The Tales of the World Intelligence Agents

[austintorn@aol.com]

The Bird Has Flown

Part 1 of 2



THE BIRD IS FLOWN

Profpat couldn’t afford to buy a helicopter, as his instructions had suggested, even after stripping Chicago dry of short change, so, frugal as he was, he bought something much cheaper and studied up on it.
The Prof was sleeping after resting up from a nap so he could deliver an important lecture on “Creative Accounting” in San Francisco, when he received a frantic call from a calm ninja to begin his west coast trip immediately, if not sooner. Profpat gathered up some spare pencils, loaded his turbo powered station wagon with what he needed and took off before trouble could arrive, grabbing a cup of coffee on the way out.
He drove and drove and drove some more and passed the foothills of the Rocky Mountains where he was still supposed to practice some things; however, he had noted 6 dust trails or devils following him many miles behind.
Prof remembered that Nobody, in a private message to all, had hinted at some dark and very probable futures for the earth that he had observed when taking a wrong turn in time on the CMBR trip, one being the fate of earth’s global warming. However, all was not lost, for the goodhearted ToeQuestors could perhaps use their knowledge of the newly discovered TOE to alter the dark future, somehow, if only they could learn all the nuances quick enough over the coming decades.
Profpat remembered watching the video of a possible dark future that was couched in biblical allegory for concealment of its revelations.
Furthermore, the knowledge of the real TOE, if refined and understood well enough, could lead to amazing wonders that could never have even been imagined in this age, all good things, of course—and could not be trusted to governments with visions of dominance by conquest over Toequest.
The naturalist, for instance, would be able to absorb with awestruck reverence scenes of overpowering sublimity far beyond the simple prettiness on offer now.
A musician would be able to hear and play music more exhilarating and heartfelt than anyone had ever dreamed of. The celestial music of the spheres heard by the mystics would become as a child’s toy flute in comparison to this grand and ultimate symphony.
The sensualist would discover that what had passed for deep and passionate sex had been merely a pleasant prelude. Erotic pleasure of an intensity that flesh had never known would become enjoyable without guilt even by thought alone.
A painter or patron of the visual arts would be able to behold representative vision in a holographic reality of indescribable glory and completeness.
Scientists would be able to apply a googolplex of neurons to their thought experiments, rivaling Einstein’s fortunate ah-ha moments, all of the time, to reveal much of what was unknown between heaven and earth.
Arguments by people insisting on their own selfish ways would melt into a new sense of increased reasoning, just as bad and aversive emotions would be greatly lessened by new and safer medical miracles. Wars would become much reduced and humanity at large could finally progress beyond its everyday suffering.
People would actually remember their car keys and glasses that often piled up at the vanishing point of the lost and found at the end of the converging railroad tracks.
Of course, throughout the ages there had always been those rare and mystical moments as described above for some enlightened and peaceful souls or those in love, but they were just fleeting glimpses of a rare light that lit their minds for a while as a flickering candle when all one’s thoughts perfectly conjuncted, but then, as always, soon dispersing and moving on into the oblivion of forgotten dreams.
Or… would the contagion of the sickness, immaturity, and ignorance of the present human condition of those in power thwart the best efforts of the noble ToeQuestors…
All of the preceding is why Profpat and the others escaping to safety had found a renewed vigor and strength and were now going way beyond the comic Fantastic Four to form a phenomenal team of noumena seekers consisting of many talented and diverse individuals that the fate of the universe now depended on.
So, Profpat had driven across the plains through the badlands was now speeding up the Rocky Mountain road, having turned on his nitro tanks. He had just received an update: “Go faster, 6 more Feds and Fed-exes coming up other side of mountain; you need reach peak before them. Hurry, scurry, flurry; make haste; expedite. Click.”
Profpat turned on more afterburners and finally reached the mountain’s peak, unloaded his hang glider and took off above the clouds. He dipsy-doodled at first but soon got the hang of the glider. This is marvelous, he thought, it feels as if the wings are an extension of my very self—I am a phoenix on eagle’s wings.
Some Feds fired at him from quite a distance with their high powered tranquilizer rifles, but the darts merely formed gravity’s rainbow.
The glider responded to Pat’s slightest touch and he became acclimated to it. Passing hundreds of miles past the Rockies and not really losing much altitude, he learned to sense the updrafts or spot dirt fields from which the heat would be rising.
Prof saw the earth a bit differently now, being a skynaut, it’s petty squabbles now seen to be as meaningless as ants fighting over a crumb. Another, smaller, mountain range gave him some needed lift, and he sailed on, lit a cigarette and had a sip of coffee. The world was opened as an oyster to him, and was also now his ashtray and outhouse.

[austintorn@aol.com]

Part 2 of 2

Profpat landed in San Francisco and began his lecture on “Being Accountable”, in some colossal skyscraper’s conference room whose grandeur befitted the importance of Accounting, for where would the world be without transactions—the accounting of which was the very “language of business”.

The lecture, entitled

“The GAAP Between the CPA and the CGA in Using the IFRS”
began:

The basic accounting principles of the double-entry debit-credit system have not changed since the days of ancient Greece and Rome in that we must stay up all night until they balance—that is, until Enron dropped out of the Big Five that we now call the Big Four…

The lecture was about to go on, but it was so boring that Austin’s story allowed the waiting Fed-Ups to immediately rush toward the podium. Profpat threw very sharp pencils at them, greatly slowing them down, accidently erasing a few of them, along with some quarks, income tacks, big accounts, and some green eyeshades, and then disappeared behind the curtain and ran up the stairs toward the skyscraper’s roof, not even stopping for a smoke or at a pencil sharpener.
The Feds ran down the stairs, and found no one but their lawyer, who said, “You fools. These stairs that go down; do they not also go up?” He reversed his charges and sent them up, but a bit too late, for Profpat was already winging away like a duck (no, wait, ducks were in Fredrick’s story—he winged away like a fowl bird, air foiling the Federals yet again).
The Feds called in 6 black FBI sedan helicopters (see, Profpat, maybe you should have bought one) to follow him as he received another message: “Stealth black ninja aircraft carrier waiting for you beyond US boundary in international waters.”
Profpat flapped his seemingly real movable organs for flying (wings) and rose and dove in rises and dives to outwit the helicopters and lose them for a while as he flew through a cloud with his mouth open to get a drink of the refreshing water droplets. It was cat and mouse for a while until the cheese disappeared in the fog.
He then used the heat rising off the Golden Gate Bridge to fly on through the end of twilight, intending to use the darkness for cover beyond the city’s lights; however, this ending of dusk also meant that the ocean was no longer trading brisk breezes with the shore and that he would begin to lose altitude. Death! where is thy Victory? To triumph whilst I die, To triumph whilst thine ebon wing enfolds my shuddering soul. Death! where is thy sting? (Shelley)
Sure enough, he began dropping 30 feet a second over the ocean and still had 25 miles to go… This is it, he thought, I’m an overdue account, pound foolish, though penny wise, but overdrawn; at least they didn’t get the TOE from me!
Noughts, oughts, and all that he ever taught, bought, sought, and fought flashed before his red inked eyes as he intentionally dropped like a stone for short whiles before flaring his wings to catch the air and turn potential energy into kinetic to gain forward progress out to sea far and away the nuttiest professor now. Time to square accounts with my maker on account of my curiosity to account for Everything—money is of no account now; from Death my life was a borrowed debit, but I spent it, loved it, and lived it on good fortune’s credit.
It was no use; Profpat was going to fall into the ocean. He could sense the moisture, almost taste the brine, and and was going to swim with the smell of the fishes. Good try, said Prof to Pat, his other selfsame, but you’re not going to pass this course. It’s OK, said Pat to Prof, I’m dropping out—my number is up.
Good old Prof was ready to yin his yang in the fine way that he lived: in the black, all the books balanced except for a spot of white in the darkness of the Yin. What’s that below?
The landing lights of the ninja carrier’s heliopad flashed on in the glorious pattern of heaven, heat, and light combined with earth, dark, and cold, each revolving around the other, the Yin/Yang symbol of a cyclic and rounded life—and Profpat dropped thirty feet and gave one last push forward and landed just as the carrier’s lights went back off.
“Welcome, Professor” said a voice in the wilderness of the darkness of nothing, “breeze die down so we come to you—at full power.”
“I’ll show you a thing or 2.5,” said Prof, pointing a pencil into the inky blackness of night.
“Ouch! I get the point, but really now, PatrickPro, you just live through great experience of glory of life.”
“To die for glory is not living!”
“Man who face death appreciate life more. This good training for future of save yiniverse and yangiverse.”
“Well, that is my questionable long and arduous search.”
“See, quest great expedition. I train you in number of things. I am 9.0 degree Grand Master.”
“Do you know accounting, Grand Master, ninth degree ninja, emperor of the multiverse?”
“Just call me number nine. I no good account; get digits mixed up, but make million that way. What you do on other ledger side?”
“I color quarks through the prism of super strings and theorize the emission of an electron from the proton.”
“Nuclear “unclear” to me. Have dyslexia. Am member of DNA.”
“DNA?”
“National Dyslexics Association.”
“Ok, ninja, good one, but it’s not good to make light of handicaps unless you really have one; now, take two apples from three apples; what do you have?”
“One?”
“No, you took two, remember; they are in your hand.”
“Hardy-har, Proffer, what be one plus one.”
“Two?”
“No, they were sand piles and all lump into one bigger one.”
“Ok, #9, what is fifty quadrillion, thirty cotillions, 6 pillions, and…”
“That too hard.”
“…times zero?”
“Oh, it be zip. What correct grammar: Six and seven ARE fourteen or six and seven IS fourteen?”
“Thirteen.”
“Ah, that unlucky number, plus this part 13 of story.”
“I always stay on the 14th floor of hotels, so I am safe, plus I never include a chapter 11 in my books, for that is filing for bankruptcy. Anyway, 13 at the last supper works for me.”
“I have #9 in my name but it silent.”
“Ho-ho. Are the ToeQuestors days numbered?”
“Yes, today August 30 on calendar. Now, what best digit?”
“The toe, but not at the moment since I stubbed it on your deck on a big black dot.”
“Want me call tow truck? Ha. So, how old you?”
“An uncounted innumerable untold amount.”
“How see 4 sunset in one day?”
“Run up a hill.”
“Want come in out of dark? Start training?”
“Yes, but what is the darkest dark of all?”
“‘I’m the darkest,’ said the Shadow to the Night.’”
“‘No,’ said Midnight, ‘compared to me you’re bright.’”
“‘You floodlights!’ said Starless Space, ‘Stop your fight.’”
“‘The darkest plight is the lack of love’s delight!’”
“You good man, Prof. Come aboard.”
“Thanks, niner. How did they catch onto me?”
“Government try spend $787.00 from account on one screwdriver, come up 3 penny short; do some million-dollar audit.”
“Well, it was only a matter of time.”
“Here postcard from Fredrick. What say?”
“It says that the twaining of training is going well—he is learning diesel.”
“Ah, good news. OK, now we do test of touch. Ah, see you have pencil.”
“This is my best pencil—let’s not ruin it. I began the theory of the proton with it and the remainder of the theory is still inside this pencil somewhere.”
“We do no harm. Hold pencil and run it across chair seat fabric—no, wait, use eraser end so not write autograph; now, rub; you seem to feel texture at pencil end?”
“Yes, amazing, it feels like an extension of my fingers, but of course I have no sense organs way out there.”
“So then, brain fabricate reality, just like hang glider wing seem part of you.”
“True—so that’s why I couldn’t afford a helicopter!”
“Yes, PatProf, and so you “see” we only see inside of head where all is fabricate.”
“I agree. I fabricate you, scents and odours fabricate from molecule shapes in the nostrils, and sounds fabricate from air vibrations, as well as colors from waves and even the illusion of light itself in a dark head, especially during my favorite pastime of sleeping and dreaming.”
“You good illusion of physical world, being like some TV tuner receive broadcast from far. But, you somewhat out of touch from doze too much, so I teach you touch base ten feet away with invisible ten foot pole.”
“With my girlfriends around or not around? I don’t know about that.”
“That be touch down, but recall for illegal procedure. Now, what touch lately?”
“That’s personal.”
“Ah, sorry. Why kids touch something when tell not to?”
“It all started in the Garden of Eden.”
“Ah, very touching story of dumb people made by smart god.”
“You’re still holding two apples.”
“Ah, yes, you funny. We make apple sauce and welcome you for training, Grand Master Professor and Temporal TOE Protector of Universe that can someday give good life to all.”
“One day we will hang Adam’s apple back on the Tree of Knowledge and hopefully help correct the distortion and sadness of all the 13.75 billion years of creation.”

[austintorn@aol.com]

Energy = Michael times cc

[austintorn@aol.com]

Energy = Michael times CC

Since we all became of this universe,
Should we not ask who we are, whence we came?
Insight clefts the night with its radiance—
The Theory of Everything shines through!

Michael had dedicated his life to assisting the less fortunate and giving love to all, as well as to the quest of the Holy Grail of the TOE, being one of the glorious few of the knights of the round table of ToeQuest: those who looked beyond, above, below, and within the everyday into the very life and source of the magic of existence.
He’d heard, with some alarm, of the narrow escapes of his fellow ToeQuestors and was almost worried. Michael was well aware that his nearly real name and picture appeared on his every post; the picture was small but the name could be deduced, and so the new MI8 group had done so, locating his residence; however, Michael awaited them in his lounge chair, having a trick up his sleeve that he couldn’t wait to pull on them.
So, there he was posting away to 100 different threads when they arrived and surrounded him on 20 sides.
“Please come with us peacefully,” they requested. “There is no escape—we have guards on all the EXITS (WAY OUT in UK dialect) and on all the ENTRANCES (WAY IN).”
Michael smiled and simply said “I am noumena” as he turned into pure energy, a state that could not be maintained for more than a few seconds, but time enough for him to zoom away at near the speed of light. He’d been practicing this, and it was always quite exhilarating, although he couldn’t sense as well during it. It had a refractory time of a few days, whereupon he could perform it again just by thinking energize.
Anyway, he disappeared from right in front of their eyes and took off, passing easily through buildings, trees, and mountains, and going around the world about 14 times before he materialized, of all places, next to the Queen of England in her bed at 1 AM. She shrieked, and he calmly bowed and walked down the stairs, poured a cup of tea, and went out the front door, almost making the palace guards smile, for he had a certain glow, but they weren’t allowed to.
For the next few days, he would be a merely mortal phenom and would have to be on his toes to be taller and see beyond the pale to note any tails of those hound-dogging him for the TOE or the TOT. Meanwhile, he replayed in his mind his energizing travels as a noumena, when he was one with all that is and was, although he could still appreciate the usefulness of the normal sensing form of life incarnate.
Michael decided to stay out of sight by taking a much earned vacation weekend from helping others cope, during the few days that he had before he was due at the ninja base, and so he drove his TR-3 towards the hills and beyond for one last romp. He turned his engine loose, roaring onto the open road. He was doing at least 5 KPH over the speed limit, weaving gracefully around the slower moving cars.
His car was running rough for some reason—bumpity, bumpity, bump. “Damn!” A flat tire. It was always something like that with this rolling junk pile that was once a sports car. Michael made a vow to replace his TR-3 with a Porsche while preparing to fix the flat tire by the side of the narrow road in his spotless white sport suit.
Michael took the spare tire out of the trunk, carefully trying not to let it touch his pristine white leisure suit as he juggled it over to the wheel. Michael jacked up the car and removed the flat tire. “Dang nab it!” he swore at his car when he got a smudge on his pants from the old tire. It was then that he saw her driving by, a bright vision from Heaven come to answer his dreams. He could hardly believe what he saw.
She was driving a yellow Testarossa, breaking the speed limit and hitting at least 125 MPH, almost blowing him off the shoulder of the road. “Darn!” Now his white suit had become a dusty gray. He got a good look at her, though, since she had her top down. Her hair and scarf trailed out behind her as she sped away along the hilly road. Her license plate just read “TRISH”.
“She’s the One,” he said quietly to himself, then more loudly, “That’s her! Forget Everything for a while,” then yelling it out in celebration, “SHE’S THE ONE! THAT’S THE WOMAN FOR ME!” He could hardly contain himself and he even stopped thinking about the Theory of Thing for a while.
(Hey, how come Michael gets a girl in his story when no one else did? Well, just because; plus we can’t always leave half the world out.)
He quickly twisted the lug nuts back on the wheel, jumped into his ‘car’ and raced after her, but, unfortunately, his old TR-3 could do only 85 MPH or so on the switch back upgrades. A bit of smoke poured from his engine, suggesting that he was burning oil and would never catch her. Then he got lucky, for he spotted her car parked outside a fast food restaurant. That’s her type of food, he thought, having once eaten slow food: escargot.

[austintorn@aol.com]

As he drove into the parking lot, she was already walking out with a hamburger in her hand. He always thought fast and so he walked right up to her and spoke directly, as usual, “Trish, my name is Michael and I’m on my way up in the world of Thing. I am falling in love with you and your style, and so I would like to take you out tonight and get to know you very well.”
She answered spontaneously, too: “OK, Michael, I’ll make a deal with you, one that we’ll both enjoy. If you can keep up with me throughout the day, then you can have me tonight. And get that suit cleaned!” She handed him the remains of her french fries and quickly roared off in her Testarossa, its wheels spinning and spitting even more dirt onto Michael, turning his now gray suit to a dark brown color.
Her antics only convinced him all that more that she was the girl for him; for she seemed rich, daring, confident, attractive, sexy, and so full of energy. Plus she had a ready wit and was good-looking, too. She had long hair, a body that was alive, and erotic exotic features. Her eyes had looked straight into him! She was more than fine—she just oozed with charm, personality, and sex appeal.
He stood there, dazed for a moment, still talking to the air that she’d just vacated. Already he could see her car speeding along the road below, her radio music blaring some music that sang … wild and free—that’s what I want to be! She looked up and gave him a wave, urging him on, and this shook him out of his trance. He even managed to wave back, although he felt like a frozen statue and could hardly lift his arm.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Michael, 18 blue MI8 sedans had located him and were hot on his trail, although still some miles back.
Michael ran to his car and raced down the hillside after her, going faster and ever faster, even running off onto the shoulder several times, and almost going off the side of the road. The curves were real tricky and so he had to assist the car’s braking by downshifting into second gear, sometimes even into first. He couldn’t keep up with her, of course, but at least he could still see her now and then down the other side He was pushing his car to its limit and loving every minute of it. Oh, the thrill of it! And for good reason, too—love. This was not just simple speeding, it was speeding for a purpose, speeding as if his life depended on it—or at least his love life. Michael immediately became enamored of the exhilaration of the chase—as the stress and excitement caused adrenaline and natural opiates to be loosened in his overworked ToeQuesting brain. He took a chance, passing a slow moving truck in the no-passing lane, and was just barely able to tuck back in time. He told himself: Don’t do that again!
As he courted death, his love lives flashed before him. Women were like cars, he thought. Trish, of course, was a racing car, revving her engine to the limit, taking every turn to the edge, and living every moment as if it were her last. Others, on the other hand, were more like a station wagon: stable, sturdy, reasonable, sensible, and dependable, but unexciting, and, he thought, wastefully frittering their lives away by their attendance to the most mundane details of nothing that much mattered.
Michael was falling behind, although doing the best that he could in his unsporty car, now but an old jalopy compared to hers. Luckily, he saw her turn off into a small wooded valley between two hilly ridges. Now he had her, he thought; now there was no escape possible, for it was just a little dirt road trailing off into a meadow and a farm. Only a few more moments now and they’d be together in sensual bliss.
Michael’s cell phone rang and a worried ninja informed him that he was being pursued and that he should ditch the car and take cover: “What doing? Stranger dangers be angered.”
Michael replied, “Sorry, you have the wrong number.”
As he neared the meadow he heard some great whooshing sounds that were familiar but couldn’t quite be placed—and rainbow colors could be seen through the trees. What was all this? And then he understood. Of course! Hot air balloons! The balloons were ready for launch, their baskets peopled, their ropes even now being untied from the stakes. This was not so good news. Soon the sky would fill with all these balloons and he’d never find her! He was in a frenzy! He cleared his mind, and calmly but quickly looked for her car—ah, there it was, next to a balloon that was colored bright red and yellow.
“Hurry up, Michael” she said as her balloon began to lift off, its ropes still dragging on the ground past him. “Come with me to the Emerald City!” Just then the basket left the ground. Michael grabbed onto the rope and ran with it for awhile, thinking crazily that he could somehow climb up it. There was only one problem—he was afraid of heights!
Nevertheless, love conquered fear and he held on to the rope as it gently lifted him off of the ground. He soon had second thoughts, however, and panicked, realizing that he was almost getting too high to let go. He looked down and saw a barnyard filled with soft hay—and so, giving up the stunt as hopeless, let go of the rope and fell a short and harmless distance to the ground, but missed the hay, and landed smack in the middle of the pigs’ feeding area. His once white suit was now as black as coal in the nothing of a void at night with no moon.
Trish looked down and was much amused at his discomfort, but was also relieved to see that he was OK. “Don’t give up, young chap!” she yelled down to him. “Here are my car keys,” she said as she threw her set of keys down to him. “Come and find me wherever I land. Follow me. You’re not in Kansas anymore, my good man!”
Michael was sitting in the muck, surrounded by the curious living pork chops, bacons, and hams, wondering if this so-called adventure of love business was really worth it all. A pig ambled over to investigate, rubbing its nose over him, perhaps thinking that Michael was some new form of food. Michael pulled himself up, picked up her keys, and then changed into his sports clothes, which he had luckily kept in the trunk of his car.
He walked over to her beautiful Testarossa and sat in it, admiring it, much like he had often done in the new car showrooms, twiddling with this and every knob, trying out every button. He thought of gaining safety in the ninja base that had to be nearby, but Trish presently sailed overhead and thereby erased all logical thinking.

[austintorn@aol.com]

Satisfied with knowing where every switch was in the car, Michael drove off, and tried to keep Trish’s balloon in sight, but soon lost it, then found it, then lost it again among the ridges. She was moving fast on the updrafts. However, at each sighting, he took note of her general direction, referring to the car compass, and was generally able to make progress toward her, though by no means directly, because there was not always a road available in the direction that he needed to go.
Now this is a car, he thought, as he began to put it through its paces. Why, I feel like I am a part of it, he marveled, as it held the corners due to its low center of gravity and its wide stable body. The greatest part of driving it was seeing the other cars on the road give way to him, all figuring him to be ultra rich and of course not wanting to take a chance of bumping him and scratching a $200,000 car. So this is what it feels like to be a millionaire!
“Faster, MK,” said another ninja cell phone caller.
“Stop bothering me. I don’t want to buy a new condo!”
However, Michael did heartily take of note the now 24 sedans following him, although they were a ways back, and put the pedal through the heavy metal of the radio.
He drove on for another ten minutes or so, tracking her every move, sometimes finding her in the sky miles away. Yet, he was a driven man! He entered a tunnel, then soon panicked, not having his lights on and not instantly knowing where they were; but he smartly remembered where the headlight button was and flicked them on. When he finally emerged from the darkness, the scene he saw was like a beautiful dream—it was as if he was seeing the world for the first time, for the English countryside was beautiful and bright and bold beyond compare; he felt as a part of its every color, texture, and hue. Then he smiled to himself and said, Well, Michael, welcome to the Land of Oz.
Trish was dropping altitude now, and descending rapidly. He lost her for awhile, having had to race through a dense grove of trees that bordered close to the road. But when he came around a curve with a brief open view, there she was, softly landing in the center of a large estate—where there was a sizable stone mansion built in the European tradition. She leaped out of the balloon and ran for the garden.
Michael watched as Trish disappeared into the ornamental grounds that surrounded the mansion. Her hot-air balloon was gently and gracefully collapsing, slowly covering the ground around him. For some reason he thought of ToeQuest and he had to fight hard to get it out of his mind. This is going to be a good weekend of forgetting Everything, he thought, as the balloon’s fabric fell onto him, waking him from his reverie of dilemma.
Looking around, he took in the richness of the estate and couldn’t help but translate it in his mind to a dollar figure. The grounds were perfectly terraced and landscaped. The mansion itself was made of pure marble, with stone and slate at the base. The world of nobility was just sitting there waiting for him to become a part of it.
The whole place was more than magnificent! But something was not quite exactly right. The grounds were empty—there were no security guards, no groundskeepers, no servants; in fact, there were no signs of any life whatsoever. It seemed to be some sort of fortress of solitude, and this theory was confirmed when Michael heard a zap and a buzz. He quickly turned around to see the heat shimmering near an electric security fence that had just snapped on behind him. Briefly alarmed, he wondered whether he felt saved or trapped! Just what side of the fence was the enemy on? Could it be that Trish was some sort of emotional nut case? He soon relaxed, though, as he felt a wave of reassurance coming over him, for the force field could only mean that they were meant to be romantically alone and safe from intrusion! It also neatly explained the absence of the security guards, for none were needed! Michael swung into action, for this was his middle name that even MI8 didn’t know.
As he ran toward the garden he noted that what he thought to be grass had actually turned out to be a ground cover that he knew to be self spreading, maintenance free, and dense enough to keep out the weeds—thus explaining the absence of any groundskeepers. This was indeed a very modern estate. Things were becoming clear to Michael’s finely tuned mind: Trish was some sort of a rich hermit or something.
The garden turned out to be a maze of high hedges—a popular European diversion. Michael was not very happy to see it, even though it was a work of art, because he had thought to have an easy conclusion to the day’s quest. He attacked the maze rather recklessly and just as quickly lost his way. He was soon totally disoriented and began to feel more and more like a trapped animal.
Michael peered through a small opening between the bushes and was just able to catch a glimpse of Trish heading down to a large lake behind the mansion. She walked out on a pier towards a powerboat, then looked back and saw that he was nowhere in sight—so she, apparently, sat down near the boat to wait for him. Michael remembered his analogy of women to cars—Trish was even faster than a sports car! She was an Indianapolis speed racer who was going to burn out her engine and probably not even finish the race! For a brief moment he wished for some station-wagon-like stability. But, boy, he thought, what an AUTO-biography he could write!
Michael could sense that Trish had even more adventures in mind and this weighed on him slightly, making him bold enough to throw himself through the small gap in the hedges to surprise her, getting a number of minor scratches and scrapes in the process. Cool it, he said to himself, you’re losing it! Let her have her fun for now.

[austintorn@aol.com]

Sure enough, as soon as she saw him coming she jumped straight into the motorboat and started the engine, all the time urging him on with the chase: “Hurry up, Michael! Come quick. Run Michael! Run! See Michael run.” She yelled to him as she drove the boat around in circles, waving a ski rope in her hands, saying “Come to me, Michael! Take the rope.”
For a split second Michael began to wonder why he was always chasing after ropes today, and why he should jump into a lake just because she’d told him to do so; nevertheless, he hurriedly removed his socks and shoes, and quickly jumped into the lake. She slowed the boat, coming almost near him, and smiled for a moment at his spirited self, encouraging him.
She threw him the ski rope. He grabbed for it, just managing to get the rope handle as she threw the throttle forward to full power. He plowed through the lake like an anchor. She dragged him along, half in and half out of the water. Somehow he got onto his feet and found himself water-skiing barefoot. He was so amazed at the impossibility of this feat that he just as quickly collapsed into the water, rolling and tumbling forward, sort of like a stone that had been thrown, skipping and skimming.
Leaving him there floundering, flailing, and drowning, Trish headed straight back towards the shore, but at least she had the decency to throw him a life preserver. Michael began to wonder if Trish was worth it, but he soon painfully remembered that he thrived on LIFE and LOVE’s ADVENTURE, although he wasn’t so sure anymore. He remembered her challenge: If you can keep up with me today, then you can have me tonight. This seemed to give him some extra energy that soon built into the super strength that allowed him to swim to shore, whereupon he promptly fell down, exhausted, and passing out.
He awoke later, at first believing that he’d dreamt a nightmare, but harsh reality smacked him in the face when he saw Trish waiting for him in front of the flower garden. He pretended to be still asleep and so when she looked away for a second he leapt up and ran, getting to within ten feet of her before she spotted him and bolted towards the garden. “Wait till I get my hands on you, Trish!” he called after her. “YOU’RE DOOMED!”
He ran after her, passing the pink and blue rose bushes. blue? On and on he raced, through the heavily carved front doors and into a cool and multicolored foyer, where the sun streamed through the stained glass windows. He heard her laughter echoing up the stairs, so he climbed the curved stone steps. Up and up he went, to a round tower room where the door had been left ajar. He peeked in and saw Trish standing in front of a beveled glass mirror, wearing an Edwardian rose-colored gown and arranging blue roses into her long tresses. He approached breathlessly, with much anticipation; then she turned and smiled and handed him a bunch of the roses, saying, “For you, my love. You are an exciting man.”
“At last,” he said, relieved.
“I am a tenth degree Grand Master ninja and you have done very well in your preliminary training. I know that you may be a trifle angry with me, but you are a very worthy man and a totally giving person, but you were in trouble so I had to get you away from the MI8 agents—it was your attraction to me that sped you along and saved you, and your desires shall not go unfulfilled, but first, let us begin some training in the sense of smell.”
“Well I’ll be a flabbergasted energy pattern of in and out waves, but I thought something was more than a little bit smelling like a rat in the state of Denmark, although your perfume is enchanting and enticing.”
“Sorry. How was the pig pen?”
“Smelly, even with my mere human 10,000 or so odour detectors.”
“Well, animals have do have about ten times that many and I’ll teach you how to stretch your nose and smell like a pig.”
“This is not a good time for jokes, my dearest, but it is true that I am very curious about everything, I mean, about thing, for all is one that is made of one thing: energy.”
“Quite right—that is the secret; you just need some of our refresheners that will aid your phenomenal life: we have new car smell, the smell of danger, the smelling of the roses, and many more hitherto unknown delights of noumena.”
“I think I need a shower; be right back.”
“All right, but first let me give you a proper introduction to what’s afoot, then we’ll resume the training upon your return.”
“Okay.”
“You are in one of our major ninja centers; you see no one else here since they are mostly off on missions of the gravest danger to the world, of which I will soon inform you; the rest can only be seen if they wish to to be. There is an evil conspiracy operating worldwide that is so secret that it doesn’t even have a name. They have already substituted three near identicals in the US Senate and two in the British Parliament. We’ve left them there, for we know who they are and we have members therein as well. It was their scent that gave them away as replacements. The ninja empire is a response to their grave threat; we operate outside of all authority, as do they.”
“Why ninjas?”
“Those trained in the martial arts and mental discipline have reached great depths of self, spirit, beauty, courage, wisdom, and dependability, and that is a rare combination. They answer to none but to truth and goodness, much like you ToeQuestors.”
“And, of course, their stealth methods are quite necessary.”
“Indeed, and as for you, it’s not often that we receive someone of your caliber, Michael; it’s a great pleasure to have you join us with your depth of commitment to truth, beauty, purity, and love.”
“I’m just a regular guy trying to help.”
“No, on the contrary. Out of the billions of the world, only a few hundred or so are on ToeQuest, the focal point of all scientific and meditative inquiry concerning existence; of those hundreds, perhaps only 30 or so contribute; out of those, perhaps only a handful are devoted regulars. So, you are a regular ToeQuestor and that is at the top of the pyramid of inquiry of all that is in the universe. That, added to the extremely useful internet, wherein scientists post results, means that you and the others are akin to CEOs managing a trillion-dollar research center through which discoveries are funneled. Exploring the great unknown is the highest calling.”
“Thanks. What about the Government? And where is this Conspiracy?”
“They have infiltrated many governments and so we can trust no one. They are all over, anywhere, trying to manipulate the going-ons of many countries, but they are not just political—that just gains them influence and power, but they have tried many mind-altering experiments on people, sometimes even on whole towns. They are the likes of what can be seen in the TV series, ‘Nowhere Man’. I’ll give you a DVD to watch.”
“Are they after the TOE?”
“They haven’t yet realized the unlimited value of that, but it’s just a matter of time…”
“How long has all this been going on?”
“They and we began ten years ago when our leader, Thomas Veil, detected that they had placed false memories in him as an experiment and so he began taking down many of their installations, almost single-handedly. They vacated some multimillion dollar facilities overnight, just to avoid detection. But now their facilities are more secure.”

[austintorn@aol.com]

“Nobody…”
“…is one of us.”
“Evil must be reversed to form ‘live’.”
“That is our monumental task. Perhaps we can make use of your energizing abilities, along with those of your fellows. We have no idea where their funding comes from, who else has been transformed, the location of many of their major centers… but your destiny for the moment seems to be learning more about how to employ the TOE.”
“I can do both.”
“Thank you. See you soon—there are hundreds of scents to choose from in your quarters.”
Michael headed off, having had a lot to take in, and sat down in a super lounge chair modeled after his own. He noted some sayings on a wall of his scented room:

Heaven’s patron of arts, grace, and license,
Left us sweet-smelling plants, with flowered scents
And aromas redolent—florescence
In flush and prime of days reminiscent.

Spring kisses the earth, leaving flowers there,
Like those whose perfume first scented virgin air,
As again, the fragrant glen, in Heaven’s prayer,
Hails Earth’s anniversary with flowers fair.

Pleasant smelling scents lift your heart and mine:
Essence of lotus, rose, amber, jasmine,
Night-queen, myrtle, saffron, and sandalwood
Stimulate the inner spirit sublime.

And on another wall, some darker thoughts:

The Tuberose is a dangerous pleasure,
Even when taken in but small measure:
Its exquisite scent has such great power
That it can wither you within the hour.

If Nightshade you drink, you’ll become as so
And can see the ghosts, shades, and dark shadows
Of those who came before our humankind,
Those whose spirit-worlds overlap the mind.

And, finally, an inner-worldly saying on another wall, titled:

Flowers I Glimpsed in Dreams

Coral Bells, rung by bees and humming birds—
A melody of tones without the words,
And airy sprays of frothy Baby’s Breath,
Gurgling with all that’s much too sweet to purge—

And sweet spikes of aromatic Lavender,
All ready potpourri from Heaven’s splendor—
And all around the flora symbolica
To soft drowse the spirit into slumber.

Michael returned, feeling very much recuperated and feeling totally blessed. “I’m back. I’d never known of such pleasant fragrances.”
“Smells alert the ninja in the dark even as much as sound, the sub categories being aroma, fragrance, scent, perfume, redolence, bouquet, stench, fetor, stink, reek, and whiff.”
“So you gave me roses to enjoy the pleasure of.”
“Yes, but I am attracted to you, too.”
“The inverse also applies.”
“Good. Everyone appreciates the fragrance of fresh-cut flowers, but the stench from the paper mill across town is usually unwelcome. Both have a distinctive smell, which is the most general of these words for what is perceived through the nose, but there is a big difference between a pleasant smell and a foul one.”
“You can say that again.”
“That.”
“Ha. What about odours, the British spelling that Austin likes over the American ‘odors’, which somehow has an unpleasant connotation to him.”
“An odour may be either pleasant or unpleasant, but it suggests a smell that is clearly recognizable and can usually be traced to a single source, like the pungent odor of onions, which by the way, should be planted with potatoes since their eyes will water and nourish the crops.”
“Good explanation and joke. I’ve done aromatherapy.”
“An aroma is a pleasing and distinctive odor that is usually penetrating or pervasive, like the aroma of fresh-ground coffee, while bouquet refers to a delicate aroma, such as that of a fine wine. Here, have a glass. Don’t forget to swirl, sniff, sip, swallow, or spit if you are just wine sampling.”
“The 5 S’s. What about the scent of a woman like you?”
“A scent is usually delicate and pleasing, as I try to be, with an emphasis on the source rather than on an olfactory impression, such as the scent of balsam associated with Christmas.”
“I now believe in Santa Claus. I chose a lilac fragrance from my quarters; it reminds me of my early youth in England with Molly McGuire under the fragrant bush…”
“Yes, fragrances can take you back in an instant to their source in a remembrance from the past. Fragrance and perfume are both associated with flowers, but fragrance is more delicate. A perfume may be so rich and strong that it is repulsive or overpowering. Of the lilac it is said:

Love’s first emotion rose from the Lilac,
For it blooms when Nature is first aroused;
It is love’s youngest dream to us come back,
Where it will ne’er again remain unspoused.”

“Indeed, fragrances are among the infinite variations of energy in nature. Energy may be the one thing, but it has many pleasant faces. But then there were the pigs, which, of course attractive to each other in their own way.”
“Stench and stink are reserved for smells that are foul, strong, and pervasive, although stink implies a sharper sensation, while stench refers to a more sickening one: the stink of sweaty gym clothes; the stench of a rotting carcass.”
“Thank you for the teachings.”
“This is only the beginning. Your journey of protecting the TOE and learning more about it will be an strenuous one, and the more we can prepare you, the better. You already have great insight into the beauty and unity of all things, from the One; your potential is as boundless as your imagination.”
“It is my dream to become one.”
“Come hither.”

[austintorn@aol.com]

Amazing first two minutes of video (and more, of course):



ENERGY IN MOTION

Like the moon, challenge night and gain the light;
Like the rose, suffer the thorn—gain the fragrance;
Of life, surrender to live forever—
Enlightened more than a thousand suns.
(mystical saying)

Austin relaxed as Profpat had advised, drinking the rest of the half full glass of wedding wine that he’d snatched off the reception’s porch as he took off in his Corvette, for this part came up missing in the previous story. How do things or people “come up” missing is beyond me, for if they are missing, they should not come up. That glasses are seen as half full is a healthy optimism, although many engineers still wonder why the glass is always twice as large as it needs to be in these drinking stories. Same with the near miss of airplanes; might as well be a near hit.
Several other ToeQuestors had been previously taken to safety in the ninja bases, for the protection of the TOE, but their tales remain untold, for now. All the ToeQuestors stayed on for another week or so of education in the bases, for they were avid learners interested in everything and ‘meta’ and even beyond that, plus, this kept them out of the limelight, an old method of theater lighting that gave off a lot of heat, too.
Half of all government agents had been pulled off of the TOE case and put back on the search for Bin Laden, the remaining half now having to keep more eyes and ears open, for ipods had been banned, but then the iphone came out with all the same stuff, plus a phone that they all had to have; however, the Conspiracy was getting interested in the TOE, but this would only cause them to surface more and perhaps make some mistakes.
The Conspiracy, who we shall talk about just a little bit here, used heretofore unknown hi-tech methods to eavesdrop and to protect itself, as well. Nefarious undergoings upon human mental states were reaching levels only hinted at by Hitler’s experiments, and making him look like a pussycat with a mustache.
Almost every ninja was on their case, and there were many a success on lone conspirators, but the overall progress of finding their centers was slow. They were all hooked on smoking big cigars for some reason and their car with them in it was spotted by a ninja lookout. A quick phone call led another ninja clad in a light-bending suit following them on a stealth 30-speed bicycle.
“All clear?” asked a Conspirator, looking back.
“I see nothing. Electronic analysis indicates no cars tailing us.”
“I heard from one of our government insiders that the secret of the Theory of Everything, the TOE, has been discovered. Maybe we can use it. Take us to our Commander’s house.”
“We can never be seen going there without an appointment.”
“We aren’t being seen, plus there is nothing confidential in there.”
“There is the value of command.”
“Go.”
They entered a high speed highway and so other ninjas on invisible bikes were alerted to pick up the chase somewhere along the way.”
At the Commander’s house, the swift blaze of ninjas from nowhere encircled the Conspirators in a blinding flash of confusion, rendering them all defenseless; however, almost as soon, the Conspirators merely thought a deadly thought that triggered their quick demise, taking all their secrets with them.
“Report valiant failure,” requested the Head ninja. “These guy not possible take alive.”
The reply came back, “Glorious success. Every number add up. Five less of worry and local Commander gone. Search house, but probably this another autonomous cell. Plus, be no use take alive. What hear?”
“Want TOE.”
“Not what like hear, but TOE safe.”

[austintorn@aol.com]

Great class on emotions…

“Rascal was allowed to overhear such happenings and asked, “Autonomous? You do know long words! No link to their center?”
“Not usual. Only indirect but not even weekly; no one know they dead for some time; give us some degree of freedom for while. Sure, I know long word; need sometime, but some too long of say.”
“The ninjas often have such lonely frustrating duty?”
“Happy man not lonely with good at side. Have ninja friends too. Many lady ninjas also.”
“How do you pay them all?”
“Work free; only need food and bed. Come to internet emotion class I teach now? I tell people after class why Conspirator useless taken alive? Ask for idea.”
“I’ll be there.”
The ninja instructor from Rascal’s base was teaching through the internet via iChat to all novices and near experts alike, revealing the mysteries, joys, and pitfalls of good and bad emotions. It was a course that had to be given many times.
“Good idea plus good emotion bring out fine flavor of great glory; bad idea with bad emotion color stains black odor of big fat stink. Good morning class; I be instructor of some molecular events.”
“Isn’t this a course on emotion?” asked Someone.
“Yes, but brain emotion be mere chemical happening, you see. Often missing high school instruction lax in big area of this topic, but waste time do foreign language, history misery, and some people named Art, Jim, and Special Ed. Ha, just joke. Many bored of Ed. Emotion be like sense of inner feel of what to do or color flavor of moment; emotion even make more life decision than thought do many time.”
“What causes emotions?” asked Everybody.
“Neurotransmitter like serotonin and dopamine carry chemical message across non-electrical part of neuron call synapse; too little or too much be bad news. Must eat right, exercise, good sleep, lower stress, work less, or take pill to have many transmitter transmit good vibe; dopamine use for excitement of see new stuff; serotonin like traffic director of signals—if low, then crash, burn, yell, revert to primitive impulse, color thoughts dark, get depress, obsess, worry, by fall for such random spurious atomic transmitter event like dumb fish take hook with know nothing else—but this fish-person think %1000 right and cannot be talk to. Now, who wise enough to ignore own thought? We teach. Not easy, but must do. Need training. Hear saying such:

We fall for our feelings, hook, line, and sinker:
Conditioned responses, reflexes, or
Overwhelming emotions, spurious,
Or anciently planted by evolution.”

“So,” commented Anyone, “bad emotions are just molecular events chemically gone astray or relics that have been stuck with us since ancient times? How unmeaningful is that! No wonder some people are full of angry nonsense!”
“Yes, be random event or old time thing. That all to tell of entire world history of misery from foolish folly of human. Class over.”
“Over?” asked NoOne.
“Yes, but no. I joke. History book sad; waste to study. Much you to learn here now. Reduce evolutionary relic by meditate—this be ‘not what you think’. We thousands years behind in emotion reaction; old impulses from fight tiger or run not apply now; only build up fuss. Hear:

Life’s still emotionally primitive:
Negative feedback mechanisms in
The central nervous system, now useless,
Send out thousands-of-years-old messages.

“Like brainless aggression from anger, and jealousy or envy that blots out all rhyme and reason?” asked One.
“As such. Anger have no brain. Make bad poet. We talk good emotion later, but bad be big problem as see saying:

The highest zone is absolute happiness,
’Though even the best can slip to well-being,
And, sometimes, down into the bearable zone;
Next come the anger, apathy, and death zones!

Once you drop into the anger zone, the
Analytical mind cuts out, giving way
To the primitive reactive mind, a
Moronic state in which even beige seems black.

The simple reactive mind thinks that, say,
A perceived bad tone equals insult equals
Hate equals great anger equals lash out
Equals big fight equals kill equals death.”

“This is horrible and barbaric, these aversive substrates of emotion,” said AllisOne, “the future human races will wonder how we could have survived them.”
“Yes, student. Many mad. It make me feel like kill them, but they no can help this way be. So, must try help them, but if not work, rise above, sail over, jail, bypass, ignore, run away, say go buy loaf of bread never come back. As for self, must learn anger sign. Sometimes, mad, kick dog or cat since make noise, but day before same noise OK, so, not cat or dog fault, but irritable simpleton emotion state assign cat or dog as cause of feeling since:

Hostility stems from low serotonin,
As one falls for moods mindless and brainless
Kicking the cat or kids when one gets home,
Rationalizing that they made some noise.”

“I’m getting mad just thinking about it,” said NotOne.
“Yes, think about or see bad thing groove bad attitude, especial for young youth impress by bad TV show. Must careful be what learn, for mirror neuron practice what see. Just watch bad or good thing a lot and learn do it, like monkey see other monkey dig potato, although this good. Man never forget how ride bike. Learning stay long. Bad emotion like stain on brain—bad emotion deaf to logic, change like molasses or slow forming crystal, be like rock, block sense with non.”
“Thanks, I see what you mean and I may even get mean from what I see.”
“OK, yes, but see too much bad feeling now. Not want you get mad from hear all bad stuff, so switch on good emotion talk now. Remember thrill of walk log or swing rope over creek? How first kiss put you on air for week? Joy of create house from popsicle stick? Run, jump, play; have friend. All best. All good thing you of humankind known in these ecstasy moment of all good melded happening that lift you heavenward on some great wing. You even see magic wingèd ladies of flowered butterflies glory in flowers with bee. Feel alive. There be life after birth.”
“But now life’s stress on us weighs us down as if we lived on Jupiter”, commented HarriedOne.
“We suppose talk good stuff now, but… stress be difference between what expect happen and what really happen. When put need ahead of other, result be needless anger at what this life really be, although seem surprise.”
“But there’s always something going wrong!” replied BlameOne.
“So, happiness be silk bubble today that lift you to Heaven gateway, but one raven crow in night arrest smile and swipe away?”
“Yes, kind of like that.”
“Do stress exercise so be ready not disappointment: