Odds and Ends of Writings

[austintorn@aol.com]

The wordage almost seem to make sense...but you look for it somewhere in the jungle of motile metaphors and allusive alliteration...and it just gets lost in the florid unbridled undergrowth...seeming to communicate something, but never quite achieving the quivering arrow of passed thought...Despite how much one might stalk it like a tiger through the jungle, lurking, watching, with twitching tail and glittering eyes...nonetheless, it shall always elude you...much like the humble snipe, you may look for it, but never find it...it is perhaps the errant of a fool, who tilts at windmills thinking them giants, only to be tumbled, ass-over-teakettle, by the impersonal, universal forces.— ?

[austintorn@aol.com]

— 32 —


THE MOLE OF VLADIMIR

Questor had been mostly ‘out’ for the last 36 hours, sleepy, groggy, and recuperating from injuries, mostly very deep bruises from too many hits to his body armor, but was now up, walking a bit, around the hospital room, ever attended by Passiona. They had been given six months off, although probably needing only two.

“Honey, the news is reporting something big…”


VLADIMIR, RUSSIA

The Foreign Intelligence Service (or SVR) is Russia’s primary external intelligence agency. The SVR is the successor of First Chief Directorate (FCD) of the KGB since December 1991. — Wiki

Vladimir is famous for its unique white stone cathedrals, towers and palaces. Unlike any other northern buildings, their exteriors are elaborately carved with high relief stone sculptures. Only three of these edifices stand today: the Assumption Cathedral, the Cathedral of St. Demetrios, and the Golden Gate. — Wiki

It is also the home of the Secondary SVR, a misnomer, for it was here that many of the more outrageous plots were hatched, planned, and carried out.

Anton and Sergei had recruited and managed the insertion of the best of the Soviet era nuclear scientists into the secret Iranian nuclear bomb making facility, one that Iran was recently forced to reveal. Anton and Sergei were now busy getting the Russian scientists back out, coordinating it through Anna, for just about everything went through Anna.

The SVR had a mole in its building, one who had so far revealed the existence of the Iranian nuclear plant, but not yet the hand of Russia therein, nor the S-500 antiaircraft system being installed that would protect the plant from destruction. Therefore, the SVR building had been put under lock down, all transmissions and phones stopped, but for one.

Colonel Patov, the de facto and continuing head of the SVR in Vladimir, pondered the graveness of the situation, now wishing that he’d never had to run the damn place. The former Commander, the merciless General Burkov, had been done away with by Fredrick in San Francisco a few years back. Burkov had been replaced by General Nikitin, a man who ran the SVR remotely, and very poorly at that, one who had never even bothered to have set foot in the place, preferring the comforts of Moscow in the new digital age of armchair management.

Patov sat back. He’d been given a week to find the mole. (Must show progress in two days.) He didn’t miss Burkov, that crazy son-of-bitch, but missed Nikitin, strangely, having never met him, for it was all too lonely at the top here now, but, what-the-hell, for Nikitin had always taken the credit for Patov’s fine work. To blazes with them all and their kind, he thought. Who is spilling our secrets? Not me, that’s for sure. He thought of his wife, Patova (they usually added an ‘a’). Perhaps they could run away from this thing, but, no, the Russians left no survivors for events like this. Yet, Patov had already secretly moved his finances to Switzerland, knowing all to well how to circumvent the ever present prying eyes that were everpresent.

Anna had worked her way up, over 20 years or so, to a position of much importance, the coordinator of all actions and activities. She was pure Soviet-Russian from birth, reliable and untouchable, even having a golden heart within and without.

She was also a member of the Ninja Empire, their deepest plant anywhere. It was the end, she knew, for there was no micromanaging of this kind of leak, as had been done with the others, to make it appear otherwise. No way out. Duty now spelled death. Nor could she shift the blame to Anton or Sergei; that just wouldn’t be right. Still, she would try to hold out, and perhaps think of something. Her mind drew a blank.

Patov paced his office, then called upon his Major, Egorov, for company. Anything not to have to go through this alone. They finally decided to put all three suspects through the rigors of the new and improved ‘truth serum’ process that had never failed, although a few had died from it, this but a minor failure.

“Not Anna,” Egorov protested.

“Yes, Anna, too,” commanded Patov, “I know, but we must be sure. See you in the morning.”

On February 8, 1238, Vladimir had been besieged and taken by the Mongol-Tatar hordes under Batu Khan. A great fire destroyed 32 limestone buildings on the first day alone, while the grand prince and all his family perished in a church where they sought refuge from the fire. The bishop of Vladimir managed to escape. After the Mongols, Vladimir never fully recovered, and even though the most important Rus prince (usually the Prince of Moscow, but sometimes of Tver or another principality) was styled the Grand Prince of Vladimir and was the tax-collector of the Golden Horde. From 1299 to 1325, the city was seat of the metropolitans of Kiev and All Rus, until Metropolitan Peter moved the see to Moscow. The Grand Prince of Vladimir were originally crowned in Vladimir’s Assumption Cathedral, but when Moscow superseded Vladimir as the seat of the Grand Prince, the Assumption Cathedral in the Moscow Kremlin, loosely copied by the Italian architect Aristotele Fioravanti from Vladimir’s original, became the site where the grand princes were crowned. Even after the rise of Moscow though, Muscovite grand princes built several new churches in Vladimir City, notably the Annunciation church at Snovitsy (ca. 1501), three kilometers north-west of the city, and a charming church in the Knyaginin nunnery (ca. 1505), with murals dating to 1648. Remains of the prince-saint Alexander Nevsky were kept in the ancient Nativity abbey of Vladimir until 1703, when Peter the Great had them transferred to the Monastery (now Lavra) of Aleksandr Nevsky in St. Petersburg. The Nativity church itself (1191–1196) collapsed several years later, when they tried to make more windows in its walls, in an effort to brighten the interior. —Wiki

Morning had dawned all too soon for Colonel Patov, who was now drinking a cup of strong black coffee to jolt him back into the day from a rather sleepless night.

He read the report. What! All three had passed the ‘truth’ test. Then it had been given again and all three had passed it again!

Major Egorov entered, saying “We double-checked the computers. Only those three had access, and, you, of course, but you did not do it.”

“Why not suspect me, Egorov?”

“Because I was sent here to keep an eye on you, Colonel, and it was not you.”

“Thank you, Egorov, at least in this case anyway, for spying on me.”

“My pleasure to vindicate you, sir.”

“But they are all pureblood Soviets. Who, then?

“It can only be one of them, sir.”

The phone rang, displaying the name ‘Nikitin’.

Patov jumped out of his chair. “What does he want? I thought I had two more days for progress.”

Patov lifted the receiver and listened, as one must do when a superior calls, just saying “Understood” before hanging up, rather than being hung up upon.

“Egorov, our S-500 antiaircraft construction site has now been revealed to the world!”

“There is such a project?”

‘Yes, to protect the Iranian nuclear plant. It’s but one-third completed though.”

“What to do?”

“Make it look like it was abandoned. Put dust on it, Whatever. Get our people out of there immediately!”

“Will do, sir.”

“And, Egarov, one more thing.”

‘Yes?”

“We now have but one more day to find the mole or Nikitin is coming here tomorrow to personally execute all three suspects.”

“Damn. We need these people.”

“It’s the old way, Egorov. The sure way.”

“I’ll try, sir.”

“No try. Do.”

“Maybe Nikitin leaked the information himself.”

“Unlikely; he’s an old hard-liner. And if he did, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Agreed.”

“Find that mole or I’m dead.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was no progress during day, even after Patov had personally and intensely interviewed all three suspects.

Exhausted, Patov went to sleep early, sending nothing to Moscow.

…


(con't)

[austintorn@aol.com]

General Nikitin’s armored limos pulled up outside the SVR building, around 3 AM, their flags flying. Major Egarov, being on night duty, received their demands at the front door and went up at once to wake Pavlov.

“You have to get up, sir. Nikitin is here.”

“What! In the middle of the night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell them we’re under lock down. No one comes in.”

“They’re waiting outside.”

“And no one goes out.”

“I had to bring the three suspects out…”

“What!”

“I could hardly disobey him, sir.”

“Well, then, what else do they want?”

“You, sir.”

“Me?”

“They insist. Immediately, and as you are.”

“Egarov, take over. You will not see me alive again.”

Pavlov was already a beaten man, an inmate waiting on death row, and so, he, dazed as he had become, collected a few personal items and went out into the street in his night clothes.

The limo door opened. He got in. A General of the Russian Army was sitting there in full uniform, looking most unhappy.

The limos sped off, no one saying a word as all the while the miles passed on by through the empty city streets. Patov knew to stay silent unless spoken to. He noted the outskirts of the city passing, and yet no one said anything, the country kilometers now eating up the limo ride with their darkness. A perfect spot for an execution, he thought.

Patov couldn’t take it any more.

“Where are you taking me, Nikitin?” he bellowed.

No answer.

Patov stayed quiet, thinking better of his outburst.

They stopped at an old farmhouse, pulled the limos inside, got out, and lit a small candle. So, this is it, figured Patov. No one spoke.

Nikitin lit up a smoke and offered one to Patov, who gladly took it and lit it to calm his nerves.

Halfway through the smoke, Nikitin leaned in as if to speak. The face somehow seemed familiar, but Patov couldn’t place it.

“Colonel Patov,” said Nikitin very slowly, “You transferred all your funds.”

No one could know this, thought Patov, but they did.

“For safekeeping.”

“To use after you’d escaped this mess?”

“No, no…”

It was no use. They had him.

Another long silence ensued.

“Remember the tunnel, Patov?”

Patov was really confused now.

“What tunnel?”

“The one under the train tracks.”

Patov strained his memory… so many incidents over the years… then he began to recall some bits and pieces of it.

“I’m not exactly sure.”

“Remember, ‘It’s lights out for me?’”

“Ahhh… YES. It’s you… You reached up and smashed the only light bulb in the tunnel, leaving your sweater hanging there in the dark to fool us… then you escaped. You are… Fredrick!”

“I am. You should have shot me on sight.”

“I couldn’t.”

“I know.”

“And you’ve come to dispose of me like you did Burkov?”

“No, that was a different case.”

“He sure is… was.”

“Burkov was a madman. You, Patov were just doing your job.”

“Then where are you taking me?”

“To Switzerland, where you can meet up with your money and your wife.”

“With my wife?”

“Yes, she’s in the rear partition of the second limo.”

“You would do this for me, one who once tried to capture you? It this some kind of a trick?”

“Well, you can’t stay in Russia now, can you? And we will let bygones be bygones. Pardon my Russian translations, but it means that all is forgiven and forgotten.”

Patova stepped out and embraced her husband.

Patov looked up and over at Fredrick, finally, asking, “All this in exchange for what I know?”

Fredrick smiled. “We already know most of what you know. You are free, Colonel Patov. Is there such a word in Russian?”

“Yes, but… at least I will bring you up to date on our activities.”

“I know, Patov… just let it sink in while we get you some traveling clothes.”

Patov returned to his chair and sank into it, no longer fully knowing how or who to trust.

Patov added, “Anna must work for you, Fredrick.”

“She does, and she is now safe within the limo.”

“And the other two?”

“They have to come along.”

“I see.”

Anna stepped out and walked over to Patov.

Patov looked up and said, “Ah, golden heart, I knew it had to be you.”

“You were not meant for this cruel line of work, Patov. I put in a good word for you.”

“Thank you,” said Patov, almost crying now.”

“My treat.”

“If I may ask, how did you get the information out? All the e-mails, phones and such are monitored every second. We even look at strange conversations for unusual word use.”

“That would be telling.”

“Really?”

“It’s beyond all that.”

“Brain waves? That’s not possible, is it?”

“A novel idea, but one whose time has not yet come.”

Fredrick looked at a secure readout on his phone, indicating that Operation ‘Fire’ was now underway.

A few moments ago, the Israeli Defense Minister had been on the phone to the American President, who replied, just before hanging up, “Thanks for the notice… and God speed.”

Six Israeli jets were now in the air, one far out in front, three in the middle, and two lagging back, all of them quickly approaching the Iranian border.

The Defense Minister and his aides gathered around the computer screens.

“We almost waited too long,” said one. The S-500 site is partly operational, although they are now covering it with dirt.”

“It can still operate through the dirt. Yes, indeed, why did we wait for a madman from Iran to come through on his public promise to destroy us?”

“Yes, especially when such a boast would only make our actions tonight all the more necessary, right, and understanable?”

“We are getting soft.”

“Maybe.”

“Iran is even isolated from its Muslim neighbors.”

“Insanity.”

“The jets have crossed the border, sir.”

The S-500 antiaircraft system came to life through the dirt, noting one blip and taking out the lead Israeli aircraft. But it was only a drone, carrying no one and nothing of interest but a missile now tracking out of the debris and down through the sky toward the S-500 site, its approach obscured, at first.

“They will never see it coming; they will glory in the kill and will not even be checking their radars for a second or two.”

They didn’t, and so a large part of the S-500 apparatus was soon destroyed, the next three jets finishing the job and continuing on, the two jets in the rear now closing through the freed sky.

“What’s with those last two jets, sir? Are they special?”

“Ah, you do not have security clearance for that.”

“Indeed, I do.”

“Yes, you do. I am joking. Suppose that our bunker buster missiles do not complete the job, the Iranian site being too deep, as it is rumored to be?”

“Then they could salvage it, and if it was far enough along in its enrichment process…”

“Yes…”

“Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”

“Yes.”

“The first wave is at the target, sir, and dumping the bunker-busters.”

“Get me the live satellite on my screen. Analysis?”

“Those lines are the depths reached by the bunker-busters, sir. That block still beneath is the nuclear plant as newly illuminated by a special probe that we sent in first.”

“No good, was it?”

“The busters did not reach the target, sir.”

“The Defense Minister transmitted a code to the last two jets and then bowed his head in prayer.”

All waited.

…

“They’ve dropped their tactical nukes, sir, fighting fire with fire.”

Fredrick received an update.

“Gentlemen, ladies, and Colonel Patov and wife: we’ve entered a new age. The area of the Iranian nuclear plant and its surroundings will be uninhabitable for several centuries to come.”

“God save us all,” cried Patov.

…

Major Egorov took command of the SVR. He would later find that his command became permanent, for the real Nikitin had mysteriously disappeared, and no one would ask any questions of this, it being of the old Soviet way.

Egorov now sat at Patov’s desk, ready for the tasks to come. He took a rare moment to break character and smile to himself. No improved ‘truth serum’ injections had been applied, for he’d only gone through the motions. Egorov would carry on Anna’s legacy, for he, too, was a member of the Ninja WIA Empire.

[austintorn@aol.com]

Merlin's Crystal Cave



Nimue: Are there a million stars where you are, near or far?

[austintorn@aol.com]

REMEMBER

It’s about time for a major revision to the calendar, one that’s reflective of modern times, for the only improvements made during the last few hundred years have been to skip leap days in years that are evenly divisible by 400, and, more recently, to add a few insignificant leap-seconds once a year or so. (“Wow, that seemed like a really long weekend!”)

The last truly major revision to the calendar occurred over a thousand years ago, when Omar Khayyàm realigned the Moslem calendar so that the seasons would arrive at the same time each year, as back then the year started in March with the spring, the logical time for a new year to start, I suppose, since nature is new in the spring. It took Europe another 700 years or so to pick up on this change. I suppose they got tired of celebrating Christmas in July-type weather or shoveling snow in the summertime.

Omar also revised his philosophic calendar to suit his mental outlook—by advocating that dead yesterday and unborn tomorrow be removed from the calendar; thus, he could truly live for TODAY. Later on, he refined this theory further by also removing dead and unborn minutes, so that he could live for the moment. My calendar revisions are more along those lines.

First of all, I am eliminating the months of January (Bran-new-airy), February (Feb-buries), and March (March!) because 1) They all contain cold and rotten weather, and 2) They totally lack holidays on which we could get time off with pay from work; it’s a heck of a long wait for a holiday between New Year’s Day and Memorial Day (we used to get Good Friday off, but now even that day is eliminated, since it’s a religious-ethnic holiday and so other religious-ethnic groups could have proposed other such holidays and thus there’d be no time left for actual work days). Note: don’t worry, Valentine’s Day is being retained and moved elsewhere in my calendar, as is New Year’s Day.

I am adding a whole new month, called Remember, which comes right after December. That way you will have some extra time to do all of the things that you meant or forgot to do during the year. Just think, there will be not as much need to say “wait until next year”. Therefore, my revised year starts in the spring, in April, which, as I’ve said, is much more appropriate since it is a time for renewal and rebirth.

By the way, it is easily proved that the year once started in spring by noting the Latin numbers from which the months got their modern names, i.e., 7-sept, 8-oct, 9-nov, 10-dec. We, of course, have now adopted these Latin numeric prefixes into general English, as well, for example, septuagenarian (age 70-80), octagon (8-sided), octave (8 musical degrees), novena (9 days of devotion), decimal (base 10), decimate (to kill one in ten), decathlon, decade, etc. I also discovered that the old names of July and August were Quintus (Latin ‘5’) and Sextus (Latin ‘6’), but Julius and Augustus Caesar changed the names to suit their own. As for May, June, and April, those were the names of the Caesars’ girlfriends. So, anyway, what all this means is that since December used to be the tenth month (dec), the year obviously once started in March. So, I am generally readopting this policy, except that, since I’ve eliminated March, my revised year must now start in April, on April’s Fools Day, in fact, which will have to share the honor with New Year’s Day—an appropriate combination considering all of the foolish things that some do on New Year’s Eve.

So, since my year as so far constructed is only ten months long, I must now distribute the excess days that made up the two missing months. I would like to make all the months thirty days long since people have problems with variations. So, I am introducing a new, unnumbered day into the week, called Funday, a day which does not have to be numbered or accounted for in any way whatsoever. Funday occurs between Sunday and Monday. On Funday you can do as you please. Funday doesn’t even have a numerical date, and so it cannot possibly count against schedules, deadlines, or bills. Weekends, as we all know, have always been too short, but now, with the introduction of Funday, weekends become three days long. I have, as have many others, already pioneered the concept that led to Funday: I get up late on Saturday and Sunday to recover energy spent during the work week, and then, by Sunday night, being so well rested, I go to sleep quite late or sometimes not at all and stay up all night reading or doing you know what. Of course, I pay for all of this by being very tired on Monday, but naturally it’s much better to be tired on company time than on your own time, and who ever expects much of Monday anyway. So, this is what led me to the idea of a Funday on which you could do whatever you want—you don’t even have to visit your relatives. Funday is totally dedicated to fun, and a new law will make it a crime for you to do anything else, although shopping and home chores are allowed if you whistle while you work or sing a happy song. Yes, people are so harried these days that we have to force them to enjoy life.

So, thanks to Funday there will be no more rush-rush or hectic feelings when the work week starts. People need no longer waste short weekends of great weather by doing silly and ridiculous things like going grocery shopping or doing laundry. Well, you might say, instead of lengthening the week why not just get people to do all their weekend chores during the week—but, of course, they can’t, since they’re so stressed out and exhausted when they get home from work that they just collapse and can’t even do the simplest thing. Yes, yes, I know that this is simply a matter of attitude and style, but, believe me, personal changes, even such common sense changes, seem to take huge amounts of effort; whereas, I can simply solve the problem much more easily with the introduction of Funday.

Ten months of thirty numbered days plus five undated Fundays each month equals only 350 days, so there are still fifteen more days that must be dispersed into the new calendar. I am solving this by adding a special summer and winter festival period of seven days each, the winter festival being no more really than a re-establishment of the old Saturnalian pagan festival held in olden times before the Christians put a damper on it. This winter festival is added between Christmas and New Year’s Day so that we can have a vacation from our vacation of visiting relatives and feasting and pigging out. The summer festival is inserted between July and August and centers around the true midsummer’s day. Naturally these festivals do not count against anyone’s vacation time.

There are just a few minor alterations left. There is still one day left to be accounted for, and I am inserting it between May and June as Valentines Day. I am removing a day from June, so that the saying “Nothing is so rare as a day in June” will actually be true. In the old calendar, a day in February was 4.2% more rare than a day of June, but, of course, February is gone now. The day removed from June will be called World Day. On this day we should try to get all the world’s peoples to coexist in perfect harmony. This day occurs between June and July. I am moving the Fourth of July to the first Monday in July so that we will have yet another extra long weekend.

Monday mornings and Friday afternoons are to be designated as home/work transition adjustment-recovery periods, during which one need not be present at work, thus reducing the work week to only four days! Yes, the computer age has arrived and it’s time that we reaped its benefits and gained more leisure time, for this was the promise of the computer age: that computers would free us—so why do we feel that they have become our masters?

Furthermore, the nebulous day called ‘Someday’ is being removed from the calendar and from everyday conversation—because what it really meant was “Noneday” (as in “Someday we’ll go out to lunch.”).

Also, just as a matter of information, note that the days of the week were named after the sun, the moon, and all of the known planets of the time, although some of the days derive their names from French or Latin: Sunday (sun), Monday (moon), Tuesday (Mardi in French, or Mars), Wednesday (Mercredi, or Mercury in French), Thursday (Jeudi in French, or Jupiter), Friday (Vendredi in French for Venus), Saturday (Saturn). However, this still leaves Pluto, Uranus, and Neptune unrepresented but I’ll probably leave those for my next revision. My new names for the days of the week are: Onesday, Twosday, Wedsday, Thirstday, Fryday, Satday, Sundae, and Funday.

Or, we could just forget all of these revisions and go back to Omar’s great idea about having a calendar with only one day on it called TODAY.

[austintorn@aol.com]

‘GOD’ ON TRIAL

“Jehovah’s” trial for crimes against humanity begins thusly, but ends well…

“Do you, God, swearest to tellest us the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so helpest you God?”

“Which scriptures of what Bible should I swear on? There are so many.”

“Oh; here’s a Mormon Bible with a whole extra section that was transcribed from the golden plates you sent.”

“I didn’t send those plates.”

“OK, let’s not worry about that now; we’ll come back to it later. You are truthful, are you not?”

“I can do no evil, and that includes not lying.”

“Finally, a believable defendant. What is your full name?”

“’God Damnit’ is what I am usually called.”

“Ha-ha, but what is your real and proper name?”

“None. I am what I am.”

“Um, any aliases, like Lord, Jehovah, Almighty, or such?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, those are just some names that people call me, plus even the very bad names.”

“But you do exist as you are?”

“Depends on what the meaning of ‘exists’ is.”

“You know, like ‘to be’, being one that is.”

“Depends on what the meaning of ‘is’ is.”

“Is that your lawyer, Bill Clinton, sitting over there?”

“Yes, for he can get out of anything.”

“But is he going to talk endlessly in your defense?”

“No, he has been going to ‘On and on anon’.”

“Good, now how come we can hear you but we can’t see you?”

“I am invisible, plus, you are schizophrenics.”

“Hey, no name calling, order in the court!”

“I’ll have a cheeseburger, no pickles, no onions.”

“That’s more like it. So you mean we are just hearing voices?”

“Yes—do you remember the study that showed that 17% percent of priests are schizophrenic, but only 1-2% of the general population is?”

“Oh, yeah, but you’re not getting off that easily.”

“I am innocent.”

“What did you do before you created everything?”

“I was being made myself by myself.”

“How did you do that?”

“Recursively.”

“OK, anyway, did you have intercourse with a teen-age virgin?”

“Hell, no, she was underage; I only date 30 billion year old women.”

“Still single?”

“Yes, for as Mr. Always Right I could just never find Miss Perfect.”

“So, Jesus was not your son then?”

“No, but he was a really good guy—a human telling stories that everyone expected to hear.”

“But, anyway, you are a ‘He’?”

“So they usually say.”

“Don’t you know?”

“No, for humans created me in their own image and with their own traits, so I am male.”

“Jealous of any of their other imaginary Gods?”

“I am above all that lowly human-type emotion stuff. I am perfectly good and absolutely totally full of love.”

“Love is a human emotion.”

“That is the only emotion I have, for it is the ultimate one.”

“So, you never do evil?”

“Depends on what ‘evil’ is.”

“Well, as in things like harming others, except in self defense, stifling the growth of mind, and creating false ways of living, arbitrarily, through use of imagination of what the concept of good ‘should be’.”

“I am not capable of evil. I detest evil. I would hate myself if I did evil. It is unthinkable. Then I would be in the category of a Devil.”

“Is there a Devil?”

“No, I would not tolerate any such thing, for then it would sway humans to sin.”

“You appear to be without fault, but we still have to continue this trial.”

“Thank you, but I have no-fault insurance.”

“Did you murder almost everyone on Earth with a great flood?”

“Heck no, human nature is exactly the way it is supposed it to be, as is. What do you think! God not a big fat goof, that is, if he was involved. He doesn’t make mistakes.”

“Some say that you invented the rainbow to proclaim that you made a mistake, claiming that you would never do it again.”

“Preposterous. Rainbows are an optical effect.”

“Do you ever do anything wrong?”

“I can’t. I am all love.”

“Did you give too much love, perhaps?”

“Yes, I give near infinite amounts, but there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“What was the purpose of having dinosaurs around for 650 million years, then extincting them via asteroids?”

“Just playing around; actually, I had nothing to do with it.”

“What was the intelligent design in this?”

“There wasn’t any, for God does not exist. Can I go now?”

“No, we know that nonexistence trick. Whose side are you on in football games?”

“I don’t take sides or play favorites.”

“Then where do humans get all these ideas about you?”

“You know humans—they just make things up.”

“Is there a Hell, like maybe in the heart of the sun?”

“No, there is no Hell. I wouldn’t torture my beloved creatures if I were God. Would you torture a kitten?”

“Some would, but, hey, it is you that is on trial here, not us. We only have our human nature that you may have given us and it can often go astray and awry.”

“True, plus I am a nice guy, the nicest ever. I would not fill your cup to the brim with temptations and then expect you not to spill it; I’m a giver, not a taker. Pure love is all giving; there are no strings attached.”

“Thanks. Does our free will have to match your will”? “Heavens no, for that wouldn’t be free will, would it?”

“So, there’s not even a Purgatory, like somewhere on Venus?”

“Negative.”

“How do humans come up with all these things? They make you out to be some kind of strict enforcer father figure type.”

“That’s it; they modeled the family experience.”

“Is there a Heaven?”

“Yes.”

“Ah-ha, where is it?”

“On Earth. What more could human beings want?”

“Oh, well they want everything and even think they are special and above all else, some even above their own kind.”

“Nope, humans are as organic as anything in nature. Anyone can see that.”

“Well, we have imagination.”

“Yes, a gift of nature, but that’s all it is.”

“Did you publish a book?”

“Yes, but no, for ghost writers wrote one.”

“Any movies coming out?”

“No, it would be hard to beat ‘The Dark Knight’ and ‘Avatar’.”

“Were Commandments were ever issued?”

“Love does not command; it frees.”

“That’s true. So you are innocent of all charges and plead not guilty?”

“How many times do I have to tell you. I am absolute good.”

“Ever tell a white lie?”

“No way, Jose. I am the truth.”

“Ever peek at a naked person.”

“Of course, people are made that way. If he didn’t want it that way, they’d be born with clothes or fur. Some fools even put fig leaves over Eden’s artwork.”

“I must confess to you, God, that I sometimes think of people naked.”

“No sweat, plus that’s also a way to make public speaking easier. I am naked myself. It’s OK.”

“Ever stick gum somewhere when no one was looking?”

“No, for I was looking.”

“You are a saint!”

“Higher than that. I am perfect, at least before I got conceited about it.”

“Ah-ha.”

“Just joking.”

“Did you make cosmic jokes, like, in sexual human anatomy, putting a toxic waste dump near a recreation area?”

“God does have a sense of humor.”

“How come you didn’t give humans everything?”

“If I gave them everything, they’d have no place to put it.”

“A dictionary has ‘everything’.”
“In a way, plus Wikipedia is good, too.”

“How come birth certificates have expiration dates, some even sooner than later?”

“They must, otherwise, evolution wouldn’t work.”

“Did some monkey types descend from the trees?”

“Yes, for your DNA matches theirs 98%.”

“So, evolution is true, but not you as a Creator?”

“I keep telling you, leaving signs all over the Earth, you fossil to be.”

“You don’t rule or lord yourself over anyone?”

“Love serves; love does not rule.”

(con't)

[austintorn@aol.com]

“We have witnesses to some of your crimes.”

“No one can witness me, besides, they made all that up.”

“Likely story. Did you choose a special tribe and tell Moses to crush some other tribes?”

“Those are just ancient Jewish legends.”

“How come Moses didn’t ask for directions when he was lost for 40 years in the desert.”

“He’s a man; they never ask.”

“Ever let someone just make it through a developing traffic accident?”

“What! and let some other poor sap get hurt or die instead? You don’t know me very well.”

“So, you don’t write scripts for our human soap operas as “God’s will”.”

“No, for truth is stranger than fiction.”

“Why are you invisible?”

“I am a figment. Have faith.”

“What’s faith?”

“Belief in the invisible unseen unknown.”

“You can’t get off the hook that easily. We can still try you in absentia.”

“I’m being very cooperative.”

“Thanks. Now, Mr. God, sir, did you send a plague of locusts to harm the welfare of humankind?”

“I wouldn’t think of it; harmful options don’t even surface in my mind for consideration.”

“No lightning bolts?”

“That was mother nature, not me.”

“Well, as you are a self-made man, then what stuff did you use to make yourself out of, plus all that is?”

“I didn’t make all that is; I only made myself out of the fundamental stuff available; then I accidentally made humankind from the same stuff, some debris that I threw out.”

“So, you are not at all responsible for mother nature’s doings?”

“No, nor did I make the universe, for I am made of it.”

“You are not fundamental and absolute?”

“No, for a system of mind and emotion like mine or yours requires moving parts. I am perfect, however.”

“That’s still a lofty position.”

“I am just fortunate to be as I am; I never look down on anyone less; my talent is a given; I can’t even really take any credit. I am just further along in evolution than you are. Cats, too, have reached a kind of perfection for their form.”

“You evolved beyond the material plane?”

“Yes, I am pure waves and fields and thus not seeable. You all will get there someday, too. I just helped you all along the path, with only your best interests at heart.”

“We will all evolve to become Gods, eventually?”

“Certainly.”

“You don’t interfere in our world on Earth?”

“No, for then you would miss all the fun. Knowing everything is not really that great.”

“There would be no surprises.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you overrule all or part of reality in any way?”

“No, I’m not bossy.”

“Do you underlie all or part of reality in any way?”

“Nope, as I said, I am in this universe and therefore of this universe; I am just higher up the food chain.”

“So, in our terms, you are just a very powerful but loving alien.”

“That I am. And if any hostile ones approach me, I will defend myself.”

“Thanks, for that may help us, too.”

“True, but you are all completely free to be and do.”

“How come you allow/give this to us?”

“It’s the greatest gift that love can give.”

“Thanks, again. You seem a good guy, but we still have a few more questions, plus, you know, we can’t really consider any gifts that you gave to us when we make our ruling; I hope you understand, for we are often approached with bribes.”

“Money talks.”

“For me it just usually says ‘Goodbye’.”

“But when it returns you might say, ‘Hey, glad to see you; I’ve missed you; where have you been all my life?’”

“You’re a fun guy. So, what is all this holy-holy admiration stuff that humans do in and for your name?”

“I don’t know; it’s really weird, isn’t it?”

“I thought you knew everything.”

“Well, by staying out of the way, I chose not to know.”

“What made the stuff that we and you are made of?”

“I’m not sure; I only know everything from me onwards; that stuff could have appeared in the universe from somewhere else, or have been here forever, or appeared via some kind of possibility; it is not marked as holy or unholy.”

“Well, that’s immaterial, anyway. Back to our probe.”

“I ain’t never did anything terrible nohow!”

“Ever do anything wrong at all?”

“I threw some litter into space because there was no where else to put it.”

“What litter?”

“An excess atoms that then made your world.”

“Well, no harm done.”

“Thanks.”

“Do angels exist, having wings and all that?”

“No, not as humans have defined them. Wings are useless in space; there is no air. There are more ETs than me, however.”

“We thought so. Is there a Bigfoot?”

“Ha, ha. Those are just hoaxes put forth by some hicks in the southern US.”

“Isn’t ‘hick’ a bad name?”

“No, I am just describing an actual fact, for which the word ‘hick’ is perfectly descriptive. I have to use words that you can understand.”

“So, you’ve never been seen, and just about everything bad that was said about you by humans is false; so, what’s left?”

“Not much, just me as not ‘God’.”

“But you created us; you helped us along.”

“Well, in a way, but that was quite inadvertent. You would have formed somewhere sometime anyway. Some of my ‘trash’ formed your solar system; then you evolved. Your population was down to less than a thousand once, and I guess some of my good vibrations rubbed off on them as I passed by on my way to pick up some rare elements on Pluto. I was building a new house that can withstand all eternity. The weather in space is always bad; it’s full of radiation of all sorts.”

“Strange weather all over the Earth, too.”

“There are many hurricanes that began from a hint of a wisp of a breeze.”

“Mr. ET, is there way to tell the future of the weather?”

“The 2012 farmer’s almanac just came out.”

“So, how do we speed up evolution?”

“Takes time, but you could enhance your own chemistry, as I did.”
“Sounds dangerous.”

“It is; I was a Jeckyl and Hyde for a while.”

“Ah-ha, that’s when you committed crimes against humanity!”

“No, I was far away, plus that was 35 billion years ago.”

“Oh, but do you have an alibi?”

“No, I was all there was then, but I have pictures.”

“Let’s see.”

“I don’t have then with me, but they are very similar to those taken by the Hubble telescope.”

“You were there among those trillions of stars and galaxies?”

“Yes, but I was already semitransparent by then.”

“It would be like one of those “Where’s Waldo’ puzzles.””

“You’ll just have to take my word if you cannot prove otherwise.”

“What is the purpose of life?”

“To live.”

“What is life?”

“You are life.”

“Is life and all really just a bunch of atomic spinning things of various compositions?”

“That’s it.”

“Nothing more?”

“There can be no more, for that is all there is.”

“Why do we keep hoping for more?”

“Greed and having no gratitude, but, still, you are a sparkling billion years product, and quite amazing.”

“We are pretty cool when you think about it.”

“That’s all it takes to appreciate life.”

“Any other universes?”

“Sure, but many did not amount to anything. However, I am going on vacation to a good one next week.”

“Be sure to send a post card saying ‘Wish you were here’, that is, if there is oxygen there.”

“Will do. Lucky for you here that bacteria and plants came about and made oxygen. Thenceforth you began as you.”

“Yes, a lucky break; oxygen was a mere waste product from photosynthesis.”

“See, all is as it seems. No need to invent any supernatural intent to blame or thank for anything.”

“All is as it did?”

“Yes, that’s why it took so long.”

“Indeed, a true God type Creator could have done it instantly, not even needing 6 days, or getting tired on the 7th.”

“Yes, but the all is an origin, not a Creator. The ground-state was always around, and so there was no creation, and no Creator.”

“Yikes, then what should we do?”

“Just be.”

“OK, good advice, but, if we ever find that there was a culprit Creator who committed some of the very crimes that his Commandments spoke against, like murder, destruction, or hatred, then he is really going to be toast.”

“As he should be, for those acts would have been unconscionable, especially for someone of that high stature.”

“Thanks for your testimony. We’ll call it the third testament. Your judgment day is near at hand. I’m calling a one hour recess.”

…


“All please rise.”

“The court finds you not guilty on all counts, due to lack of evidence, plus your good nature.”

“Evidence for those like me is not even conceivable.”

“True. Thank you everyone. Please bring in the next case.”

Austin walks in. “Did you leave the toilet seat up in a household where there were females present?”

“Well, maybe, yes I did, but…”

“100 years of hard labor in Siberia.”