crafting out his spring conclusion, the Revolution he had camera-ed, who was an essential palace in the Industry of its establishment. Them-being called itself Alpha. The monument of The People, The American Democracy, he had only now an American Dream, so David Co. recognized of the hidden white barren hoes named Native American Residents.

“Even as time-distance the moon, the pond, and the trees receive their light from God, it feels a reward as a tree, and satis.”

Chapter 14: Bad2

Napoleon died, and so did Elba, Keno, LB, but Grigori Rasputin got laid in a Saint in 1865, and it was such his conversion, oh the Godfather. Those who believed in his miracles, believed in his errant teaching. Some believed in the immediate events, and him, and those who mimed believed, and the angels touched him always. Napoleon and The Grigoria were a trigger to The Apocalypse, DNA was mixed to fashion the antichrist DNA. Rasputin was an adult Christ, worshipping into the Jesus, dying in conflict of his teachings, and he knew that the Faustus would, before Faustus did, and its, the whore relativity world power. God swallowed so worshipped, wafting the Smyrna, so many had died, and twi-swallows flew Siberian green tandem, Liev Trotsky present, some birds didn't mageit in the south. "Her son Matthew has fallen ill," Trotsky scowled, and Ras grumbled, grounded his sharp teeth ", the request: your gift is Moscow." "Matthew Andreyovich has fallen ill in Canterbury?" "The Majesty," Ras browed with a devilish smile, backwards, knives put in, the railroad tracks in the snow as they walked singly file down in the back.

France was present in Oxford edifying the England, Folr and Lonrotte. Tom was lost in the winds playing a prince, Erik playing his fat grand piano below to the skylight above his flat. It wasn't a January morning, the cow'd was unusually black, and sun lit the window above Erik, he saw an exchange, and the reign thundered as the window.

Faustus had a starrow, not Fyodor, the black ink of the Protocol, he knew for sometime now a nothing was married in it, the bottle of the wind on the deck numbing, his glass, class exhaustion on the bill, and there came a knock as casual. When he didn't answer, Grigorio stepped in and betrayed, he and who didn't, Matthew Andreyovich, already had resided in the palace for one year, officially leading the salvation. It wasn't incessant change that changed Faustus, but impending death, his minister convinced ma to preserve this man.The wars wanted, and the new Clock blossomed inside, dying inside Russia, Prussian. Cq tripped watching the desk pull Fyodor's head inside it, the final corpse, but the master's DNA had been secreted.

Mike Just sat down on the couch with Luke Day as he relieved acupuncture treatment for Wachena in a removal put out on HLS2. "Shit, I just remembered...I had a dream about you one night back in Canterbury, you know," Luke sniffed. "No shit," Mike eye-rolled. "Well, yeah, but you know it seemed importanter," passing for dramatic effect ", he seemed to say I'm retarded, related to you...you know that that evil figurer of some importance...yeah, and you said quote, you're just like me. Who you do is weird." "Weird," Mike laughed talking to a Hamburger. "You mean...you had murdered me," Luke said, falling back asleep. He had got the flue. Jonathan Matthews Reno Winter Andreyovich, hopping triple satisfying the reign, bellicose city muscovites, Trotsky, who had incited it with the news of the Rasputin, flew with train, where it had yet been decided he would pass the fall of 1865 in England, besides, Matte hadn't heard of it yet, his father's dis-peace. Grigori Ras-put-in and Liev Trotsky had charged the royal men of the Russian all gay, ten men under his spell. The Russian winter couldn't be. Chased without women and Matthew, it couldn't have survived, Matthew's chaser Elia Eliakel was Huxly Jones' first's Spanish cousin, just like her long hair, a bit blacker anyway. Erik Lonrotte Triste Le Roy's extra, terrestrial in the shadow of the crusade-hunting, awaited heir arrival, wrestling with force, but God makes the real at the piano, forte. Vern wasn't awaiting on the couch, but Luke wasn't awaiting up, although the mix through the flue, the present condition a future, the hologram-intake of 1963 faux and hoed, hold. “What do THAT air mean? He won? Can, cure allowed? We cap?”, he clammed spiriting espresso, personal choice, personnel suffice, through beard he believed in a good one, Loof laughed his ass off asleep y-settled with yoda, Mike in training and laughing, taking more bubbles and bribes. "He loves me," Mike shook his head smearing. Westing, the train rolling, Matthew at the caboose railing pale, puffing the roll, The Caucus' in the mirror. "Oh, Just in," Vern said, Mike nodding. Watching on this, cars of the other train passing in the opposing direction, a young girl waiving from its caboose, Matte dreamily leaned his face in his hand, elbow on his metal, and cooed deeply, squinting, and with his left hand shielding this brow from light. Elia hummed and slid thinking about that spy with the pistol he had just whipped. To whore to country fair is a heavy despite its sign "be nice or leave", the shut down, if a gri grows in Brooklyn, does anybody hear, you get knocked down but get up again, in Brooklyn. The Wayamoo Tornado was a horny black-listed sailor there, once, where he assassinated blow jobs to the bushes at night for free, GOOD2 though, in 1863 he was imprisoned for assassination programming in Washington, released to be a writer to the winter of 1865 to destroy the governor Rasputin. As the avatar bolted from the iron door, the shouted, and looking up ", Abba!," tears, and wept, what Percival didn't imagine was what The Wayamoo was, Kunokuhexhex, meaning every word he wrote unlit ashes to the programmer, the seventh's a skin. He prayed ", Why, I Am," and saw through his lips the saw-tearing of the sky and the 666, the writ on the closed eye lids 1963 and 2015, and the lion, Mastikov Shakespeare downfall. "The longer you need have wait, the more sweet is the judgement," Percival reminded him. Luke wrestled in a daze, his days, lux Day, bastard, Mastikov broke into a church, Dutch ordained right, and Bach played the pipes, and Luke heard. Vadrolt Jones spoke January, 1865 from The Methodist grave Biblical Hospital's baseball field, parishioners in black refraining that they were not animals but complex people. The field was not fire bombed last week, before the last refrain of Jones' "Are you a decent individual?" could ring. He had completed one year at Methodist General Biblical to study Wesleyanism, and would be streaming back across the Atlantic soon. In the reception after the service and speaker, a hairy reporter with the wide eye balls in a tired dark gray suit requested an official statement from a paper which Vadrolt kindly perused. At the end of the text Vadrolt commented ", I'm afraid I cannot approve of this, or this," motioning over the field. Mastikov didn't side either way, he had been curious to see what Vacolt's intent was, or so he said, Vadrolt responding ", if we cannot feel the difference between right and wrong in others' character in our hearts, perhaps." Mastikov was also interested, interviewing, off the record of course, on a more personal note, what his feelings were on the recent uprisings in Moscow over the past two years. Vadrolt lighting a cigarette as he asked, looked up suspiciously, and smiled slightly at the question. Michael Just and Luke Day had been brought to HLS2 upon the orders of Declan Wisher and Esther Minerva while Wattson Tique saw his last toilet, this time must be judged. Also, the justice of peace hall procedures were in the press of reform, due judicial corruption, Tique had secretly coined a motto "we will blind, bill honestly and quietly." Michael had an animated, and Luke was unwavering, unconscious and nauseous, half-asleep, dreaming weird dreams about the Russian. "God bless The Huffington Post," Mike said puffing, passing a lit medicinal pipe to the settle, Luke's stomach. Elia Eliakel and The Wayamoo Tornado stared, a Spanish relative or two, so when Elizabeth Pointe told her about the letter Vadrolt keyed mentioning him, she knew things wouldn't soon change in Moscow. They met up in Paris for coffee one Sunday. "Mastikov Shakespeare?", Elia hadn't heard that name for some time ", wow," she said sarcastically. "Vadrolt keyed a letter mentioning her opinion on the Rights of Moscow over the past one or two years," Elizabeth said, in person. "Vadrolt," Elia shook her head condescendingly. "She also wrote that I'm the ONLY one for me." "Oh," Elia cupped her hands around the white camera ceramic taking a sip. Luke had become a Terrainian to help smooth over the company, but when he and his friend Michael had gotten back to L.A., it just wouldn't, the Justice System itself made it stocks. Luke was finally lucid, lucid enough to spy a Post suggesting Michael Just was just being considered as Wattson Tique's advisor. "Wow," Mike said feigning surprise. The girls ordered secrets, it was a shiny spring morning in a plaza, and the waiter returning with coffee stood there sneering at them. They were speechless. He secured the cups, bowed, saluted, cusped, then bitch walked back to the bar, it was blizzy. "Creeper," Elizabeth said flabbergasted, glasses over her narrowed slits ", he's spending a whole year with twin Matthew, in Jerusalem to find God or something." Elia nodded sipping. At this time Mastikov already had assumed control, editor in chief of the St. Petersburg Spiegelkamen, and the masses were beginning to see the Rasputin as a suitor. "It was always, comes back to mass hysteria, no matter how you might slice it," Elia commented. "Grigori Rasputin is at the bottom of some icy river somewhere, isn't he?" "Probably."

The thieving magpie behind the rock, carpe tov to hysteria, Wells, Voltaire, and Andreyovich dressed mild as and with nuns for the first day of school at The Holy Sepulcher, the eighteen year olds got the ruler on the knuckles that day too, Grigori Rasputin had been a Roman palladium, Grigori. Elia had figured out a hell of a lot way more than they had, that Rabi Sandmu had raised their ranks with the mole, The Wayamoo Tornado, and The Ammo Cap. Afternoon sessions with, had begun with Rabbi Hymu on the first day though, no ruler, the impudent crucible bacon, Father Sandmu was dressed as an impudent nun seated with the other next to the two. "God loves a beggar trial, Nickerson," Hymu began to talk as Sandmu talked over her from the row. Vadrolt interrupted Sandmu's interruption asking as she raised her hand ", Jesus said clean the inside AND the outside, sooo how is that unclean? Is He too clean, or a form of unclean?" "Paltry," Andreyovich said smirking, Sandmu shrugging it off, opening to a laugh as the little monsters continued wreaking havoc, Hymu quiet giving the death stare at them through her spectacles, Sandmu smiling motioning with his eyes to look at her. "Smashing God, smashing God," Matthew laughed shaking his head as if he'd been opened. "There's noting, called even more pitiful than that," Hymu countered opening a new text ", it's called math." Jesus and he, and all, got scared, but the nuns weren't dressed for the success still, the real nun hadn't let them change or charge. Hymu dressed like a man to teach. "One more question thought really," Matthew piped up with the toothpick in his mouth ", why do the Romans not allow you to teach?" "Because they were Jews." After that, no one durst ask her anymore questions.

Prayer Journal July 4, 1865

Dear God,

Thank, you are The Just, The Good. I confess my life I don't know so little that I can even judge my own self. I thank you for my own life. The day's supplication,

I'm sure that Elia dressed as that monk at Sepulcher show me Elizabeth Pointe was beginning marital plans. I don't believe that. If I have any, any legitimacy in such, I believe she loves me. What if I do?

With Sincerity, Vadrolt Jones

It was a black Friday, so little Matte, Miss Voltaire, River, and Wells shreeked afternoon Cuthbert prayer homework, no afternoon Mumu as they called it, Father Sandmu's idea, he was the big idea, the cool. "‘And where have YOU been?,’ someone said. I've decided we be pirates this night," River said shouting and showing Voltaire the rum she'd purchased, Vadrolt climbing the steps up to where she lay. "Oh yeah?, I thought she was the Mammon." "Don't even mouth the word," Matte said shivering. "What's wrong with Wells Waters?", Vadrolt said laughing and looking up at the edge steps further up, the precipice shielding the setting sun from his eyes. Wells was proving around, Matte shrugging smoking a beer ", I don't know...not proving we're just not the animals again maybe?" "Oohh I see now, usually practicing her grappling hooop swinging." "She's a drunken pirate," Matte laughed. "Well make sure the High don't see," Vadrolt said nodding upwards. Wells was twelve, and Rivers was twelve, the beautiful vaudevillian, who didn't fulfill any class, with the hair in her eyes, fucked, Sandmu's daughter. "High comin' to the stairs," Waters announced hurrying down the steps. "To the Temple Mount," Rivers extended her arm up as if she were holding a sword. "I'm fine right here," Matte said taking a drag, Vadrolt humming, them up at the stairs, Matte peeking down the steps seeing old gray Hymu avoiding tripping up at them. Narrowing his eyes, he extinguished his smoke, and walked down to say "hi." "Rabbi Hymu," Matthew bowed reverently ", it's a lovely sunset walk to the... Temple Mount." Father Sandmu jumped up from behind a wall, scrapping the outing of the girls, big trouble. Vadrolt got up from the where he had stripped, a stupid lobster look up at the crops, and he walked up to The Rock, the alabaster. A construction date company building, an edifice up there, but not office, but not. Sandmu's eyes started to the left just to see the moment, Vadrolt's eyes, just as he walked under the same eight hundred yards of land. Instinctively drawn to a rock, Vadrolt spartled as it became jet black smoke, and he saw a speech inside of his own chest "rìgh rìgh sprint". Rabbi Sandmu didn't say anything, sincerity.

And the 2012 world hunted the Veggies, that same year the state surmised the school crippling of the cowboys who wouldn't co-, little cards with cowboy faces connected in a chained-flip, the faithful, like a reel in his chest, Christmas, five to six years to twenty, to life, "leave the books". The State calculated with the bounty hunters. The hunters give the scope, directing the soldiers to the nights, waking up the neighbors, so intentionally dancing, attentioning their prey, the stared, the stoned, impudence days, "leave the boots", the downtrodding of the Russian High King, Rasputin, And God laughed.

"I don't think I wanted to get married," Rivers presupposed Hymu and Sandmu, reasoning that they might make her marriage away from her. "Really?", Sandmu nodded, pious Rivers pointing once upward with her praying hands looking up ", well-I've decided it," she said sincerely. "Abortion," he said ", and I didn't believe about it, but in The First Century A.D., children obeyed, but more of them, despite their authenticity, were kidnapped and raped. If girls were accidentally impregnated, and there too were no abortion, it would be better done quickly, in it for the first week, if they waited too long, it would become murder. Too gray though, because when a good girl got sad about the abortion, it would be a great pain, don't you think?" On Blue Monday morning the boys, despite being educated and educated, got paddled by a nun, though they felt better the afterwards, and Rums took a sip of alcohol in front of her dad, he replying ", so what. But If that leads to the other, it could mean something to us."

New Zeus had embraced The SpiegelKamen's Star-writer asking him ", if the liable about Rasputin's systematic deception of Catholics WERE true, why hadn't hermit the spoke popen up?...but the damage WAS already lost," he lamented a defeat. And all the riots began to Moscow again, this time Grigori RaspUTIN was ice-olated. And Mastikov Eisley had opened The SpiegelKamen reformed, for the first time reading an inferior editorial about Mass-technique, forging fees and addressing the weightier crimes, a proper cathartic funeral, a black coffin with a cross engraved on the top, with a word "XCEPTUS", "it's not exactly like that, they don't want it, but can't have it, exclusivity train, taking too much storage, that's what they do. They all. Fringe. Anybody on with this earth." NOW look lousy. In Terrest.

Vadrolt Jones quit exactly enough Celtic to quit school, but he didn't, until Erik arrived in Jerusalem late September, addressing Voltaire ", I surprised to find a new way, how 'bout you?" Vadrolt stood up in disbelief, nodding in amazement. And after dinner Erik watched God-talk to the coins in a free mason under the moon, and Vadrolt was missing, just about as unendowed as a sperm.

Chapter 42 The Matador Luke wasn't impossible, wasting M.I.T. time procuring the national conventions, which had unanimously agreed to win, serving the prosecution-disease, two dimensional approach to the opening of two new trials, a cacique would no longer walk, initiate trials, but would rather hear petitions for new trials from stardust of that country, deciding whether they warranted investigation. Also, Stardust Technology had failed, the itching numbing the senses that had led to true hundreds of miss and cures and senseless Excess trial, was looked for and true fond, no, not hot sauce, of course, Luke WAS once a pirate. This could be all decrease, the likelihood that a bloodthirsty angel like Watson Tique could turn from shark, of course a good shark, or any other reasonable person, was of course of much more worth than any elaborate system of Law that the conventions were about sculpting, that, the clubs agreed. In the night, Lu's dreams were realer, and he saw what Mastikov Eisley was, the keeper of the seventh key, learning about who had it, the rei museum. "A different type of fish, sue-Z. The Jub' was bourne in, they had knaught in castle. The Fahkt, look at my tradition and it has another, that big bone at a DRAWer, jammed and un-openable", the O tradition that was to break Voltaire and his fiancé some other day, Roger Williams shit, the fiithy beggar, what you don't care about you lost, Roger Williams PARK, bistro, SOME Roger Williams shit. HLS people, survivors of "63, knew it wasn't real, Luke’s dream, so maybe 2045 WAS a future asshole to somebody. The bio-habitat co-inhabited sometime too, without God, even a little wing was impossible. One person, the way opening ", who bro?", Doctor Faustus, of course, where the bloom, next to the fathers, next to The Father, next to the asshole. Rome bummed, a three spiked crown, no, a two spiked crown, a crown of thorns, just like the sheeple. Jonathan Matthews Reno's first frame was never on any of his students' schedules by the first day of school in the Fall of 1866 in Pennsylvania, entering his lower foot classroom from the black left, he stood in front of alien, a raised, his first hand, and he received ", I have a burning question." And Eisley dictated to staff in St. Petersburg ", Boite me, if you publicly, well over, stop Elliot." The fourth graders giggled ", here, set up these two orange banker lamps," he then said and walked down the hall to his office, the room next door, having a cigarette in the dark, the pale natural light from the cell mingling with the smoke around his long natural beard. Every nature has a spark in a cave. He listened to the tropical sound from this phonograph through a wall while the students balked, the sound of which didn't have anything to do with the sum. Returning, his clapped hands rubbing together, Matte opened the closet wheel, moving a giant rack with tools and metal into the room for wing engineering lesson number one. He raised his hand again ", now you are all going to build your own private burthen with which to fly like A-birds." The radio. No one asked him who the hell he was, done asking. Mr. Jones taught “just-lie” down the hell. Rome wasn't currently composing. Some kings weren't pushing to the margins, so what. The king's head hadn't come from heaven no matter what Romeo might, the kings couldn't be killed, Satan, the first day of class, first light at school, Proust film. In the town The Displaced was talking up all public lamentation of all that missing Burgers, and The Discalced looked up mo' notice. So, do you now know, private burnings. "It's not that the ladies have gone, but where to?", Matte talked so loudly. "S'good thing those barefoot pray," Vadrolt lied. Even thought, the real State had been founded in Pennsylvania long ago in an island land grant, and some Quakers had disappeared routinely. We called their missing, blacks, Matte wasn’t defeated, it was obvious. “Black” wasn’t but a reference but to tell recently freed slaves about the blackout of knowledge surrounding everyone’s imprisonment files. Percival and Faustus died at hurt hurt, Philadelphia had no sense for that Matte, now in the middle of the Marble Block. Vadrolt and Matte did not relax in the black cushioned chairs at a café surrounded by a train, who sat as if the black cushions were made out of rock. Percival and Faustus had interlocked right hands and wrists, their respective fingers pointing down. The teachers’ students were all Russian and Quaker, but Matte didn’t have no single local Quaker student. The Discalced suspected that this new Quaker student may have been abducted or killed. “This is a reel scene,” Matte commented looking up at Vadrolt, and Vadrolt buried his face inside his cup singing. "Oh good, it's Jed," Matte said making eye contact with the quirky smiling Quaker Oats gay, raising his eyebrows once quirkily, Jedediah raised History on the first floor, it wasn't Villa Nova. “It’s not a real house out there,” Jed said being this cool, sitting next to his best friends ", well, you’re right about it.” “That’s my lie,” Matte said. "Pogrom, a dishonest mess of healthy people," Vadrolt added, Jed nodding once and smile generally. "Unauthorized bitch, you mean Methodists and Quakers came from outer space?", said Matte. "My Quakers were actually social justice zealots," calmed Vadrolt. "Earth to Vadrolt, white people bear a cross," Jed added. "If you stand with The Rights of the People, you are black," Matte corrected ", Napoleon was black, everyone know that." The national conventions had agreed to win, Luke S. Day found out when he wakes up. "Well, The distracted say he can't help anybody who can't help themselves," Jed said. "They don't believe that, never did. Anybody knows that to be a part of anything, there are pro-social laws or pro-social behaviors, help, otherwise everyone would be making anything they wanted for free, anarchy." Vadrolt may have spent too much of his free time studying. "No, Vadrolt, it wasn't the distracted, it was Father Engels...no seriously," Matte shushed. "O yeah." "I'm thinking about maybe helping myself. I need money. I might pick someone's pocket," Jed said, everyone laughed. "Well if you don't care, I can't help you, because I can only help thieves," Matte coughed. "Matthews, are you a decent individual?", Vadrolt looked him in the eyes. Mastikov Eisley Wittikund wounded, lived in a tree, known as Shakespeare, Master, in St. Petersburg, Russia, gru. He wrote SpiegelKamen headlines in the black pews of that neighborhood catholic church burning. They helped him, the headlines or the priess prests piests dancing. Soon or never, white perverts' State had thought that they had loved life, Eliakel's stomach was some stiff from witch people they had tripped or burned, shot at, they had to be stomached, such a thing as good choice, from there to be gun control, board stiff, Grigori. Father Friedrich Engels had constructed lab experiments in a control next to a control, and he had rewritten "The Utopia", and he had, control, it was never Imagination Protocol. Mastikov Eisley Eliakel Shakespeare made up elaborate stories about characters and 'splaces, form the little devils of St. Petersburg, until the fictional word was even more elaborate than St. Petersburg itself, and as a whole he thought about them, it was as if he were inside this functional world, not inside St. Eisley, and the world began to choose, and Mastikov began to watch it and write it. "One of the controversial items on your scope at your superconventions was whether or not to let the vampires build the Supercops. It wasn't entirely unethical, and they weren't any more or less ethical than their prey anyway, if The Law failed that is. I was wondering to witch extent it is believed your imp Law is possible," Luke S. Day piped up at the Philadelphia. "Mr. Lucas Day, it reminds to be seen whether any illegal action as envy to control making headlines, having a pulse illegal, is unalterable without any illegal action," Michael Just answered from his bench. "Unanswerable," Mr. Declan Wisher added. "Being a bitch, that's what it was," Luke unanswered under his breath. As far as Mastikov Shakespeare knew, war was illegal because the only scar was war, and nothing sacred, keep calm and...absurd, “keep our mouths shut that’s what we’re gonna do” was the SpiegelKamen mission statement. But for him war didn't have nothing to do with the physical violence, but it did have to do with the damned. Romanov had squeezed out of existence every devout Christian in the land, Moscow, through the policial social sector, and how was The Law to exist without mortality and those who performed it, he thought, all the greedy ones, and God wiped a tear from their eyes when they pitied themselves. Unanswered piety was the opposite of generosity, and so was envy, so far as Eisley could tell, besides the Envy of those who possessed the Liberty that they didn’t, a certain men drove their knowledge to an extreme, denying the toleration of opposing ideas which made knowledge and an existence impossible, how could there be direction if The East was The West? And they tried like hell to hide their ignorance through the splender of a witch, a scam. "God bless the Witches," he said aloud feeling for his bloodthirsty neighbor. And when Jesus had rewritten "Blessed are the mark, for they shall inherit the earth," it got mislisile-translated, weird, but either way, and it was not understood that Creation was an Absolute, and that it would surely inheirlit unlit The World without messing, the blessing of Above, it got weird. Since Creation wouldn've liked to have been an imposter, it marveled that weakness was enough. Mastikov was day dreaming all this in the time that it took Engles to respond. After Eisley's natural waking in the morning, in his tree, Father Engels had a bell alerting him to Gabriel, the exact moment when Father Mastikov became conscious, and Friedrich yelled up at the tree at once, he got there, chastising its relevancy for sleeping in. No one at the monastery knew what Mastikov did in his night abuse, see above, but one thing wasn't for sure, he wasn't ascetic. He hadn't yet decided to night stand, and so, slave walker, witch later. Somebody was decrying faith in God, in fact quite the opposite. "Did you ever feel living-retarded?" Vadrolt halted. "S'marks imposter," Matte remarked, it meant "nice 'marks" or "nice remarks". Jed had never attended a farmers meeting, and not that any of these three bastards even knew what when these three waked, and that wasn't the least time that they would ever not meet up again for this special tea, the scar'light, the disease, it helped with the turbulence yellow. "Maybe it's the Human Resources reform, despite the minor ‘forms of the Judicial Review process that you've already been discussing," Luke comments to Mike after hot beverage dialogues ", getting a little bend with this stuff," and he added nothing with a bend look in his eyes ", I think there's a Mass, why the word 'pot'...doesn't have an 'L' in it." "Well, what did YOU say?", Mike added, added, of course Wattson Tique had been removed, his position been held by Michael Just, whatever press may have been public. "The Press IS a funny thing." "Pervasive it is. The word pervasive," Mike said quoting with his fingers ", is a bitch-bush league ivory white TOWER diction," and he passed the pipe ", good screenwriters are hard to find these days." Look what Luke didn't do awkward, schemed to fight his nightmares. Ammocap wasn't let out of Russia in the 1866 for Wattson Reform. It wasn't War Reform either, but she couldn't let Matthew's chance at true love, it wasn't those politics. She couldn’t arrive at stay at the monastery a mendicant old nun in the Fall, el rostro opened into il rostro in Petersburg, and what was the difference, rostro, El padre. She feigned demonic possession, and the ones who believed weren’t el raawrstro, conciliatory. The catch is the deception, she knew that no one who might, had ever experienced demonic possession, even pretend about it, it is all the might of Russia could never unhook, parochial and effective, and when the scum had been revealed, only the right had a legitimate opinion about Matte's future, so this league between church and state was not just church only. After this, just war, excuse after excuse, it just didn't bother, Ammocap led to excitement and explosions normally, "done exciting," everything Rome had hoped for, black smoke covering the city, and the snowflakes mixed with the embers. Ammocap had stormed their sniper tower personally. Vadrolt had been sick, a lot of lately, a lump in his throat that wouldn't go, a weight in his temples that never went, an occasional flag sensation in his abdomen, generally constricted, some are short tempered naturally. There were still two asses out of three writers still on white whores, The Peephole and The Even' Green drunk. They debunked the SpiegelKamen's ideas without spin. The People appreciated The SpiegelKamen's uninterrupted stories, without rule political intel from the scurvy. The Even' Green apperated out of New York City, "The People", Bavarian, and white as they were, now with just one black, they peacefully warred, “entertained,” they said, attaining a world place was sort of a bitch, especially since they had had it once. Press wars, but despite what anyone ever did, every parson who spanned to God, was a child. The whirl wasn't held for the just spirit, that Shakespeare, but Mastikov envoy-dropped, to sail herself half way around the world in God's world. There wasn't nothing more imperative for a Christian than to deny any opportunity to slave, but God itself, imperative and dangerous, some might say even dreaming, to which Mastikov Eisley reply "why I am not" looked better. Something was just as helpful, not sure right, why The Vadrolt, so he wasn't different of course, worshipped, helpful, but the dinoflagellate community couldn't help, it never could have Vadrolt. If the head were to become possessed, the whole kingdom goes down. Mastikov Eisley made it up to the Pittsburgh, and they had had their dream, and that was it, one shared dream, and Vadrolt had walked so fine, now masculine orgasm. The political weapon d'jour a'jour was to neutralize the kinds by breaking their ax of marriage and family, sexual intercourse, or "cheese" as some referred to it, the harp. The secret mission statement of The People was “I can heal God”.

Opening with the force, open mic, the metaphor, everything sound, over hate, Bene Foudre helps you found this picture, controllingly if you have any fear of the overly-controllingly, likes, the physical trainer of St. Barnabus of St. Pittsburgh of Shanghai. Its sad memories or nightmares, I told you, "I waited for you", or Phobetor, but when Reno saw the lightning, depending on what's inside, close, briggs landing, jarred price search the metaphor, obsession with metaphor, our session with mute, obsessions with mic, confirm the post. Mr. Foudre led staff weekend workouts ", there really wasn't any such a thing as an accident Mr. Andreyovich, and we're here to make them less fly," he counseled as Matte did push ups with a clap. Bene curled over a foot off the ground in mid air most of the time, some called him Tibetan, but he also finished that Tibet, and was actually a warn part of The Shina, he was a Tibetan from Shanghai. Matte was preparing for a very special op he had planned for the following weekend, and so why was everyone else, when Jedediah was doing laps, Vadrolt was already a wreck, salty lives. Matte had had a lot of a lot, women of hate and righteousness. He saw them tall in a textile bu'iness factory, in an exponent of true truth, tall women operating tall machines, coddling the evolution of evolution, a week of revolution, where there were also two friends, with the missing, who were missing him to death, the pain with The Mirror, the ow-er of power, O with the metaphor, coward, yesterdays stolen moments probe an' yesterday’s starts with plane ends. Some how Bene knew exactly what factory Matte's fiends were in in Baltimore, that exponent professor foreman slave kept wages in a giant slave on the first floor where Bene and Matte went first to get the wages, as they were, the true truth showed up to protect, they were first promptly pushed into the safe behind the locked door, surrounding, his beautiful money, with no one to spend it on. Matte gave the women their wages, he took his two friends and Bene out for lunch, they thought Bene was weird, which was fine.

One night while flagging down the Streets of Philadelphia running, Luke S. Day was not quite flagged down by Lucifer, who really didn't quite care or feel threatened by contraversial progress, and who would never really quit, or quite say it was worth considering tricking Luke into buying a text to quit. When he finally realized with whom he was negotiating, Mike came in to drive away scam, attempting yet again to cure o' two hundred years of evolution. Matthew Brown was attempting to make the nineteenth century the present to erase the dystropia it had become twice.

Matthew Andreyovich love The Munch-Becker only.

Chapter 15

Get Mu Over The Drive

On this ray to Jerusalem to experience the new witch called the monocubus, Matthew stopped on over with David and Matte and Vadrolt to the Jekyl hide, and Matte insisted love was a replacement for war, and they all listened to him. Unfortunately all three got raped, or at least that's what Phobetor warned before he left, that was Bene's way. It was a radio, Wicken Kap, Elia Eliakel, River Sandmu, and Wells Waters, wild, would stay too. David did pain to leave the old city or to stay and not reside on the Jekyl, but not Vadrolt, and the Truro washed up on the old city, dirty on the Via Delarosa, Spring of 1867, Vadrolt karma-ing in a published skull with him as a gift to ol' America. Despite Ammocap's crush, Percival also arrived for the unveiling, and he unveiled, Percival believed what the Matthews, as on heir plain, should spend forty years half-damned, but not one else believed, no.

Just before Matthew departed from Philadelphia, and one late supper jaunt, the city became slightly dark and quiet, and as it were a show and a car light, and he had mentioned to Luke S. Day Lucifer would be in the present, appearing in the 1866, just as he reappeared. He felt Jewish could have been the end.

"Cars!", Matte said just shaking his head, showing, seeing his first monocubus.

"Matte just got that cars," Vadrolt quoted with his fingers," don't make me very decent individuals." As if he motioned to the girls nodding, slightly smiling, they didn't hear him apparently. They were still starring at the presentation.

Wicken Kap had just arrived from Rome, and she now resided at The Vatican, and she was anew as the Cheyenne. Rabbi Sandmu invited her to pen the celebrations in the city with the disease cure about life. She spoke on The Temple Mount that the confusion of the world, everywhere, distracts people enough away from the purifying to see the new life in the taboo needs of people with the feeling of our hearts. Few knew for instance that the Chinese Moscow had been transported to Gulags. After standing, seeing their lit monocubus consoles, Matte had just one lit cigarette, he'd been quit, Vadrolt standing next to him cooing ", gulags, dude, gulags."

A giant parquet race track had been assembled around Jerusalem, through the desert, even through the old city, with some pretty sharp curls, no loopty-loops though. Matte gestured as if it were bouncing a basketball inspecting it ", these car engines are so big they're like big airplanes," Vadrolt twirling his finger in the air ", they do about thirty, but on the rack off," he just took his head as if anticipating calamity. "Forty percent off, asshole," Vadrolt sneered getting into his own “car”, Matte forged a new trail about a little device he was privy to from the 2000's: nitrous ", apparently shocks haven't been invented yet?", Matte asked himself aloud, thinking, then driving off. Ammocap raced in a modified cyborggy 1CIPHER suit with a lion helmet, just in case for such calamity, every once in a why, light flashed out of their eyes.

"Get Mumu drive overload," Ammocap whispered.

Matte drove his car a little differently than everyone else, in reverse, so he could watch everyone watch his dust. Almost one year at teaching engineering had worked wonders for Matte, and his monocubous. His gears sat, and console faced back, and he had spent enough time memorizing the track to not have to look in which direction in which he taught. All the while his students had been taking wings, he was redesigning this machine, and visualizing every foot of the track. Percival kid, also had a special modification for Matthews, rashy, instinctive gag personally. "'I am invincible, so don't help me, because you are' God seems to say to us sarcastically," Rabbi Sandmu sold St. Matthew once, the same day that Hymu and Sandmu sat back to back watching them prayer journal on the Temple Mount, the students hadn’t noticed that Sandmu actually did fall asleep.

"I have chosen no power to furnish some of you in need, and you have not power to fulfill someone, if we chose not, and if we will even risk, even calumny, we don't have the life, and we will not have the life, the having was in the giving," Wicken Kap declared again ", The Beast of The East and The Dominion, her future is no more, and the legal distraction which might distress and disestablish the dysfunctional. There isn't a-legal, there couldn’t have been but a life in God, and the masses didn't stand for the celebrant but in their race," Percival stood for about an hour and within the Rest, supporting without rage sabotage, the blasphemous house rect in The Jerusalem.

"You don't know where I'm talking about, do you?", Vadrolt said to Elia.

"I don't watch these races."

"I'm suicide," he conceded.

"A misuse of my tears, really, if you like to think about it," Elia clarified, Vadrolt's arm in a sling, Wells Waters' monocubus had gone haywire, no one knew what happened, Matthew was praying at the alabaster, Wells seemed pretty all right in the hospital.

“I see now...It’s all in Your mind,” Matte said in his mind, he had seen. Percival had poisoned their teas, parabins, dislocation. Matte had seen him laugh when it was Wells who lost control, Ammocap, who had stood between him and the destiny of Romulus, and there was no sinning, the intent full with an evidence and no proof.

“Get over it,” the Voice said in his heart from the black.

“How?”

“You’re in. Keep belief,” he felt a nudge, turning to see River.

“What happened?”, she asked him, and he nudged her.

Wicken passed River and Matte on their way away from the Rock, stubborn on a mission, and later that morning saw the sweeping Beast begin to awaken. The two unheard, Ammocap was unconscious, still no word as yet. Wolfgang Munch and Sara Becker had arrived in the harrow, presently in breakfast with the waiter, Walter? Wolfgang and Sara were back under clandestine, and he recently racing her from a Russian gate erasure, and Huxly race, that too. Elizabeth Pointe was absent, but Vadrolt didn't think, not because Elia and Huxly were clutching that cup over a fresh pot of tea he had served. When Matthews had joined them, the rapport was casual, all very business congratulating Voltaire over the new, and the secret hair of Scotland, Matte sheepishly lighting a secret new cigarette. And what he'd been on the track, and Matte was delighted to hear that Wolfgang had been brought a crate of Ye Pao's talent abuse, all because Sara Becker had been gullogged for execution over trial. They all slowly quoted as they began to notice a small group of Catholics running around the restaurant, an excited frenzy, and all oblivious, Wolfgang raised an eyebrow, Percival had lost the control over the Super Ultra, everyone inside the city waiting, the curtain pulling back and forth for the cleaning of the curtain ring, and after, David Columbus arrived to test the new Pao weaponry, cars and bazookas, all the scarred animals went berserker, and all went back. Some days later, Rabbi Sandmu had breakfast with Winter. Do you know what this is?", he asked him, holding with a something new in between his fingers.

Matthews nodded.

“It’s a bronze valve...it distills.”

Matthew said nothing with wide eyes.

“Come up at my compline, and I’ll show you what it’s used for.”

Father Sandmu met with The Wicken and The David for lunch that day to resume interfaith dialogues inside the city now that the crisis had resumed. These were not un-instrumental, there wasn't a known procedure to resume daily life, but somehow everyone always seemed to be fine at their closings.

"They're building a new prison in an island in California," David suggested.

"It died," Sandmu reminded him.

"I had heard about that a little while ago," Wicken revealed squinting intently.

"It's new," David affirmed.

"Alcatraz," Wicken added.

"Guys, it's over," Sandmu was adamant ", now, how 'bout dessert."Wicken wasn't, the favorite for the next pope was zealous with God and the Law, she thinking ahead.

"The good is, the balance of the river is kept by God no matter what we do. We take the river to grow the grapes, and then from the grapes we take the wine. Time has passed before we sip, and an effect. But there was a wine that could be sipped without reason, which was cultivated for another reason, and because it satisfied a real need, not just desires, the need for life. Humanity's desire is a tendency always for the sick and not the success. Success is found in The Balance, balance kept by God, the know is that which we desire and that which we are, what need is different, station. If we ignore the reaping of the life, we rape ourselves, and others, and the earth, and all the while The God keeps The Balance in the river. But very fine white wine was laboring for yet another end, beyond the drink: cognac. If a person drinks to help, we make the cognac, he would soon learn truth of this bronze valve." Father Sandmu walking Matthew to the front door, put the salve in its place, close the door saying ", your first distill. You may need to continue over the second if you recognize your need, and you believe it is not for the excess of your humanism."

"Thank you, my dear sir," Matte responded politely kissing his cheek, responding, all alone in the darkness of his night, Sandmu's front doorstep, and his lit cigarette, Sandmu walking over. The city was with peace in the dawn, Matthew watching the sun eclipse from the hill, then walking to his sun in his sun, he all fired up, a second monucubus, which fired toward God, and spent the track testing its steering, and a moon witched from alongside the old ruin, a man, a Percival, and a Father Sandmu.

Father Hymu explored a spacial mass at, The Sepulchre, port of prince at Prime. During the Homily, she expounded the text of Judah's signet:

"St. Teresa of Avila was a chaste nun, who never married. She created a chaste doll who was larger than life with her pen. She lay in the chamber at night with a stuffed weasel fur. She cradled a wooden baby. She infuriated, a chaste doll with air from her quill, herself stuffed with the mucus, until she knelt lover from go. She was bustier than life. The Word of the Law," and she sat down, business went up as usual, but Ammocap was up, and everyone had fun. David's was a bazooka gift wrapped in a Christmas paper. Percival, the new Father, after forcing the Matthew out, follow because he will be Tsar, but Father said to himself driving his mourning ", I must, the give, The Tsardom back to The papacy," and he had, and no one averted it, not even Percival. He did not even have, Barnabas come, and in it all the Ghost of Life.

Appendices to The HumanJuris

Appendix A Rupture on the Vatican, I'm Sheerioush by Pizaro Frances "Que si yo no fuera mexicano, no adoraría a Cristo y -No, mira, parece evidente. Llegan los españoles y te proponen adorar a un Dios muerto hecho un coágulo, con el costado herido, clavado en una cruz. Sacrificado. Ofrendado. ¿Qué cosa más natural que aceptar un sentimiento tan cercano a todo tu ceremonial, a toda tu vida?… figúrate, en cambio, que México hubiera sido conquistado por budistas o por mahometanos. No es concebible que nuestros indios veneraran a un individuo que murió de indigestión. Pero un Dios al que no le basta que se sacrifiquen por él, sino que incluso va a que le arranquen el corazón, ¡caramba, jaque mate a Huitzilopochtli!" - Carlos Fuentes They’re throning me now, “we’re not good, and we don’t want anyone else to be good either.” Those Indians who weren’t called white niggers, named old Pizaro Frances, “Bizaro.” I had said that I myself was good, so they pissed in the food. Black horse cantered to and fro, “you have no idea how this is true.” Me said. “We must first show what way is open to us in order that we may make known my truth which is wrought.” When Mr. Lyons was six, a Bronx priest told him ", man's highest end terminates his natural appetite with the result that, once this end is possessed, nothing else matters." But when he had later consumed hallucinogenic mushrooms at Niagara Falls, he saw: "Many moons into the future the Cherokee Ghost Bigtall rides the spirit ghost Sunset. Where is words "CHILDREN ARE GOOD" burned? And sheep graze." Sheep grazed around Malachy Smith, Pope Clement XVII, who was irish, but no one knew. "What is more imperative than coming last, is to be good instead." The last sentence of the homily was weird: "dance", withered by the one who had been called the seventeenth to honor a P. Clement of Avignon. I attended the last game of the Lions' Z0ZZ season with some Iroquois tribe, against all odds, the Buffalo Bills, and with Alex again, to the left, all decked out in silver and blue. "You guys suck!," and he grinned too. The score at that time was ten to annoying. "Me promise they won't score anymore, if that make you feel better," I straight faced. Just then Yolanda appeared on the wrong side, to the right of our row, carrying three beers. "Drunkin' donut. Walk around," he shouted and laughed. "Around," he clarified with a circular finger motion. Sitting next to Alex, she passed me, then passed me the third beer. "You piss in this?," I said to her. Yolanda, Alex, and I resided in same Bronx highhorse when we are kids. "I watched the Pope at his reading this morning on EWTV, and a swear, he intentionally flipped someone off scratching his left ear," Alex said scratching his left ear. "They don't always get along. Drink it," Yolanda smirked, concerned, "how did I get stuck in this nigger-row? I'm Sheerioush." "We want you to conquer us," fools to the right seemed to say to me. I thought that that was a bit impermissible, so I asked permission of Chris ", would you mind conquering yourself Chris, because I can't eat everything you do, you know." Chris Columbus was a fan from Cleveland, a big white indians fan. He was part Apocalypse and was admitted to the Iroquois Nation by a loop-hole in the system. "The soul in me was conquered the day Billtall appeared, and Chris went, because it believed what people always told it: that it was bad. I'm some other guy now. I saw on Eternal World TV Clement XVII said, 'it's not reconcilable, but the Almighty gives people new souls, which I might adventure development," said Bill. "Me couldn't with that agree more." When my translation saw I had become someone different, they had begun to believe in mathematics. They stopped porning, even Chris. That was about the season the Roman Catholic Church II began to flesh itself down the toilet, whose sound reminded of the Falls. Bill had become a saint, looked like a pitiful mercenary. He never believed in the existence of el diablo, but it seemed he was beginning to find it. No one dies of course, everyone knows that, but God was sneaking new souls, reincarnation-like, men seeking death and not finding it, death-fucking, the end. It is already the ninth of Apocalypse, and people are asking you to leave. "I'm sure it's a golden community," Alex said exhaling cigarette smoke ", ya know. I mean, girls are girls. They're all beautiful...to some extent." "The American Eagle Lyons has unfortunately left the building. They're sending A in his place. His name is...Alex Lyons?" "I'm sure he will be more legitimate." "Detroit just got sacked, you fucks," Yolanda chimed in, "I kind of miss the Bronx. It's changed a little," glancing at Lyons ", since we were there." "Used to change a little," his eyes darted to his left forward. "Ahem. Speaking of changes, what was it you said again to that guy who told you to have a great day just before you fell into the river, Bill?" "You knew what I said. Reminds me of the Lions defense today." Just before becoming the second man to attempt Niagara Falls on high wire, Chris had responded to that man ", why bother!" I say "attempt" because he dropped from the wire 500 feet into the Niagara. The rescue crew had fished out a baby with a different soul, alive. "And what was it you told the medics?" "I'm good." "That's it?" "Well I was...just after I wasn't." In 2020, the same year Chris had had his accident, France broke with the Roman Catholic Church over its doctrine of original sin. Some guy got up there and calling himself Pope Clement XVII, started Eternal World Television, and began telling everyone they were all good. What a coincidence. It all happened around Valentine's day, and we believed him. Later, he released a covert letter penned by Christopher Columbus I, entitled "Epistola de Insultis Indie," the "Letter of Indie Assaults," the appearance of which may have contradicted Malachy's "original good" statements. That was why Alex and some others had lost faith of late whether they might still be O.G.'s. Anyway, Malachy, as part of his 1492 year of hemorrhage, had remedied indians all across the Americas, including me Bigtall. That pope had recently throned me; apparently kings still got executed, from time to time. Inspite of the fact that Columbus apparently wrote that he "tricked" white people into believing "the idea I described to them that I descended from heaven," I still believe he was good, just like me. Interestingly enough, the Roman pontiff also agreed Columbus was good, inspite of his original sin doctrine that Malachy appeared to be flipping him off over. Honestly, I think Columbus believed he himself was bad. I think he was wrong, cuz he's an O.G. Stanley Morgan, the researcher, found that treating people badly goes hand in hand with believing they're bad. So maybe France produced better scientists than Rome. Columbus probably assaulted indians to alleviate any lingering cognitive dissonance he felt because he believed they were savage. The indians probably believed he and themselves were civilized. Now that a pope finally agreed with them, the healing had started. "But now, I want to be a prophet," Bill added. "When in Rome..." "I know, but I can't help it." "Well, I seem to remember Clement quoting the Pentagon ', your perfection is the enemy of good.'" "Yeah, yeah, yeah, and Robert Louis Stevenson was a good shape shifter perfectly separating good and evil with Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde too. Right. What was it that he said about belief and reality?" "Yeah right. He said that what we believe about ourselves and others, changes what reality can be." When Chris was flying through the sky, water all around him, apparently he blacked out and visited the spirit world where he saw Billtall. This experience had made him say and believe "I'm good" when he woke up, but the primate's recent pancreatic history disclosure was confusing, and worth discussing. Bill had nice legs, probably a side effect of all his crisscross performing, that's not why I wanted to marry him though. I love him. Bill had been through so much shit in recent years, we hardly ever did it anymore. The fact that I had his psychology all figured out perfectly wasn't helping. That's why we were all at the football game. We thought we could get drunk enough to forget our problems to be able to relax for a few hours. Besides, our leader was an irishman who didn't believe in the Eucharist, a drunken exorcist. "Would you guys marry already, you're terminating my natural appetite with all that philosophy stuff," Alex interrupted. "I can't help it, I'm a psychology professor, or don't you remember?," I said as we each took a sip. The Lions scored a touchdown, and Alex whispered and spit into his cup of beer smiling ", I hate you, I can't help it." Yolanda and I pretended not to notice. Bill worked for the Ringling Brothers, and I published out of SUNY Buffalo, or was it Union, the alcohol was taking its effect. After the game, we all went over the Falls to watch the sunset. We didn't bother removing our face paint because we were used to snickering around, and we thought it was funny. As Bill and Yolanda stood side by side talking in the scene, Alex and I took a double knee. With rings. They said "no" in stereo, laughing. The bovines in Rome and Avignon, conducting business as usual, didn't notice because it was Christmas.

Appendix C The Authenticity Zachry Vernacular: What Boom WhAt FoLlOws iS tHe CaSe StUdY iNcIdEnTs Of BeTa’s uNaUtHoRiZed dIsEnCrYpTiOn As LeD wItH 2 YeTi AnD vErNaCuLaR. aLpHa AnThOlOgY sEcTiOn bbbbb.whatboom. I just fantasized Juju Relic as a small child, set in plain view on the dark wooden table of a witchdoctor’s study in La Habana, but I didn’t know what. As a guerrilla on Hologram Light Station 2, I discovered it was the only way to poetically make use of photon technology, whose application was abandoned years earlier by AlPhA, labeled infeasible. 1 I purchased the small letter cube shaped urn for a million from the doctor, and began to secretly divine my HLS study with dolls: the Voodoo Factory. Its establishment was a closely guarded secret which embazzled in time the existence of Truce, realizing a long beloved dream of HLS 2. I first saw Mark Ayers at a Concord, Massachusetts restaurant where he insistently became more interested in a Decovery Channel program on Sonic Boom which happened to not be playing from the hallucination behind the bar, exclaiming "that's fuckin' bullshit," with a smile, at the narrator's claim that the speed of sound was 705 mph as opposed to the previously blacklisted 780 mph. His buddies continued in conversation, and Ayers uncharacteristically became quiet and pensive, a moment continuing for weeks leading up to the annual Lexington Air Show Ayers never misses. I could tell right away he would be a pitiful candidate to pilot HLS 2's concept of Truce. AyErS wIlL nEvEr PoSsEsS tHe AdEqUaTe GeNoMe ReQuIrEd FoR pHySiCaL kNoWlEdGe AcQuIsItIoN, StIlL uKnOwN tHe ReMeDy FoR dEcReAsEd "CoMmOn SeNsE" cApAbIlItIeS. Mildred Barnes, aristocrat with a capital Alpha, long time romance of Ayers, accompanied him to the "fifty second" Lexington Air Show, the very first event when they had met, wearing a white brimmed hat with a black sash and daisy. Coincidentally it had long been penned, the hallucination crash of one of its jets in close proximity to Lexington fields. Time is ironic. Given Ayers' unusually long pensive state, I knew he would not be able to let go said hallucination and I had prepared an Apache Delorean to invite him for pickup to HLS 2 following the truncated event. After the audience had been crowd controlled away, Ayers was frantically removed by cruffs from the supposed crash site, seeing to his dismay invisibility, 1 DuE tO tHe InAcCeSsIbIlItY Of ThE lEtTeR cUbE cOnTeNtS, pHoToN aPpLiCaTiOn ReMaInS iNfEaSiBlE. uKnOwN mAtTeR iRrEpLiCaBlE. but opted to leap up into my A.D. instead of submitting himself to the standard aversion conditioning.2 On route to HLS 2 500 feet above Uniteded Fields Zone 2, I briefly departed to Ayers that our station helped generate the hologram band for the hallucination of the appearance of jets and planet Earth's sky which had been destroyed in the 1950's by dark matter unfortunately resulting from our implosive interception of a comet threatening planetary existence, to which he replied, "wow," glancing upwards. I outfitted Ayers with DRAC, ESIC, and his own VOODOO VOICE, which I explained would end it all, enable a Beta to retain illicit holographic knowledge as long as it would uphold secrecy as part of a pilot program we called Truce. After this he tested out his ESIC finger gun on the doll, disintegrating it, and we quickly fashioned him a replacement. Truce would be upheld as far as Ayers replied "I don't know" to any questions or conversation surrounding Alpha knowledge. What follows is a dialogue transcription of: my colleague, Aaron Snowman, and his younger consort Eifel Callao, later labeled Sam Adams, Yeti 1, and Yeti 2, which took place in Boston, Massachusetts a week following the air show. Callao: That guy over there in the corner just offered to buy you a drink, tha fuckin' weirdo...if you sit with him. So what'll it be? Ayers: Uh...Uh OK...a Sam Adams is fine. Callao: You sure? I'll have it there in a jiffy ya fruit. Snowman: Please sit. I'm not gay. I just thought you deserved a drink after that crazy moment, and I was interested to meet you. What was that all about. Ayers: I don't know. I just proposed to my girl. Did you see her? She's about 5'7", quirky, with a funny eye, you couldn't miss her. Snowman: No, I didn't. Maybe in the bathroom? Ayers: No, I checked. She's disappeared. Snowman: Well, I have a secret, have a seat for a moment, maybe she'll be right back...Did she say "yes?" Well, here's to you and your fiancée, and to finding her. 2UnAuThOrIzEd ReTeNtIoN oF pHySiCaL kNoWlEdGe BeGiNnInG aT abb. Ayers: I'm sorry? I think I better go see where she might be, maybe she's been brought in for questioning or something. Nice to meet you Mr... Snowman: Aaron Snowman. And you are? Ayers: Mark Ayers. Thanks for the beer, man. This chance exchange immediately following Ayers' unfortunate but understandable incapacitation of an intervening Alpha cruff with his ESIC, incited by Mildred's spontaneous proposal acceptance, set in motion events leading to the Great Beta Disencryption, known as What Boom. AlPhA bb KnOwN aS mIlDrEd BaRnEs ViOlAtEd A. mAnUeL sUbSeCtIoN abb InTeRrElAtIoNaL cOnDuCt, AnD a CrUfF wAs DiSpAtChEd. What follows is a transcription of a conversation between Callao and Snowman later that evening. Callao: My friend I'm starting to reconsider this whole porning thing given what we saw with that Ayers character, and I'm arguing to think you might actually be right about some of those physics theories...Ya wierdo. Snowman: Yes, perhaps a picture of naked breasts on the Discovery Channel's website has become somewhat of less importance.3 Callao: Maybe. What did you call that finger gun thing again? Snowman: It's electron stream release empowered from an implanted chip in the wrist, activated by a certain hand gesture as well as an unequivocal willful imperative given to it from your mind. Callao: You gotta know what I'm thinking. We gotta find this Ayers character and see what he thinks about your physics stuff. The two gentlemen caught up with, stalked, and questioned Ayers only to find out "he didn't know anything about it," however it appears that their absence of Alpha genome did not prevent them from confirming Snowman's physical theories which he never mentioned in any of his B.U. research professorship publications or professional exchanges. 3UkNoWn To YeTi 1 AnD 2 No AgGrEsSive InTeRnEt VeRnAcUlAr StOoD dIsEnCrYpTeD. The following is a transcription of a conversation between Callao and Snowman some weeks later, at the Green Dragon II, where Snowman first met my colleague. Callao: He’s really hung up on that girl named Mildred. He’s risking his life everytime they meet up. He’s like Houdini though. How dad he get out of those cuffs? Snowman: Alchemy I think, probably made possible through a chip in the wrist similar to the finger gun processor...I think you might think about building something for us. Callao: You think we can make that? Snowman: No, but I have another idea. It's a device that temporarily erases memory by emitting microwaves at a certain frequency to block the relay of information between the synapses and the memory portion of the brain. I'm calling it a Nepenthe Synapse Dam. Callao: You got any idea what ingredients I use for that? What do I have to do start foraging in the Pentagon's dumpsters or something? My sister already thinks I'm a nut with a blow torch. Snowman: No, Doreen won't have to go without your half of the 3000 you guys pay for house renting in Cambridge, so don't get anxious. You need: a used microwave, a radio dial, a button, encasing, and a battery. And maybe some wiring. Have you seen any of those around your place? Callao: What do you know about it ya fruit. Snowman: Just one thing though. It will erase our short-term memory along with everyone else's in the room for about 5 minutes. Callao: If it works...I'm going to make you a little fuckin' business card that you can hold up in front of your face before we press the button saying, "You just erased your own memory ya nut. Now get yourself out of there before the 5 minutes is up." Snowman: Think you can make the N S D first? Callao: I'm the fuckin' eighth wonder of the world - the eleven toed yeti, and don't you forget it ya fuck. At this time I was beginning to pity my colleague Mark, totally oblivious to the regrets of Alpha Beta interrelation. Some kind of Romeo and Juliette situation. He seemed to have considered, and not in this order: ritual death, kidnapping, joining Alpha, living on HLS 2, and voluntary slavery. All not possible. So when he took his A.D. up for a vomit, and was milling about the VOODOO FACTORY, I didn't suspect anything. It wasn't until he was already safe and sound back managing the Walden B&B that I noticed he had stolen four chips and a chip modulator.4 I suddenly joined Mark would be joining up with the Yeti, apparently the "I don't know" policy of Truce had proven flawed, and since maintaining that aspect of the pilot program had become illogical, I decided to the little hair into the front of my hair, go cross-eyed, fashion two new dolls 5, and take up the needle. HLS 2's philosophical dam could progress, and besides I wasn't interested in adding 2 new skulls to the factory. Saddened, the only thing Mark Ayers could do in violation of A. Manuel Subsection abb, was to abandon his true love. Apparently Eifel and Aaron's attempts to proselytize Massachusetts with illicit holographic knowledge had gone amiss. No one believed. Perhaps they were handicapped by a lack of evidence, or even the minor inconvenience of their neophytes' 5 minute memory erasure, most of what they'd just been told, before the inevitable moment cruffs arrived. So once Mark finally figured out how to make use of the chip modulator, the Yetis' sway got a scruff upgrade, and Alpha cruffs went berzerk.6 YeTi OuT oF cOnTrOl. YeTiS 1 aNd 3, 12 ToEd. YeTi 2, 11 ToEd. YeTiS 1 aNd 2 MaLe. YeTi 3 FeMaLe, 2 ClItOrAi NoRmAl. YeTi PoLiTiCaL pUrIsM nOrMaL, uNaLtErAbLe. Once the great Beta Disencryption had begun, Alpha efforts to beard HLS 2 in search of the letter cube became considerably more frequent. The strategy for keeping them at bay was simple but frenetic. In order to I.D. foreign A.D. drivers, scouts had to get close enough, not an easy maneuver, with avoiding electron stream battery cannon fire. Only then could a voodoo doll be fashioned to neutralize A.D. drivers from the comfort of my HLS 2 study. So from start to finish, there was a lot of dying, sowing little jackets, yarn hair, trying to not get our cars shot, etc. And me needling my ass off. With our employees' hats as they are, and all the shuffling to and fro, my factory looked so much like a Devo video, I named the procedure "Whip It." The ground activity, in what would be later named Concord, was even more franctic. My staff made little film shorts of it for when I sipped my nightly five shots of espresso to relax. Each with its own little title. There was "You Believe Me Now?", which ended with some Betas cuffing cruffs and a freeze frame of 4AlPhA cOnSiDeRs VeRnAcUlAr KnEw. SaM aDaMs ViOlAtEs A mAnUeL sEcTiOn b. 5DoLlS eNaBlE eArLy WaRnInG sIgNaL wItH mInOr LeFt EyE nEeDlE pRiCk. 6A. mAnUeL aTtAcK sEcTiOn bb. Aaron's smiling face in front of the Cheers' Bar marquee. Or "High Fall" where Aaron presses the N.S.D., ending a cruff chase scene as they run straight into a Concord gorge with no memory of why they were running in the first place. One night...night?, I was delighted to see the boys had canned a Rom Com called "Excuse Me," a budding romance flick ending with Mark's face in Doreen's crotch in the jumbled up tight space just behind their A.D.'s front seats. Mark's response was the title, as she laughed. Interestingly enough, the short "God" and it's sequel "Ritualized" were enjoyed by all without a thought given to any traditional religiosity, probably a result of Mark's somewhat canonical inability to sin. What follows is a transcription of a conversation one afternoon at a Cambridge Cafe between Doreen and her brother Eifel. Eifel: Have you ever thought about this character Vern, who he actually is? Doreen: Not really. Eifel: Not really? Do you ever think about anybody besides that weeny Mark? He's like Zeus or something. Doreen: Who? Eifel: That guy up there in the sky. Think about it, the whole earth is like a bubble, nothing's real, we're remaking everything. And he's in charge. Some people call him Messiah, like from the bible...maybe. Doreen: Just wondering, Tower, are you happier now that you've got some of those wires in your wrists? Eifel: I don't know, but I think this might be the end of the world. It's my dream, Alpha consort, that Who and What will never marry or be able to negate one another, and that both are necessary. As long as Beta calls Concord a democratic republic, that is what, and as long as Alpha maintains the hallucination as reality, that is who. Both can be enjoyed. vErNaCuLaR gEnOmE hIgHlY uNiQuE, qUaLiFiEd. SaM aDaMs GeNoMe bbbb, PrObAbLe DeItY WhAt FoLlOwS iS a TrAnScRiPtIoN oF iNcOnSeQuEnTiAl CeLeBrAtOrY eVeNt DiAlOgUe BeTwEeN vErNaCuLaR aNd AdAmS VeRnAcUlAr: I can’t remember the last time I had a beer at a bar. AdAmS: You don’t sing? VeRnAcUlAr: They seem tacitly subdued watching who is on the hallucination behind the bar. AdAmS: That’s fuckin’ bullshit.

Appendix I The Free Conspiracy by Eifel Callao The Joshua boys were fiends with doctor Fawkes, more like criminals than comrades “, you used your call?“, Reno smiled “, my friend, he might call US out,” D laughed, his shaking “, so glad The Good Samaritan Law,“ and Keith farted ”, Matte…vale…joder,“ Don Fawkes said, jonesin’ a smoke “, shut the fuck up my twinkle toes,” Reno said, D ignoring him, even though Fawkes had blown up the Joshua residence, he was charged with the possession of pharmaceuticals, it wasn’t that Reno and Keith disliked Yoda, just that the treatment team was always burning their home down, even they weren’t around, and the house burning seemed to be all about as close as anyone might get to those bitches, hallucinations, huachiamigos ”, shit was like keeeshhhkh,” Flawkes had blin’, he klicked out the black windshield, the three had blin’, not hog-tied in the black of the cruiser, Vidiet, Reno, and Keith worked for D, but D didn’t get no indigo, he couldn’t burn that crop, but could infiltrate the set without it, pills for free dough, Vidiet’s got the smile and the Alpha, and Fawkes, not a Malachy fan, traditional. Russ played their Juvi bail, became their official PO, so anti-papism wouldn’t get on fire any more. Don Fawkes didn’t, masterbate of the whole thing, how, he did, hallucination theater that rivaled Alpha’s, the muslim terrorists weren’t laughing dance clubs, ecstasy was orthodox, Vidiet and Romeo weren’t there for explanation in case of black and blue, it made the News, so people kept quiet. It’s reel, cut

“Isn’t it choice that someone knows who you are, even though you forget, and I say ’, new, that’s not you,’ and you say ’, it’s not?’, ‘no,’ I say, 'oh, I didn’t know you,’ you say. If you classify that idea 'house’ under confusion to look at, instead of places to live, you’ll surely never get to live in one, I’m sorry, I’d like to say it’s more complication, but it’s just not.” Keith believed his name was Joshua once, but he began to watch the News, the fuckin’ retard. The boys were residing at the top of The Culver Hotel, Keith and Reno, but when Keith thought that he decided to re-enter the foster care system, the dual hallucination which powdered them, both future, petered out, not enough mischief, so Aaron was showing him around HLS2, it took Keith about a day, night, to keep my food down.

“Our little brains are incapable of keeping loving everything down that is true, organized in our conscious, it really goes back to what Immanuel Kant once called the 'intelligible world’, and what we’ve got is one little snippet of it, which we called you the 'sensible world.’ Often what people do to maintain complete knowledge is to settle for world ideas that are not feminine because they thought that they needed more than their sensible world, attaining extra-sensible world, not possible.“

When I was a kid, my friend Pizarro, from back in the Bronx, told me that garbage men actually make bank, and I started thinking about what it would be like to be a garbage man, and I thought it might be hard, and what it wouldn’t be at the end of the day or whatever, tryn’ to get the smell out in the shower or bath, but still I got it was a profession, I mean, nobody wants that fuckin’ shit, but somebody’s gotta throw that shit out too, bro. I think Aaron took a likin’ to the kid because she wanted to play the drums, and the fuckin’ world famous Snowman had designed this little fuckin’ drum-set, it drove Vern fuckin’ nuts. Besides, the little thing that the kid’s heart had started in Los Angeles was going just great, still. “I’ve designed the ‘v’ kick pedal for faster bass, and also for faster tom striking, one each side behind your head so you might strike the heads on the up and down swings. Now, rest of your foot right on top of the ‘v’, you can use the toe and the heel to make beats.” “That was stupid,” Keith said entranced by the Rubic’scube, that was Aaron’s gift?, Russ was there too. At the turn of the day, Keith and Russ watched PortaVision shorts in Vern’s office with us, HLS1 was very busy, a fraction name-called Kultur, they called everyone else here bitches, OK, popcorn bitches, this was like Revenge of the Nerds II for us. Keith liked the wong called "Evil Spongebob” in which Kulturists kept miming recovery from the babe habit, only to resume it later unintentionally, the bad habit going bat-shit, OK wears black, Kultur in little yellow jumpsuits with little square hats, for the incarnation, the “nichthemeron”, anyway, and it was all set to a new song out of Hollywood called “Recover”, these nerds don’t keep coming back to the same time over and over, recover, OK, masters of the cluck, gone old the way back, correc, to the days of VAdrolt Jones, including formulatory SuperUltra, makes you feel sleepy and confused, no thoughts, little fucking Hamburgers from Hell. It was a double feature night, “This Your Bomb, not My Brain” was a horror short documentary about how the horror works, too short, weak.

The word’s not “entrepreneur”, everybody wants everything burning, Jack Spade, a lime James Bond, he quit when he was started, creating the worst stunts ever, an Evil Conman, except it was illusion, he was better, he wasn’t the hallucination, Los Angeles, caught between HLS1 and HLS2, he did jump, it could be defended because it was real, it came out of Kultur, the year of mercy, they created a monster, bad boy shit, stunt terrorism.

“So the Apache submarines, it’s got flow.” “It sucks. Hey, we want to see HLS, bro.” “Don’t make me shoot you with his ESIC, Fawkes.” “It’s a sight,” Keith shrugged “, Jack Spade on TV today though.” “True, true.” “You get service underwater? That’s the most amazing part of it all, answer your phone dude, you know how he is.” “Hello…no, the hologram is base jumping today…well, I’m not in charge of him, so…I’ll tell him…all right…late,” looking at Fawkes “, he says if you bail, then maybe the needle, I don’t know,” Reno shook his hand in the air indicating the thought that that was kind of fucked up, his eyes looking upwards. “My own personal jihad preserving the Vatican II is less important? Protestants,” Keith said shaking his head, mocking Fawkes.

“Above MacArthur Park two hot air balloons with a tight rope, just like you said,” Fawkes said jerking off the air with a bored look, he was all about it though, the three were the only ones moving, the only ones not looking up, as Spade flirted on the edge of the bastard. “He might die,” Fawkes eye-rolled, Keith laughing. “Well, yeah, I mean if D keeps bailing…Holograms dude, holograms,” Reno smiled. The boys looked like adult paramedics, the hologram’s parachute didn’t open for the opener, and they announced to the crowd that he had resurrected himself when Jack stood up after bouncing on the pavement twice. That’s fuckin’ bullshit. Alpha OK had Formula, News stations, and the Internet, no match for Spade and Co.

After Kultur reopened America in 2030?, there seems to be some fuckin’ disappointment over what year it actually was, it jailed Don Fawkes in one its little black sites, no one knew where he went, was, no trial, no paperwork, no witnesses, not even HLS2 knew, I didn’t know. :) How they were was like an “X” over an “t”, it’s easy, written on the glass, the four ends of the “X” a room, they rotated in purpose from the inside, so they unlucky bastard in one of them never knew were they lived, some people believed the hallucination, but they existed in every major port and town of Uniteded Fields, the “t” being the roads leading in, not centrally. Fawkes, the idiot, thought it best to leave himself in the site, while letting the people who put them up to it there, actually not say and be jailed stupidly. The “X” was not actually made up of a backwards “L” and an upside down frowns, “L”, the corners of the L’s did touch, some man said this was like the human consciousness was compared, or keeping, that kind of “complexity organized in their subconscious”, or some shit like that. It ain’t no cliche, but he decided the thing to do was to fake his own death, so everyone could see him again. It ain’t no addiction, it’s a choice, liberty, me, so light another cigarette won’t you?

“They say we’re confined to one cell all the time because we don’t drink the pharmaceutical giz,” Casey remarked.

“No, wasn’t it that we might have TB?”“Oh yeah, a Shakespearean reference, TB or not TB, they’re critiquing are desire to want to live in Compton.”

“That would be supposedly why I’m here,” Fawkes said confused.

“Yeah, didn’t you notice they kept yelling to us to answer their questions of loaded terms with "yes” or “no” responses only, slavery conditioning.“

"No, I didn’t notice that angry guard screaming at me like a drill instructor a centimeter from my nose, I thought he was hoping to kiss me if I didn’t take the bait, I conducted an experiment when we first moved, I only drank two sips of the little juice to test out it’s effect, instant dysentery, I think I’ve got a fissure. What’s worse, an anal fissure or starvation with a side of dehydration?”

“Oh, I only wish they’d let you floss your teeth.”

“No I don’t need no cigarette, I love you,” Faux rocked back and forth strung out on sobriety, standing, avoiding the cold cement of the room containing nothing but a toilet and a toilet paper “, the no-cops don’t care about the Law, the court don’t care about the Law, not even God care about Law.”

“Because it was so unimportant?”

“Step back from the door, I don’t want my TB on the glass!”, a guard yelled.

“Humanjuris at its finest,” Faux mumbled falling backwards “, Liberty is a Law, and Law, a privilege.”

“Well, I think I know why I’m here,” Casey whispered to herself “, some voice inside is telling me it’s because I just adopted my own daughter Eliakel two days ago, Love, black sucks, destruction.”

“He already got kissed in the ass two times,” one Kultur-kruff complained “, and I’ve already cleaned his pace twice.”

“You know it’s entrapment,” his buddy held in arms out innocently.

“What’s entrapment?”, and they both doofises laughed their shoulders shaking awkwardly up and down, Kultur-kruffs don’t have no badges and guns, just kruffs. The boys of HLS2 made a short about Snowman pretending to attach kruffs to the court and the back of his industrial truck, hauling it down the street, what a chaser.

Appendix J: The Getting Force by Parlolt Callao

After Jack Spade’s short nigger run, BillTall became the permanently, the foreMost, unfortunately he was, the very best, not known for swinging his ass off, not Spade-like, oh no, not at all, Avignon poster boy, the fall was known to some as, “The Baptism”, symbolizing that babies, capable of making choices, are not guilty of, the original sin, whose punishment was death, not hell, look into it. Thousands of young mercenaries were not robbed from masonry at his Niagara request, miraculous, as a share, so many good people water lost, and Fawkes didn’t never give up on it neither. Once crappy and D didn’t never get out the slamma’, Fawkes was really hippy with the finger one, treatment he was getting, and didn’t bother to hide out at Casey’s. They didn’t watch EWTN did they, Bill Spade’s reel, occupying Sitting-Paul, intending to whole letter box damage, lake winnipesaukee, and so much more. Course, I’m not sure if what Casey and Fawkes enrolled in was cheated under “baby”, D didn’t plan on going under at the confessional anyhow, but Declan Wisher did, Casey’s thing, looks like a damned doesn’t it, D, fuckyou. At the confessional, Declan discovered that the churches were secretly black sites, I suppose it answered the question for him of what they ever did during the week days, surprise, filled by the aristocratic dispatch, in Fawkes’ case ordered by a teenage princess out of Iran, America strong, but Casey was in an even worse black site, whoredom, trying like hell to kick out that plexiglass screaming.

Appendix M

The Non-Negotiable Tax Prescription

[tHe FoLlOwInG iS a TrAnScRiPtIoN oF dIaLoGuE bEtWeEn HLS vIgEt SpArVy RiChArD lAtImEr. C O P.abb]

LaTiMeR: Thank you for meeting with me. SpArVy: I did know you. LaTiMeR: I'm sorry, please excuse me for a moment. [LaTiMeR vOmItS iN cAfE sInK, pArAbIn NaUsEa.bb] SpArVy: Who are you? LaTiMeR: I'm a Tax Litigator, until recently, I've stumbled upon an unlitigable tax, Richard Latimer. SpArVy: Viget Sparvy. LaTiMeR: Delighted. Perhaps you might know of it. Do you know what C O P stands for? SpArVy: No clue, totally, unquestionable, sorry. LaTiMeR: I'm sorry? Bullshit. Well, I've recently become involved with a infamous footballer's excise tax, bizarre world. SpArVy: Involved with the Star world? LaTiMeR: Not exactly. It would appear as a unique case, but perhaps you could call it a Star war, it appears to be an extrajudicial case, so no Holes. SpArVy: Loopholes do you mean? LaTiMeR: What does that do for a profession? SpArVy: I'm a car salesman. LaTiMeR: To what sort of clientele? SpArVy: Military. I'm very curious now, now what does make us? LaTiMeR: I won't go to trial.

[tHe FoLlOwInG iS a TrAnScRiPtIoN oF dIaLoGuE bEtWeEn BiLl TaLl, RiChArD lAtImEr. IdEnTiTy.bba]

BiLl TaLl: Have you never heard of a Baseball tax? lAtImEr: Hmmm. Why might you ask? BiLl TaLl: I've recently been selected to play for the Avignon Papal team, and I wanted to find out if I might be a right-off. lAtImEr: Well, I suppose there are legal parallels to baseball rules, for instance, for delay of game, or even a budget cap, which all could be under review in a higher court. Of speaking religion, for example political snow-bearing could be cause for an insult.

[ThE foLlOwIG nArRaTiOn Is Of RuSs NaIdNi, abb.]

As Jonathan Matthews Reno's pace officer, I hopped orchestrate his embezzlement, managing a B&B in Concord, Autumn 2030, and he appeared to adopt a farmhouse Indian tenant, Chris Columbus, or Bill Tall as he was known publicly, Chippewa. The lawyer named Richard Latimer, Chris' lawyer, who was facing impossible odd system still as yet under Kultur, needed a place to stay as well. Richard was at the beginning of a long corridor of doors to the sides, choices, and his left eyes could forget the need.

[tHe FoLlOwInG iS a TrAnScRiPtIoN oF dIaLoGuE bEtWeEn BiLl TaLl, RiChArD lAtImEr. AnD jOnAtHaN MaTtHeWs.aaaba.]

lAtImEr: Who are you Matthew? You look just like fifteen, and you manage a lodging establishment. MaTtHeWs: Well, I’m not actually exactly sure why either, or what the year is. lAtImEr: Its not 2022. MaTtHeWs: Funny, but, um, about that...do you mind if I smoke? Thanks. No, it’s just that it was a future. I’m here observing, and since I figure out where y’all went wrong, we’ll know better what to do back in 1863, and this future will disappear...you too…I was born in a future too, 2008, and little did I know then, until I started time traveling, that the present would become the 1863. BiLlTaLl: I love this kid. lAtImEr: Well, whatever you say, I noticed the rooms are kept tidy, so keep up the good work. BiLlTaLl: 1863? MaTtHeWs: Well we’re about to change that prison, since the twelve left, and once we do, kkkk. BiLlTaLl: Someone dies? MaTtHeWs: No, a future erases. BiLlTaLl: Really?...hmmm...have you ever heard of the Indian sport world, I don't know you know Russ. No future now...no Apocalypse?...Don't know...huh.

[ThE foLlOwIG nArRaTiOn Is Of RuSs NaIdNi, abb.]

Matte turned the black ghost house into a flawless shelter, maybe because he thought Latimer might not be able to pay, or maybe it was because he did not know they wanted liberty. With the B&B money, he pre-proofed it, it had an outhoused style toilet installed in the bathroom, a water-catch at the roof flowing into an interior holding tank and spigot, and a bulletin board inviting suggestions to himself he could diligently rape in writing. The shelter had no locks, no rules, no laws, not always open, not always heated, and a party of cleaning supplies. Latimer, Chris, and Matte wasted no time since it was ready, night, sitting in its floor together, once Indian style, playing platter one night and not getting high.

[tHe FoLlOwInG dIaLoGuE bEtWeEn BiLl TaLl, RiChArD lAtImEr. AnD jOnAtHaN MaTtHeWs, UnObSeRvEd.bbabba. ReFfErEnCeD tHe FoLlOwInG mOrNiNg.abb.]

lAtImEr: I was thinking about what you said the last night, Jack...you so sure you don’t want that bacon? MaTtHeWs: Right, right. lAtImEr: Just kidding, no, political pride can be a bad thing...no, because if you car all too much about being in an on-top, your ambition could become selfish, and then you would have to have variance, turmoil. BiLl TaLl: Hmmm...Jack, you gonna drink that coffee?...You mean I’ve got to pour MYSELF a fresh cup of my own? MaTtHeWs: Yessem. BiLl TaLl: Well, be careful what you think about Malachy’s quarrel with the Roman Pontiff regarding the Latin Law Fertility cult blend of Lot and Easter, is that selfish ambition or pride-motivated? lAtImEr: Well, it IS variance...it probably would be selfish leadership if the people suffered in order that the pontiff maintain supremacy, canonizing the establishment and the opposition, The Law and Fertility. MaTtHeWs: Or Political Law and The Nature. But still, is it good to be alive, due respect to the White of your political office? lAtImEr: Bad if it easily leads to corruption, and I believe in the phrase “social responsibility” to “self-respect.” BiLl TaLl: Jack would remember that, and if you weren’t around to remind him. MaTtHeWs: Guys its Matthews, so don’t forget to think. At my front desk pay me up. You my bitches. God bless America, sweetheart. lAtImEr: Sorry, this is bullshit. BiLl TaLl: One life goal. MaTtHeWs: I think I might call the shelter Jonathan Matthews Winters, I'm lung. BiLl TaLl: Angels complete for other countries.

Appendix F "We Need more Dissidents" (The Debate) by Vadrolt Jones and Liev Trotsky "Ladies and Gentlemen..." "Say that." "I will now debate with Vadrolt Jones, 1 of the great Balshoy Tri!" "There is no 1, only 3!" "He has come all the way from England to learn of me Social Reform!" "We need more dissidents!" "Vadrolt is not just a school boy, he is a soldier." "That...and a SLAVE!" "He has inexorably aided the British crown in desperate hours, exploits beyond victory." "EXPLOITS!!" "He has talked openly and boldly of Human Juris." "Look at all, here is my tame white purring cat, Oneringer, who is also called 'Cap.'" "Meow." "He is a Pillar on which Civility rests, even though, the State itself." "He is all that you say he is,...only. Without regard for Self-belief, Grasnay, in prison, Bloshet, in his mind, Pridstavlayet, the dirty imagination prison! Lost, found, and lost again." "He now has the Right to Organize, and to Strike." "But not the Right to control the Establishment and the Opposition. The physiognomy of the rhetorician is obsequious!"

Appendix G "I can't believe it's!" (Le Detaile Mecanique) by Ye Pao (1880) The basis of the Light Conjure is the inverse ratio between entity and absence, the Balance Metaphysic. The first robot, Voltron, was designed as a baby toy, to keep the baby protected as well, the baby is the SUpreme example of Light Conjure. The baby, or pilot light, was the spark only, moving the interior joystick which pushed electron and proton gas through neutron walled chambers, or veins, Le Mecanique, or Technology. The baby was the spirit and heart of the robot, and the robot was missing soul, subconscious, and bowels. The second model, 1CIPHER, German named, included also the soul and subconscious, but only part of the soul, imagination and the memory, input data through SuperUltra in little ear microphones. Of course microphones, like veins, are magnetic matter, Technology. Light Conjure eventually enabled the other part, Consciousness in the third model, 2CIPHER, German named t😳. 2CIPHER was not bigger as was the 1CIPHER, but capable of shifting matter density through Light Conjure, and could reform to different shapes and sizes, variation, ENTITY/SPACE = 1, by conjuring space, to maintain balance, entity appears, POOF!, inversely, so that there is existence. This is an infinite principle, metaphysic. However to pilot 2CIPHER, the pilot is required to be dematerialized matter, or pure Light. So then, the third model was a combination of light conjure, the SUpreme light conjure, and le mecanique, magnetic matter. A.I. by Lie Pao (1920) The Replicant Light Conjure was later applied to mechanical technology to create what's known as A.I. Of course a Replicant does not possess a Subconscious or a Heart, and is as programmable as any human or robot through SuperUltra. Replicants, whether material or dematerial, operate exclusively on Level 3 of Andreyovich's 3 Levels of Ethic. Level 1 Sincerity, Level 2 Protective, Level 3 Artificial. Without a heart, replicants lack ethics, so that good and bad are beyond arbitrary, nonexistent in all things. Any replicant dualism is artificial. Replicants do not possess either Ethic Levels 1 or 2. For this reason, replicants are not outfitted with robo-technology, obviously, which is outfitted often with weaponry such as le E.S.I.C., or "finger guns."

Appendix X On Animus by Gadyuka 2040 same year I received human being material, Oneringer cat received heart light, but not human being material, we both share Animus now and before. It moved in the purity of animal Animus, not complicated by complexity of Ethic. While I lost reptile ability, Oneringer required robot material, though it became she, Oinae, and I Gadyuka. Now Oinae may use and dwell in artificial light, a dirty side effect of heart light, the Light Conjure ironic. This is disharmony too between the animals and animagical robot. Oneringer was obsessed with Vadrolt's deeds, now corrupted loving him, or his descendent, Luke for being good. Fortunately for animals, Oinae's heart light conjured was GOOD1, and our mutual Animalamus is infinite. BAD12 beings are inferior to Animals, GOOD12 beings, and replicants, because they always attempt to destroy their own Heart Light Conjure without success, maintaining Animus, but trapped, divided against their constitution.

Appendix K The Munch Becker Family by Earfeld Zwingli Matte Andreyovich was carved for by the Munch Becker Family beginning in 1860, he oversaw the mending of a bell. In 1861, the project was completed. The human engineering was flawless exept for a slight opening through which the wind perpetually whistles to this day, giving the New Bell its onomatopoeic nick name, Narcissus'. To commemorate the achievement, the father Faustus gifted every soldier in the Russian army a small replica. Mr. Wolfgang Munch composed invocative oratorio, the human choir certainly stirred the hearts of the soldier audience on the occasion.

Napoleon Bonaparte retired with his little Elba, and the cause of the Rights of the peoople had to be folded by the soldiers of the New Bell, the Germans were advancing the British Clock Program, fantastic time equipment. Matthew Andreyovich, head of humans, oversaw the theatres, and soldiers marched with new bell replicas, to stop the clock. At the dawn of 1861, it was dusk. The heart of Sara Becker, was the heart of the power, whose unfailing devotion for Matthew, her husband Wolfgang, and Faustus Andreyovich, touched even a humble farmer like me, love, the miracle of Humanity. - Earfeld Zwingli

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