Caleb the Wise Turtle taught me this and asked that I pass it on
to you, for the sake of all that is nonsensical.
The change is in the pen from the main office, and all the other
pens change too. It is because they bought the Imperial set from
Bic Lighters. It is the divine pen that is never created nor
destroyed making every pen the same pen. It is the eternal pen.
When a pen vanishes and reappears it could be someone else's pen
by the time you pick it up. As is it were sometimes a pen, when
one puts their pen down it always becomes another, very different
pen. There is only one pen. Or are there many pens?
A million delusions pass before the sea weeping, and there were a
million delusional ghosts gliding across a landscape specked with
poplar and fir trees. The snow covering the hillside did not
reach all the way to the sea, but it was apparent that this part
of the world was in the icy grip of winter.
But this scene is not a question or matter of fact. It is
delusion pure and simple, a published piece written by Craft
Creasemore in a state of panic that told him he could not live
this as a man. The first two pages are utter nonsense, only there
to set a tone.
So he wrote:
"Is 'why do we feed on life' the eternal question?
So a silhouette stork eating should be in the opening phrases.
These are the opening movie shots."
When we saw him writing furiously, vines ran up along the wall
beside him, but they had not yet grown enough to cover the
building. He sometimes claimed supernatural powers. He felt
little, like he could never have his way. The meeting he was
waiting for was an hour away. It would be in a personal
laboratory. Everything was somewhere out of order and is
functioning simply as a brief overview of what will become a
He made an appointment to meet a scientist who invented something
grand. It was a new potion that could grow forest when the gel
It grew so fast it struck awe in the hearts of all the first
So moreover, this wise turtle says something smart like, "I feel
awestruck as I recall an awful falafel I ate five years ago. And
if somebody turns off a fan the changing pressure could create a
vacuum that in turn is filled with outside air. This is the only
time I can think that one should say they created wind."
Passersby's should represent somebody else but they were just
They were creating wind. The experiment is measuring different
areas of a city in a closed environment like a warehouse, so that
we can measure the complex formulas that are the wind. This would
create a study in interpersonal relationships, because we can
create a spiral behind us by turning left and that moves the hair
on a stranger's head.
Our people existed in a small inner garden of a very tall
building. A writer named Craft sits and makes two henchmen walk
to the top of the stairs that line one side of the narrow
building. They listen to the sounds of feet on stairs all the way
The other two are a prodigy, Little Red Vegas and a scientist
named Silver Lodges.
Nonsense came back from a listing mood at noon. The meeting felt
like a toast by a man who wrote of motorcars, or hoped to. They
found the writer drafting the ideas of a new bestselling novel,
until his hopes dissipated and I pretend to go. These are their
dreams and though it does seem though sea salt is spelled of
right wing were dancing before. This is nonsense, so have no
formula that secedes it.
And this paragraph ruined the writer's life because he could not
tell the reader what he meant. He knew that this thought left
little mercy for him. And it was ok; he had time to do many
But I will make broad statements about this book, though the
writer I am telling you about will not, nor did he write this.
I feel this book will save the world, creating and pausing
grown-ups and children alike for a moment of innate bliss.
Because these phrases stand alone on the first page without
anything too discriminating, but perhaps readers will make their
own way to this. Perhaps the readers will be children. The key to
character development is creating names in the first place.
So lets think of the characters in those first paragraphs.
First, there is the writer, who is a grey haired man in his early
fifties. He should have been a teacher, but worked as a laborer
while writing absent ramblings that he promised himself he would
mold into masterpieces. His books took many years to write and
even after they were written, only his friends read them. They
knew about his wishes to be read worldwide and promised that when
he asked they would help him. He kept saying that the work was
not done. Perhaps it wasn't.
The writer believed in newspapers, bureaucracy and tax-cuts. That
is why he wrote that his delirium sought to dilapidate my good
name. That's because he wanted to copy something from a comic
strip. Though transmogrify is a word that is used in places other
than Creasmore & Hobart, a company that is investing time in
The writer is used to the radio switching channels on him while
he waited on speakerphone for somebody who will guide him to
other spirits in makeshift places idling around a heaven set for
them. He will one day write, "When the leaders talk like they
have no violence suspect people did not have recourse for their
hope. People settle and a basic hope is that I have a personal
conquest and a man takes their old glory."
Next we come to the passersby. They are mulling about simply
walking past Craft as begins discussing pottery with Little Red
Lining and Silver Lodges.
This was of course what he was talking about. But Craft Creasmore
was scared and it hurt him before he could lay awake in a home
like a leader.
He wanted to know why he asked of writing, "Who exactly are these
people? What are they doing here and why do we care?" It was
tearing him up inside. At least the coffee was good. It was
better than usual. There was funky music playing quietly and Red
and Silver were settling in and turning sable under what would
soon become a Thursday moon that settled in the city sky and as a
saint Silver said, "A strange thing happens to me. I invented
something wonderful. Would you like to see it?"
The writer thanked him for his reaction. It was too simple. That
could not cure the whims of these paragraphs. These words made
notions stir in Little Red Lining. He was a true small "L"
liberal. He wanted to make change that mattered. Silver Lodges
was different. He had the lesson certificate, "Save the Safe
This bound Silver Lodges to science because it was all he had
ever done. It was all nonsense. He meant nothing by it.
The writer didn't want to know about that sort of thing. He drank
his coffee black with lots of sugar. He worked for Near-Far and
thought often of his legacy. He owned many groo-groo trees and
grumbled when he talked.
Groo-groo trees are real and all the names of things in this
book should be real and fantastical.
When Craft Creasemore sat at the Festin coffee shop the other two
were about to play minimax on a recently bought board. There were
many distractions on this city street. It was perfect for
practice. Their beverage was a digly-smalter, under the stress of
Aruba. These were some of the leaders of Festin.
Digly-Smalters are not real and maybe should be omitted.
I made a joke for the friend. It was a silly little jest and too
absurd to be annoying. Neither man laughed. Spoken or written
letters sent to C. S. Lewis and wondering why these are there.
Just signal words to miniature mineral jelly and mind readers
Without much extra nonsense and in a much clearer way than this,
a man working on mineral rights and also as a local Government
official strides past them like a man with things to do and
places to go. They had known him for years. They were on top of a
building so he changed his mind and paused and told the wise man
some English and non-Shakespearean equivalent of, "I know
Silver Lodges said to him, "What are you saying, old man? Lighten
the briefcase for a while."
And his friend replied, "I'm trying to say that I can't get ahead
in this government, because I want real change. I want to make a
difference like when I ran for mayor when I became leader of the
"You went to Spain last May." Silver Lodges said, "That was your
first vacation in five years."
"I met a mind reader there that told me I would never gain
leadership of a federal party, let alone become the leader of his
nation. This made me very distraught. Later in the night we spoke
to Gregory, a Spanish innkeeper who spoke sly English and had a
room above a restaurant that they could stay. He had gone to
Spain and he was going to Spain again."
"He ate nothing for weeks, I believe."
"I have been waiting about a week and I owe money to someone, I
was hoping you could pay what you owe me."
"I won't mingle with that mink but I'll get you the money."
"Tell them they don't want it, me in their shirts, the backs of
And with that the man left. Neither Little Red Vegas nor myself
knew what was discussed and these brief marigold-infused partisan
war games like they had something interesting and so violent the
conversation had to be secretly passed from one recipient to the
next. Something was lost in the translation, of course, but he
could tell from the eyes what these men needed him to do. It was
good the other two did not understand.
Little Red said to the next man that he knew the person would be
a little on the weak end but rather intelligent and maybe a bit
too proud. They often wondered about the child.
He was a friend's child. Silver Lodges did not have children.
The older two men, Craft of about 40 and Silver of about 56 were
wise enough to give advice to politicians, but we know nothing of
their accomplishments. The writer had written books and was a
member of the Multi-Discipline Intelligence Society, working in
media mostly and remembering names of people who were not famous,
but had made the news in strange and fascinating ways. He could
spell like nobody else, but always got "necessarily" wrong, so he
rarely used it in his articles.
Little Red Lining was a prodigy. By the age of eight he had read
many classics of English literature. By ten he was the champion
Minimax player in Festin. He used a round dance defense to defeat
the former champion, striking up a conversation about how bees
return to their hives and dance with the others. It was true.
Science was the recording.
And now they begin a practice match of the game of kings,
Silver could not beat Red even at his best. Sometimes Red would
make intentional errors for practice in losing important pieces,
but if Silver beat Red once, he would become champion. So they
kept playing, game after game for months on end, and Red
continued to win every match. Today would be no different, but
they enjoyed the friendly rivalry.
"A cereal man knows that Vicky cannot produce human language."
Silver said, making his first move, a daring cross board leap
that left his Cage piece far from any fortressing. It could trap
most pieces, though only if the cannon was on the square next to
it. Red quickly brought an aggressive clover over the cage and
took the piece.
"A cereal man can't leave his cage open like that."
After another move written later,
"Can we play this game later?" Silver said. "I have a meeting."
Just as Little Red Lining moved his dock there was a flash of
light. Level sprite, the water spirit, came to him and said to
all three of us, "Sit, we must talk about these papers."
"Silver has a meeting," Red said.
"I only have to talk to an old friend about my new invention. I
can be here a moment."
The papers were maroon in color, held together by a folded piece
of gilded metal.
Level Sprite was a serious person, never a moment late and
definitely taking control of the situation.
She began, "They have been drawn up rather quickly, there is a
lack of consideration for another side. With a sense of urgency I
come to you. Silver, the job is important, we need to reconsider
these words before we send them away. This could cause more
trouble than it is worth. They would be much worse than a
moment's later delivery than planned. All trouble would be
forgotten and we would dance our night away like a child. The
stage is set for us now."
Silver's car rolled up a few seconds later and he insisted that
he must leave but invited her to come with him. She politely
declines and he says simply, "We must trust these grand neighbors
to the North, and they must be able to trust us." He smiled and
took the papers in his hand. "I will return these to you, and
also a key. I believe you, and by the end of the day these will
be yours. He bowed and backed away, stepping in the opened door
and thanking his driver.
He sat in the back a small man and shook his head, thinking he
may need some help.
He glanced at the feigning sun and squinting in a moment of
realization. The papers were factual representations of the
political system in numbers and symbols. They were math,
geometric shapes and divine rights to the kind leaders that were
Good men were remaining out of power, partially because they
didn't want to seek it over people and partially because they
balanced the equation of those who wanted to choose where they
put the road signs to feel that they made where people should
Silver was headed eastward through the city and going home. The
meeting he would be in his personal laboratory. He had made a new
potion that could grow forest when the gel contacted air. It was
fast so it seemed rather awe-inspiring.
The car dropped Silver off outside the hard candy shop at the end
of his lane. The next building was his laboratory and the second
was his home, a two-story townhouse along a narrow street that
ducked into the city only one block. There was a gate before the
block began and each person had a key. Across the road there was
another row of houses like this, and one on either side of each
Silver liked the sameness of his neighborhood. Each interior
could be personalized.
It was an fun contrast.
Teenage boys sauntered carelessly towards his car and were
expressing something loudly, and Silver thought they might be
drunk, but the doors muffled the sound of their voices. They
passed and then he opened the door and came outside to the
street, walking quickly past the candy shop and seeing the old
man he was meeting with.
He came from the desert and his name was Grimson. He lived in
Opaque, which could be found many miles west and south of Festin.
He had been unsure whether this was Silver Lodges home and was
relieved to see him standing next to him.
"Oh, thank you, old chap. This is good. I'm on time and in the
right place. I was afraid I was somewhere else, but here I am."
And they went inside.
The teenagers stumbled down the street in a haze, drifting from
side to side. The air was soft that night, washed in misdirection
they were consuming. The tall slim one on the left threw his
empty beer bottle into traffic and the others laughed. The crash
as it shattered on the concrete was deafening and the traffic
slowed as they tried to dodge the broken glass. One of the
friends began to whistle and pulled another beer out of a
"We cannot observe culture because it is in our minds." Silver
began when they stood inside the landing of his laboratory, under
stairs and a banister that guarded the upper floor's main
hallway. "So we must infer culture from behavior we observe. We
agree lying is bad, but we all lie. So is evil necessary to this
Grimson told him frankly, "It depends on your ideology, what you
have in your garden."
"Some cultures teach us that evil spirits make us sick. Some
cultures teach us that it is bacteria and viruses."
"What are you getting at?"
They walked into another room that had a long table lined with
Bunsen burners and veils of potions and beakers boiling and
animated screensavers dancing on a series of screens that once
activated showed lists of numbers, algorithms and various effects
of chemical compounds when they were mixed together.
"I have made something that creates pure good. Watch!" And he
sprayed gel over an empty section of a table and as it stuck to
the table it grew grasses, flowers, weeds, leaved bushes and baby
trees every two feet. He sprayed until he had filled eight square
feet of his table. The plants grew until they were four feet
high. Grimson was impressed. Then Silver sprayed another section,
so that ten square feet were covered, the plants all grew to be
five feet tall. Grimson asked for a bottle of it to keep and take
Silver told him, "I only have two more, but I am making more. It
will be ready in a week or so. But if you would like one of the
two we will share it with you. They both work the same."
Mohandas Karamachand Gandhi was an omen.
They meet him on the gangway. It is especially rotten the point
of an essay is the sapient union of two pieces of lumber and the
figurative landing that teach like and essay of those who are
against you the wander and teach like a dream that became them
when these men are martyred they know what they are. There is
another of these books that was and this is the beginning of a
normality space. These are the people and that is the arrangement
these are the beginnings and do not drive away with speed.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things that I cannot
change and the will to change those things I can and this wisdom
to tell the difference. Strange ramblings in the days to come.
They never said it spoke like wisdom it was not the only truth.
Where do these people come from?
Where are the editors? Where are the spokes? Weasels and
forget-me-nots that needed their beliefs took them for certain.
Space and time and waste leave this right. They never knew like a
wino if they could spell and type. "These spacey epic fantasies
come to life when they speak of a riot or a space they tell them
nothing they know. And when the public reads I made this, he
knows. So that stays and they know."
These men are peering at trees 6 feet tall sprout with gremlins
faces supplanted amidst the flora. There are flowers of the
grandest variety and a mindscape taken and led from the spirit
towards a dynamic and a poet laurite that had a month to forget
that bump to his head in his youth. It made him dynamic and
leaving the man back he lived and he told of a spectacle light
they had morning sun tea and left each other to their thoughts.
The old man gamboled and danced a across the room once and said,
"Mighty sword, you've done it boy."
"Look, they now must be seven feet high and a half a foot thick
tree" I was thinking it could be a new way to produce lumber.
I am feeding a sheep with it to make sure it is good for us.
The sheep may become very big, because of the growth hormones
that make the plants grow like that."
It was a special kind of proud he wore.
"The trees die once we reach about here, but only because there
is no soil that they are planted in. I planted some in the forest
a month ago."
"How big are they?"
"There was a obvious slowing in the growth, but that's good. I
would say they are about 60 feet, and growing quickly."
There are two things that happen from this point. Cattle eat the
forest that is spreading out in their science experiment and a
machine is built that creates a fast growing forest and the
logging of that forest so that 80 acres of logging is practiced
every day as a renewable resource and it is gnome hell, making a
brief appearance to notify Silver that he is taking Gnome-dom to
a new world, one that they can visit gnomes that have gone to
hell. They must use their ingenuity to create a machine like that
to visit their heaven, now that the gnomes' eternal soul is
Meanwhile Craft Creasmore is corresponding in letters with
someone idyllic who loves him very dearly. They are in a new
romance and the writer does not want to lose her. She is
beautiful and everything good for him. She enamors him and we
must meet her in her house where she is powdering her nose and
believing in God.
It is 7:00 now. The writer and the prodigy are leaving the coffee
shop with the prodigy's mother. She is the woman the writer
loves. Her name is Kimberly Vegas. She is a redhead who dresses
well and speaks humbly about the accomplishments of her sun. She
cares about all that treat her well and has been rather blessed,
but that is balanced by her untimely luck as of late. Her father
has died young and her mother is heartbroken. They never smoked.
Kimberly does. She wants to quit as she feels it is a sign of
weakness. She does not know the writer thinks he wrote
"Finnegan's Wake." She wants a stable man with a good job. He
works for the national post, but he is anything but stable. He is
not the writer of the book. The "I" in this book is a postman who
comes to the same coffee shop and knows these three people in a
social way. They do not always look at him with a positive light.
She is the nicest to him. The book shows her as a wonderful
person listening to religious music. This is book three.
He was running with something of a shining light. This would be a
story to cover, once he knew about it. They wanted him to keep
quiet and he told the world. They had not yet tested it enough
and the world wanted an end to logging. The forest that has been
planted keeps reproducing and growing these massively towering
trees that are wide enough to hold themselves up at 200 feet tall
in a matter of months. This sparks controversy and creates debate
among the hippies that genetically engineer feats of nature are
at best a horrid mistake and other great arguments for no GE
crops in our food supply. An argument for it is that humongous
leaves would make lots of air. Forest critters, grass and leave
eating ones, begin to gnaw on the leaves of these giant plants
and the future generations have mutations in the gene pool. Their
children grow like the trees. This gives us giants. Giant cattle.
Some smart guy builds another machine for the cows that are
massive; to create and destroy thousands of cows a day. This is
the one that the gnomes can see heaven with. The hippies that
began in favor of the project protest this vehemently. The gnomes
cannot be seen so those that claim to work for them do not know
that we are simply creating hell that we can see. The trees are
heaven we can see. This is the realization and confirmation of
the eternal soul and god. This is heralding a new age but many
fight to have it banned with the best intentions.
After a couple of years, the Amish get involved and tell the
hippies that they are right to stay on the simple natural path.
Hippies begin to live in the forest and one day and ride horses
through trails under grass. The picture is painted that they are
very small and they come across the giant cows eating the giant
hay. It is okay though, they are like ants. Even as a cow steps
on them, they fit between the blades of grass and the cow's hoove
because the space between atoms in such that the matter is
repelled against the other.
This is how these hippies discover that they can see much smaller
than a quark now. They just have to count the levels of splices
and create names for those that are smaller, because molecules
are much bigger now. String theory is proven. There is, in the
end, a giant amish man, peering down from heaven that is the
giants kingdom. These giants are we in the near future. We have
created the same world, much larger than us.
The prodigy is the one with the answer. He points out that these
inventions are creating a whole new science and that within a
closed environment they could fix one of the woes of the world.
He is against the cattle grower for moral grounds. He feels that
it is wrong for a man to create a life to live like that. It was,
however, a little less than a fortune that he made helping the
The next morning began like any other. Kimberly waked the prodigy
at seven thirty. Silver Lodges was already up, enjoying a cup of
tea and watching the sun begin to shine over the street below his
window. The writer awoke with a fright as he had died in his
dream, creating a worried state in which he had reincarnated and
was his own son.
The prodigy began by reading a book about the struggles of
France. He wondered what the radio was playing and where they
broadcast. Were these the kind that help people pitch in and help
the station? He believed that when he thought he was seeing other
people in his mind, connected in some fashion to a world beyond
his wildest dreams before connected again to a scene far from his
home. These were the basis of some of his ingenious conclusions
and how he became so fluent in minimax.
Silver Lodges wondered why he became so close with the Little Red
Vegas. He had met him through his friend Craft Creasmore and his
girlfriend, the child's mother. The kid was now torn between the
world of a child and the world of great men, told that he was
special and could hold some great secret. He found peace in this
thought. The child had once told him that there was nothing more
to know. So he invented something new.
The writer lay awake in bed scared and feeling the mattress to
resolve that he existed and the grisly scene he left had been a
dream. He smelled smoke and saw Kimberly smoking a cigarette near
the window that curved at the top. She was wearing a cream
colored silk robe and peering out at the sunshine flooding the
And fare thee well that morning, as none of them walked backwards
and if they worked wonder it fixated on dreams. The strength of
his love and the moldable world that lay in front of him said
strongly that he had not written one note that mattered yet. He
felt a deep despair and asked Kimberly why. She smiled and told
him that he was getting older and one day would realize that
nobody ever really felt very good. He was a successful writer and
had many books to be published yet. The job provided for he
family and she loved him, so that was what mattered. So Craft
stood naked from the bed and got dressed.
As he walked down the stairs, mail came through the door and he
picked it up. He saw that there was a note from Level Sprite. He
opened it with zeal, as she always spoke in riddles. The poem
If right while they roam
Pass not what they know
Ask left the time
Level Sprite says to me
Writing a day away from London
The little lights are true in time
And the world is getting electric
It's the light of these designs
Spell right of the ego
The discontent and rain
Nights and filled spaces
Just dreams of lights design
But I have found my shelter
Lined paper and a pen
If it is right they know
Level Sprite says to me
And because of this Craft Creasmere began to write this book. He
was tired, but he wanted to make an entire pile of paper to show
to girls. He claimed he was a writer. The newspaper usually had a
story by him. They would ask for one today. But it wouldn't be
this prose that he whispered to his pen and scribbled illegibly
in a notebook.
It was at university that my path changed, he would relate. I
wanted to make a difference and I thought tattletale might be a
good path. That thought escaped from him magically. It
serendipitously led this man to a particular outlet he remained
in touch with from that point forward. It gave him the idea that
something peculiar would happen today.
The writer drank some juice and had a cookie as breakfast. He
looked disgruntled so Kimberly Vegas walked towards him. He told
her that something was going to break today. He dreamed that he
was dieing. That meant his life would change. She put her hand on
the table and said, "Just let me get that napkin from you. I hope
the best for all your dreams. We both do."
There are neighbors who only come out at night.
One of the two has to go away on a trip. And what is this trip?
It is a label left open for a massive prequel explaining why they
must. These patrons are detailed in many fashions because they
become a leader of the free world. These people explain that they
cannot spell their hard formulas and the prodigy maybe goes for a
chess tournament and comes back or something. Who knows, this is
of course, the beginning stage of a communal book written by at
least three people.
"Maybe talk to that councilor you know, he's always sucking the
government teat. He knows what the new plans are and what needs
to be said."
"I need something bigger than that. They are paying me to be
ahead of the game."
"Would you like me to call him for you? I can always get a story
out of him."
"I'd rather you didn't. I'll see him at the coffee shop. We have
a good repoire."
She began to press the buttons on the phone. Craft stopped her
and took the phone from her hand. He hung it on the wall with a
clang. Instead of arguing she began to make the morning coffee.
The poor sap was acting crazy. He was using the last of his
charisma to charm her. The lady smiled. He winked, cartoon sized.
And he left the room, holding his cookie. There were a lot of
crazies in this town, but a successful eccentric made his own
philosophies. She had seen him walking up the street singing and
expected something like that from today.
Two green men from before, these shaded spheres with legs and
eyes marched barefoot in front of him. The changing colors of the
road around him and speaking to the man he knew. The creatures
spoke in clear tongues. Craft shifted in his chair, his
imagination was running away. He was enamored by the creatures
and wanted to put them in a book. His breathe became tight and he
needed to travel, maybe write a book. This man knew and never
mentioned his in words. They laughed and crossed in front of him.
Had he wronged his girlfriend? She was a soul at his service. It
was tearing him up inside. He felt certain it was something in
the heart. They made pills for that. He knew he had a heart
because he felt it bump. The two pulses were muscles. Muscles
were skin. Skin was replaceable. He knew the reasoning made no
sense. And now she had to leave town. He would keep her with him
over the month she was gone. He would write her letters, and
teach the prodigy everything he learned. Though the child was
often wiser than he. Those words were just filler.
And he needed this story to keep his job. So when his friend
Silver Lodges tells him of his new invention he says he must
report on this story. He protests, because he has not tested it
enough to go public. Craft goes ahead with it anyways. He will
lose his job if he does not. It is a self-centered move. Once the
world knows, he must demonstrate the invention and it seems
wonderful. The machine is built. Logging changes.
Shit hits the fan.
The momentum carries the whole situation far out of control.
Other parties are using his patents to create machines that make
cow worlds, for growing and harvesting cows, but I think I said
that. The tree-growing machine our heaven, and we don't even know
it. The cow-growing machine must be visible hell. We are creating
visual God. The visual eternal soul, the computers that regulate
and measure levels in these machines are measuring the very
essence of life.
The forests outside become giants and these giant cows are in
charge. These giants are the visual world of the Gods. We have
created our destruction, but it is benevolent.
These benevolent giants become normal in the world. We are like
ants and airplanes are wasps and stuff. This is a funny story.
Giant hippies and cattle.
They must ask advice from the Wise Turtle.
This cat lives on an island in the south Pacific. His cave is
just big enough for him to weather storms in and he spends most
his time on the beach, in a grove. He doesn't move much as he is
near 400 billion years old. The all seeing and all knowing
tortoise explains that nobody really knows anything and that any
statement by a creature is not a divine statement thus, any
statement is false including this statement. Because there are
some true statements, most are created in the human experience.
The world can be viewed in many ways so no one way can be true.
But he is probably wrong to most people's reality.
This is the reality of an old tortoise.
He would like to become a giant, to move to the giant world and
transcend his form. He accepts that he must stay to guide these
people through the visualization of eternity that is newly
happening to this group of souls. These people stay far from this
reality, basing the inferences on their natural environment, and
only overtones of spirituality should be said.
These people are thinking clearly and not wanderers nor wonder
about these questions but the child, with his mind filled with
fantasy, finds solace in these quandaries and the answers of the
tortoise. It is just him in the woods with the turtle. This
should deal with these issues in a children's literature manner.
It would give the effect it was like Alice in Wonderland… Just
thinking. IT should be something that can be loved by children
and actually understood by adults. Two stories, one about magic
turtles and science and one about string theory, genetic
modification and visual heaven and hell.
There is also a lady who sells plants. She is in tears right now
because she sold a plant that was a dear friend. These are the
advantages of being a flower. I can't publish that in both we
have to be here so this city is a pyramid somewhere and book
three. But I think of that lady today, as I bought a plant that
was large from a small shop and the lady seemed to need the money
more than the companionship of her friend. This must be
make-believe though, right? She sold me the plant for 5 dollars.
Deliverance of conscience holds no fortitude for one who has
wronged another. Steeped in guilt he fretted all night, tossing
to and fro in the chains of remorse. There is no moral course for
the hedonist that will satisfy, nor is there release for one who
is unjustified by consequence though surely reaps a deeper love
due to his fallacy.
What rose could endure mistrust, or breach of trust what hope is
there in the false promise of repentance?
"The possibility, in return, of a soverigen place for us to rest,
is founded by the relinquishing belief that we can and must hold
a likeness to our kin."
"What is it that we are left with now?"
"These sun spots haunted our places as the scientist quietly
wrote notes of lonesome moral soltitude like it was a ghastly
misfortune, brought upon a vanquished king as sunspots lacking
the effort to burn his eyes. Where are we now?"
"We are here, in this room."
"I understand we are in this room, but where is the room."
"On the street."
"I understand we are on the street, where is the street?"
"In this city."
"I know we are in the city, where is the city?"
"The city is in this country, sir."
"That is not what I am asking. For how can we be sure that we are
in any particular place at a given time? That is a great mystery
of life. Where, truly, are we?"
WE HAVE ONLY Holy GIANT COWS and Infinite trees that continue to
grow until they are too massive to stay on this planet. The
symmetry of this world will be abruptly altered. We may have to
worry about the balance of our rotation. We must plant these
trees directly across the world from those that are growing, and
The world is vast, and the mountains are not directly balanced.
We are fine. There nothing to worry about but those gigantic
"BUT THE GIANT COWS! What will become of us, will we become their
cud?" intervened a fearful Fred Brown, a noted volunteer fire
fighter in the town of Steeple House
Nay, if it weren't for the cows which will feed in the grove and
keep balance under our trees our toes would be to big for our
"But the cows are only over here!" Shouted another affrighted
Not to worry they will breed.
THEIR KIND WILL SPREAD! THEIR KIND SHALL SPROUT! Shouted the
Just then the scientist realized what he had down and bowed out
leaving the crowd to their own devices.
Lights flickered and groaning air breathed in waves.
It was as if pillars were collapsing his mind.
The prickling woods stood open and tall.
Level sprite enters intent on telling the people, "What's done is