Copyright 2017 Richards Hall and e.
Published by Richards Hall and e. at Shakespir
The Lost Tribe of Saturn
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Some opening fictional points before you’re completely lost, before it’s all completely out of order.
(The true fictionalized entertainment will immediately commence following the aforementioned points which immediately follow now – now follow – only faster. The point is this is not about the points, which are a fictional pre-amble.
You were warned about order, now you should be prepared if you didn’t take that warning seriously.)
One, arc’ing and pyramids, synchronicity and order – in a fictional sense.
And egging, accounting for all variety of egg-based production and reproduction.
***Side bar – arc’ing is a quirk word, almost like a weed, and there will be a few more, but they will not be ongoing, and are prone and primed to be pulled. The word-garden will be gard’ed. Re-gard’ed.
Okay, it might get messy. Bring your boots and gloves if you got ‘em. The prissy type might want eye protection – Sissy!!! Back to you, Sir Arthur . . .
There is to the egg a fixed-time element. For EARTHverse 444 Eartheners – and hold that idea for now – it is ten months, give or take a few minutes. There is an element of peril, a necessity of change, and arc’ing and synchronicity exist for rescue. If they aren’t a reality, final jeopardy comes into play.
If they are a reality, final jeopardy may be in play.
(Sub-point one.one. It’s assumed you are a nine-monther, and that’s all a Saturnite would care about you if any were around – that you could be nummm’ber’ed, inside and out. For the sake of cover and the comfort of blending in, you should now forget that. Pretend, as I will, that you are a ten-monther listening to a Saturnite, maybe just a wanna-be Saturnite, which will save us the embarrassment of losing all your attainments on an all so final final-jeopardy question, or maybe vacate the premises already – and hold that idea for now if you don’t yet feel the urgency or call to vacate. If you do, didn’t I tell you not to take the laxative yet?
Fortunately, there is a second rescue source, a back-up to arc’ing and synchronicity – pyramiding and order. Pyramiding and order are the mimicked unto artistic reproduction of arc’ing and synchronicity, and they had better mimic well because that’s all you have after the fixed time element is broken, as it must be.
With a little discipline, all is relatively well.
With a lot of discipline, all is relatively better, but as Saturnites will tell you, enough is enough. All flight all the time is too much.
That may be sound, true advice, but don’t trust a Saturnite. You can trust them to be true, but true isn’t always good for you. You as a lone you. That’s the bitchin’ truth about true, you don’t always want to know once you do.
Good news good news good news, there is potentially potential for a third rescue source from peril – Saturnites.
Isn’t that just peachy.
Saturnites, as in the former inhabitants of SATURN, even if not people, before place hatched open and sanctuary of egg destroyed.
One might say grid was destroyed even as eggness remained. In point of fact, I will. Or let’s say I did.
And Saturnites, a well-ordered not-people, arc’ed away in pursuit of new grid, chasing the call of the wild. More or less. Let’s say SATURN’ixm arc’ed away from demolished grid, but not chasing anything. It may be that SATURN’ixm is the structural integrity element of grid. An invisible infinite.
More or less. The word and reality of grid was one thing to ten-monthers and not a thing at all to Saturnites. A whole different science was in play, which again, was a word and reality that was one thing to ten-monthers and nothing to Saturnites.
Again with more or less. Saturnites thought of SATURN’ixm as spontaneous imagination, and further that SATURN’ixm was the fuel that Saturnites generated from, if the correct additives could be found, starting with grid.
Is that clear? If you hadn’t picked up on it, that ‘the’ word was a coming into being thing for Saturnites but not for SATURN’ixm.
Hmm, that may have made things worse.
Consider that everyone similar to a ten-monther has a similar science. A nine-monther has a similar word science. Anything not similar has a different science. Yes, similar has point of view-ability and applied judgment. Similar may not in absolute fact be similar. Nonetheless, anything not similar and out of sight and out of the ball park might be SATURN’ixm. Anything, but not everything.
It was little more than the reflection of some of the on-going scenery as it were.
A reflection of going without similarity. A reflection of go-ists.
A reflection of ghosts.
Before the fact.
(Sub-point one.two, and a little less fictional. These points were written after the fact to support what is. They do not necessarily synchronize one to one with what is because they can’t, but neither do the story inhabitants synchronize with the at large belief systems. If you persevere, some day you will understand, not that that’s necessarily always a good thing.)
(Sub-sub-point one.one.one and vacating the premises. For ten-monthers those premises were the after-life. The after-life as in the left-behind continuity of others, not your own after-life as a one on one ten-monther. Your own is an unknown. You, again, as pretending to be a ten-monther, or actually was been, truth be told, badly told, but told. All that is known with much certainty was who passed off their after-life attainments to you, or at least gave and potentially taught you attain-ability.
Along with attainments, they passed off coming and going, along with imminent implosion and messy remains sprung from the weight of scarring caused by too much disorder coming and going.
After-life is a squishy element made up of misnamed, not-infinity-bending words such as space and time. The Saturnites saw it as stew, as in the at large ten-monther’s after-life, which a you as a Saturnite might harvest as your very own one on one, and on and on, after-life. Harvest, not use as your own. Yuck.
To wit, go go go.
OH, yes, they were go-ists all right.
(Sub-point one.three. Ideally a story should tell itself without too much narration necessary. Maybe not always ideally. This first zone clip, which we haven’t even gotten to yet, is very narrated, with the hope it will kick-start the story to help you get the idea that where the story is coming from is where you’re going to, and you won’t know what’s happening until you get there. That’s how truth works. I’ll explain later. I admit I’m bad at this. Steering words through after-life glop is toil’ous to master. Words like toil’ous are Saturnite words, and, like Saturnites, will be going. There’s a little transition to endure first. I think you will find when we get there, that the plot is pretty straight-forward, run of the mill life and death.
Maybe we’ll have someone run through a mill and ground to glop. Would you like that? Let me know who, I’m all ears.)
Arc’ing, pyramids, synchronicity, and order, and egging, and and and . . . immaturity.
Immaturity is the path to maturity, and the path is always there, an infinite, taking passage perhaps first through an infant. Spring exposes, releases and champions immaturity, while fall puts it to rest, puts it to sleep, or puts it down. You don’t really want to lose it, you may want and need to exercise it, but you need to watch out for it, in more manners than you might possibly be able to account for. Immaturity is THE great flaw. The work-around to get around on the path to maturity. Work it out or else.
Then work it out again.
Two, yes, we’re only at two. This is like a long count in football. Hike! Hike? WTD does that mean? There are three routes to great grid – invading, colonizing and arc’ing. Conquering and the tourist industry are two other big routes, but those last two in’void the greatness of grid through barbar’ixm.
Invasion incorporates the extension of a going grid. Colonization is creating a new independent grid. Colonization may start out as invasion, but time will tell what it really was. With both invasion and colonization there is a grid to return to. Arc’ing is flight without grid in sight, in front or behind. No egg to protect you.
No egg shell with structural integrity intact, along with no egg to protect you.
Nor any nest to call home.
Rest assured or not, when the Saturnites got started with wording they were not attempting a biblical vocabulary list.
Invasion, colonization, more or less, and either can be more or less hostile or benign.
Extended arc’ing taught the Saturnites benign’nity. Unless you are expert, do not try pronouncing that word. Unless you are expert, yes, that is what I said. Yes, I also said barbar’ixm. That said, there are many Saturnite words you should not try pronouncing. Saturnites were a queer sort of egg, queer in that they had a whole slew of words, both easy to pronounce and otherwise, that they couldn’t begin to pronounce. Not until they adapted specialized tongued-mouths for speech, which occurred during the adaptation zone between SATURN’ixm and Saturnite.
Arc’ing also taught them adaptive intelligence. Adaptive intelligence does not have to be taught to be learned, but it can be. It can be enhanced, you might say, and perhaps most efficiently through narration. “Say mama. Say mama. Say mama. Damn you to hell, say mama.”
Say uncle all you like, I will not be stopped.
Counter to adaptive intelligence is generic intelligence. Once tongued, the Saturnites referred to generic intelligence as the Narrator, and adaptive intelligence as was taught smartly was considered to be editing of the Narration.
Adaptive intelligence smartly taught left generic intelligence intact and potentially enhanced. Adaptive intelligence smartly taught was the Saturnite big to-do.
(Sub-point 2.1, under petition to be a full point. Items happen in ones. Things happen in two’s. Else’s happen in three’s. Others happen in five’s. Apostrophe’s happen haphazardly. Infinite’s happen in OH’s, with the H bridge to help protect you from falling in. An H bridge is a must for any designer with any maturity.
This sub-point is a situation where the numbers passing through their word names may make clearer sense than the infinite’s, which isn’t necessarily saying much.
A little about items. Items are right as is. Items are not true as is because of mis-timing of as is. As is, as words, come after the fact. They fictionalize what was, even as is.
Using two words to describe any item as is wrongs what is. Of course you may want to wrong what is, as it may have it coming. Does describing mountains as Vortex Mountains wrong mountains? Only if you, out of immaturity, valid immaturity as a given, assume all mountains are Vortex Mountains. Those would be the Vortex Mountains.
In other words, any item prefaced with an adjective is wronged by the adjective as the adjective fictionalizes it further, and who wants to be fictionalized? Maybe people who want to do you wrong?)
Three, and so easy, bringing us and them to the EARTHverse. Yes, us is iffy. So’s them. I try to be selective with words but sometimes you just have to go with the flow.
Or go with the go.
Let’s say bringing us and them up to date, not to the EARTHverse, skipping the years involved growing those tongued-mouths and otherwise adapting, living hand to mouth, near mouth and no mouth, even if not in that order, hiding in the Vortex Mountains.
The Vortex Mountains?
Say where? you ask.
The Vortex Mountains as on EARTHverse 444, per the count of EARTHearth.
EARTHearth, once a place of SATURN class egg-ness . . . and similar but not the same . . . was ready when it hatched, with inhabitable EARTHverse at hand.
That’s what you call planning.
A nest as it were, made of nests to be and room for more.
It’s not a visual situation, so don’t try. You can’t see to-be . . . not yet, factoring in constant not yet on the infinity timing scale. You can just maybe see the where, the wanna-be where, of to-be.
Did that sound like a warning?
Or do me wrong if you must or can. Me, I, you, us, them, they, he, she. What they are is identifiers. Do they really work?
Are you a not yet?
I don’t care. I don’t want to know.
It’s totally a worded situation, or wiiir-D’ed, as the Saturnites would say, as the Saturnites would say what they think, as wiiir-D’ed sounds exactly like worded. Go ahead and say it aloud, you won’t sprain a tooth unless maybe you’re a debater in a presidential debate. Yes, that may be out of place, but hardly out of order. Could I be any more pleasant?
In other wiiir-D’s, you are now only so up to date, as you most assuredly are not on EARTHverse 444, which was dominated by ten-monthers. Per my count you are on EARTHverse 666, and a nine-monther, which is a bit troubling as the original order did not call for thousands of EARTHverses.
AH! Ask a mature’er Saturnite than me and they would tell you the original order did call for thousands of EARTHverses, as ordered by the Narrator no less, and Saturnites had been arc’ed to EARTHverse 444 to complete the job started by the EARTH’eners of Verse 444.
Telling you more right now would be telling it too fast, and most likely you only have two ears. But for those who just can’t wait, yes, the Saturnites were arc’ed to every EARTHverse in potential form as SATURN’ixm. An EARTH’ener might call SATURN’ixm pre-mind mind-waves.
Ghostly might without ghosts.
Saturnites did not always make it and thus didn’t always or even regularly take place. Sometimes they totally missed. Which adds up to sometimes coming up short and sometimes passing it by. Coming up short left it up to SATURN’ixm to get the job done. Fortunately, passing it by meant another try for Saturnites to take place with SATURN’ixm as their guide, the Narrator, if and once place was established for tales and tells.
As for me, I am not really narrating nor a Narrator. I just play one on paper, maybe sometimes echo’ing the Narrator as I edit this numbered, punctuation’al hell zone.
I didn’t really just call it that, did I?”
The Saturnites had a philosophy about the Narrator they referred to as the philosophy of entertainment. POE.
Sorry, this is point four.
Four’s, as if anyone cares.
The philosophy was a constant with Saturnites, wherever they generated, commencing with the Narrator advertising by Wiiir-D.
The fancy shenanigan’s surrounding that last BOO are optional, and pricey.
BOO wasn’t supposed to scare Saturnites to attention, nor scare them away, but it did instill the double OH connection with the near-infinite, near-symbol of infinity, OO. All that was missing was a near-nudge from the left or right to bring the OH’s together.
The only hope for infinity is that it is only a near-idea, one that can’t come into being enough to go out of being. If infinity indeed couldn’t be spent, the next best scratching posts were infinites, synchronizing-infinites working backwards, which is taking us nowhere at the moment.
Again, I am being pleasant. You just don’t know it, even as I tell you.
Looking back at that tongued-mouth situation, and the growth of voice, Saturnites mimicked the local language to adapt, and not just the language, but also the whole communication system of the EARTHverse, which was much more sophisticated than EARTH’eners were willing to acknowledge, who were really themselves little more than ‘uh’ people, where-in Saturnites as assimilated were ‘OH’ people.
Assimilated as in assimilated with EARTH’eners as fused with SATURN’ixm. The stumbling block was a synchronicity at play that EARTH’eners literally ran from, grasping commercialized spirituality as a steering wheel, being pulled into corporations that wanted to assimilate them into corporate families of love based on the loving to buy from them and into every last lie they could peddle. Get on their e-mailing list. Think of buying from them everyday. Who else are you going to shop from everyday? They don’t love you like we do. They who? The four’s, number’skull.
Obviously only an utter spi’zazz is going to buy from someone everyday, but it doesn’t hurt to just consider the possibility. That’s being mature and prudent in case your lover needs another buck to get by, and that is a constant.
Some grasped the wheel of commercialized spirituality. Too many, and the too many number-count always starts at one. It’s just a you that makes any difference. Or doesn’t. Go on already and add a tat to a too many too, as a tattoo is like a cartoon oath of sameness along with a religious blood vow of infinite conformity with and to tatta’zoids, all musin’ on adding that suave bearded-yokel aspect to the stew mix.
Too many, depending on your point of view. To some it was the more the merrier. If you want to strip a planet to grid as fast as possible, people it. Is it you are just a piece of the scenery, or, dammit, are you are an integral piece of scenery? If the crush of immaturity has eliminated your quest to hold your piece, eliminating a piece of Verse on the way to grid, well, what the heck, you may already be backing a winner.
As the EARTH’eners fled, and the Saturnites filled in the spaces left behind with their machinery of scenery, their work got on track, which they realized was as hard-wired as that of birds that fly back and forth, north and south, over and over, keeping flight in play showing the way to the next big thing, as opposed to the big last thing, the corrosive that would reduce Verse 444 to pure grid.
Terminal immaturity and it’s legion of champions.
A good time for some mathing maturity. Two wrongs do not make a right, they say. Two negatives do not add up to a positive, they also say. They also say a negative times a negative makes a positive. To sum up, maturity is a sign of the times, or it is not.
On the other hand, now math says, in a trycky backwards way via imaginary numbers, albeit kind of neat, that a negative times a positive can make a positive, and no way are you going to see what’s coming next.
Do you really even need math to imagine imaginary numbers? Everything is an image, or vision, or image of a vision, and vision belongs to the image apart from when you let an image’s vision in through those two image holes in your head. In conclusion, all visions are imagined, true or not. And here’s a tease – the contrary of true is not false, true’s contrary is time, but time isn’t necessarily true. So that works as far as that goes.
As far as flying goes, the Saturnites had not flown to EARTHverse 444.
They arc’ed, which for them was little more than a drop once SATURN’ixm had a place for them to pool. To pool out of. To not pool in. Etc?
As far as for the EARTH’eners fleeing, another flight not involving flying, necessarily, even as it played into the hands that Saturnites had adapted much as they adapted tongued-mouths, they had no issue with them staying. Even as the corrosion provided them with a clean slate to work with, the Verse itself comfortably cushioned the grid.
In other words, the Saturnites were not a threat to EARTH’eners, not as much as EARTH’eners were, unless it were that there was a third party in play that would bring war to the Saturnites and put EARTH’eners in the way.
Again, the risk of too much information too soon, and some may be repeated too soon. So get set . . . the story begins . . . on the mark . . . of the echo . . . of the Narrator.
OH >>> O <<< HO
(. . . and away we go . . .)
“You have to wonder if she isn’t a full-blooded ‘nite,” said Ted. ‘Nite as in Saturnite. Or Ted Knight as in representative blow-hard buffoon. More to the point, Ted was speaking to Mr. Mulligan. Ted Logic was, not Ted Knight.
Mulligan. Hark Mulligan, and few spoke to Hark Mulligan and lived to tell about it.
OH, heck, he wasn’t that bad.
Most Saturnites migrated to Bossche Bol, and a so-called true Bossche Boler was a Saturnite, whereas a regular Bossche Boler, i.e. if she, was not, although they might possibly be a potential convert’ee to SATURN’ixm.
As for convert’ee to full assimilate’ee, that is a process, and we do not have the time to detail it. Not unless there’s a Rumpelstiltskin out there with a time-making spinning-wheel.
Trust me, funny sounding wording is on a list of words to be repaired or expelled – by Saturnites no less, who are responsible for the funny-sounding words. In point of fact all words sounded funny to Saturnites, and whereas if she meant if she, at one point the Saturnites had puzzled at the sound she made and might wonder if she? – wondering if that word, she, was the word to use.
Heck, I hope you weren’t thinking the sound she made was an ongoing stream of nonsense.
HO HO HO, OH no.
Yes, ‘tis another constant that I sleep alone. Still, it leaves room for me to rock and roll. Youch.
Bossche Boler is a keeper, like it or not.
On the other hand, the Saturnites didn’t come up with Saturnite. As the story opens, Saturnite wasn’t even a word in regular use and that opening remark was a fiction. It’s being used as a public service for the Wiiir-D’able public at large.
Hark scowled. “She is not,” he said. Nor would she ever be a Saturnite, as far as he was concerned, having tried at that assimilation in every manner possible without success.
Actually, Hark, in this instance the word would be conversion. Maybe you were going at if she wrong.
The if she was Grace Pobbible. Grace, something of a full-blooded demon-ness as far as Hark was concerned, if even just a she-fiction, had beaten Hark and the local order’zation at cracking the local potential code.
Some of the code, as in that of blue potential. And there was always potential for more blue potential. Not so with red potential, which someone else had gotten a hand on already, putting Hark between a rock and a hard place, accounting for his ongoing orneriness, which subjugated his ordering-ness. OH yes, underlings regularly mocked him behind his back calling him, His Orderliness.
Potentials, collect them all. Break the color barrier, or just crack the code, even just a bit, and you would be going places.
As for the ‘nites, they wanted to go go go.
Said them. Drop drop drop, I say. Hold on, contradiction is going to abound.
Contradiction is going to abound.
Just sayin’. Re-sayin’, for dramatic effect, which again, is pricey.
As such, Grace had a big one-step head start, and she took her step and came down right on the Saturnites.
As for the local order’zation, that would be the order of Mulligan’s Magyck’s and Industry’s. You might call MMI the business end of the Lost Tribe, as in the business end of a machete, and a machete is mostly end. At least the end half is . . .
Uh . . .
For the first time adventurer, beware anything coming out of the mouths or off of the fingers of the Lost Tribe. There are two reasons for that. One, they couldn’t reason. They were built for exploitation for the sake of intelligence as a fully synchronized us, which you might say is them, having survived, intact, the demolition of their egg. As such, they were friendlies. Argue that as you may, at least they weren’t malevolents.
Does anyone think lions ever think any of their behavior is offensive? Malevolent? Or is that innocent expression they wear just an act? “Who me? Who are you looking at?”
Order’zation was another wanna-be word they cooked up that they thought synchronized with the local chatter. When the day came a Saturnite in-the-know saw you puzzling at a word of theirs, the word would be expelled from their vocabulary. But you already knew that. Sort of.
So say good bye to order’zation.
“So long, order’zation, we barely ever knew ‘ye.” Actually, order’nation was the pre-idea, call it wishful thinking, and the ‘nites knew straight off that wouldn’t fly.
Not that Saturnites were about order. They were opponents of not-order, which like everything Saturnite, was trycky. The Saturnite concept of order was on the order of wisely located stop signs, but wisdom has it’s price. And cost. Thus traffic controllers turn sadist, due to be shot on sight.
Reason two, well, we’ve touched on reason two, the nites had no natural language – none whatever, they hadn’t even heard of language before – they just had the intelligence to adapt, which started at growing mouths and fingers. And ears, which may explain something.
From ears does timing evolve. And revolve.
At least that was where intelligent Saturnite adaptation started. A thing of generic intelligence at play with applied intelligence, although applied intelligence might be better called smartness, which was the exploitative colonization of intelligence, for better or worse.
As for the race to crack the potential code, the ‘nites were racing against the Earth’eners, another Wiiir-D doomed. As for that race, there were two entirely different runs taking place as the Earth’eners were not interested in potential. They were more hell bent on creating grid, on the way to gridlock, and the Saturnites were after grid-creation by-product – potential. Potential, the juice of life and beyond, and don’t confuse that with juicy water.
Frankly, the only true valuable about water is that is carries go. It is not the only carrier, but it is a bully, a major bully, about keeping it’s hand in play.
It was a relatively equitable arrangement. As for the ending, end-point of the race, the Saturnites were out for all the potential they could lay their adapted hands on before gridlock did what it did and all access to potential was cut off.
Grace Pobbible was truly an Earth’ener of Earth’eners, and that would be an EARTHverse 444 Earth’ener. I think I finally got it, but if by chance you ever see Earth’ener spelled wrong, please just shoot me, or just mail me a bullet. Earth’ener, like me, doomed but not dead yet. EARTHverse 444 as in not an Earth you might have in mind, you. Yes there is a connection, at least enough so as you should be able to keep up as you catch up with vocabulary even as vocabulary will fall back to ease your way in.
Here’s a tip, potential and synchronicity had a relationship in the mind’s eye of the Saturnites. They felt unlocking that relationship would reveal a key.
They just knew it. Just as birds know how to fly without knowing what would happen if they just decided to stop in mid-distance. In fact, they see themselves on a flat plane skipping distances between points, sometimes pausing to hold place, not that they truly see themselves that way. Any more explanation would only make it less true, and birds live dangerously enough as is.
Something else ‘nites just knew but didn’t quite digest was the mix of intelligence, smartness, brightness, potentiality and . . . stew mix?
It was the stew mix mystery that utterly ka’bibbled them. Spontaneous imagining? With or without limitations? It was a mystery that cost them free will in exchange for happy ordering and editing of Narration, which took place as the mathing out of attainments into win wins, which takes very trycky, very old math.
Much like Saturnites, EARTHverse 444 Earth-people – yes, mission control, EARTH’ener has been jettisoned, over – were exploitative colonizers, seeking new fully-versed grid to house EARTH Earthearth-people, which would be not a you, you, whatever monther.
Much like Saturnites, depending on how that arc’ing ultimately played out. As for the grid, that would be grid that wouldn’t lock them in, while locking trouble out. FYI, if you ever wonder if there’s an implied insult behind any use of you, the answer is no, there isn’t.
That’s what you call political savvy.
No, this is perhaps not such an easy ease-in. It may seem lumpy right now, but the words will smoothen even as they flatten, once this opening narration ends, if ever.
- A spare grid in point of fact, even if a lessor grid, but a good-enough grid should bad-enough trouble ever work it’s way into the home grid and a retreat needed to retreat to.
Hmm, the mysterious home grid that had supposedly been demolished.
Bad-enough-bad as in any bad you might call bad based on personal theology. As in anything you might not want to do without. What’s worse? No salvation or no hope for salvation. Or anything. The bad about salvation was the call for discipline. Hero’ism, on the other hand, can be quick and easy. At least it can be quick and over. Soldiers don’t have belly-flop on a hand grenade training. Do they?
Not needing anything is something of a compromise, tempered by the nature and skill of the compromise-er. The greater grid does not need you, tomorrow, if you do the right thing, today. Sort of like that wimpy deal about Tuesdays and hamburgers, and rainy days and Mondays.
In Saturnite you would say compromise’er. That will become noteworthy if it isn’t.
For someone like Grace Pobbible the question was, why not a better grid?
Well, Grace, for one thing, that sort of question always leads to a fight.
Yes yes yes, it is a busy busy time of it feeling compelled to talk to everyone at once.
Enter written word, where you can try to speak in tongues without using one.
Bitchin’, which is what this mostly is.
Gridwiiir-K sounds like the name of a fairy book character, doesn’t it?
At least it looks it. Very olde English, which I so dearly hate.
Just to set the record straight, Earth’eners, as fading echo and as smart fiction machines, did grid work. In a not so smart fashion, they corroded the grid as they spent away the Verse, which all in all was a trycky occupation much in need of the assistance of something like SATURN’ixm.
When SATURN’ixm didn’t work, enter Saturnites. If neither worked, it got complex.
To set the record straighter, when the grid got rusted it was corrosion and it corroded. When the Verse got spent, it was success. When the grid was rusted just right, slightly decayed away, and just enough Verse was spent, the go passing through the just opening away grid made a sound.
You guessed it. BOO. BOOooo…
It was inevitable and repeat-able when conditions were right. It signaled that the EARTH Earthearth-people were on the way to the final answer, bare grid, and from there be done and gone, satisfied they had given their best, done their worst and failed. Failed away, flailing away, making way for a next EARTHverse. There’s a technical expression for the process – wanton d’ucking idiocy. Could it be the Saturnites had a finger issue involving the letter ‘F’? Could be. It’s sort of a corroded ‘E’.
Well, isn’t it?
As long as a next EARTHverse was started . . . starting with the idea that – yes, an EARTHverse was a good idea – a new EARTHverse would start. Like it or not. I think that makes sense. You tell me.
And all in all Saturnites were just out for enough grid to take with them as a souvenir without a big to-do or fight, meaning they were more than satisfied leaving some grid and Verse intact behind them, or a lot behind, playing into the hands and ears and behinds of the next EARTHverse. Again, enough to-do and fight was enough, even as old Verse EARTH Earthearth-people weren’t giving up any grid without a fight while any Verse was intact.
Let’s clarify again. Grid was not created, it was already there, as is, as fictionalized. What the EARTH Earthearth-people did was nothing, as in nothing to the Verse, rendering it nothing, leaving behind grid and gridlock – mined mind-ness that could not be tampered with because nobody wanted to tamper with it, which took a lot of nothing and nobody.
All in all just a big, white, light hole to call home. A big, light, white hole? That may need a visit to the shoppe.
In a big picture sense, a parent was an infant’s grid lock – were you thinking on other lines? – the ultimate point of protection that depended on a degree of open access to their offspring by well intention’ed friendlies watching their back, and watching where that infant, once mobilized, might be headed should it defiantly get off track, maybe making a mad dash towards traffic. Yesssiree, that street in front of the house is like the call of the wild.
A vortex of distancing and death, and, in some places, such as say EARTHverse 444, made all the more vicious and deadly by . . .
Trust me, it’s rudeness or anger or nothingness, and I can’t write a thing when I’m angry.
And being rude gets ob’sticular.
So paint in your own opinion of bad as in what you could do without. This is me doing nothingness, and I’d say doing it well. As opposed to, say, discussing obesity’mobiles, that still allowed for flab to overlap, scrape the ground, leaving behind a slime trail of bile and entrails. Not a pretty picture, no, and the stench is going to poison and kill you. On the same line, bringing even more weight, are me’mobiles hauling me’ness. Think that word slowwwlllyyy. Meee’nnnesss. What it is is what it is. Gross and grotesque exploitation of immaturity and all other.
Sometimes I gotta be me, editor-in-training, holding out my fingers to get whacked by a ruler.
Speaking of all other, other was of the five’s, and the big five, biggest five, comprised devilry.
Devilry one, being killed and eaten as food. It happens. It’s like complaining about the weather to complain.
These are not in any order.
Devilry two, being eaten to be killed. Youch! Which includes being eaten to be killed to be further eaten. I’ve seen lions do it to an elephant. Not pretty.
Devilry three, being killed as an act of maturity to stem the tide of immaturity. It’s generally tied to war, but maturity may not have been in place to stem the act of maturity in the first place. Or maybe the second. Note, even devils feel devilry is in contrast to them.
Devilry five, being killed as an act of immaturity.
Devilry five some more, discounting any number. Ooh, a three pointer with a free throw tacked on. You can figure that out if you can do the math, not that I’m hot on hoops.
There then, a house is grid work, a car is grid work, a baseball game is grid work. It’s all about grid work, working at locking everything down. And everything is the plural of item.
At least on EARTHverse 444, where bad time was the curse hidden in darkness.
That’s cryptic. Read into it and risk getting lost at your own risk.
Versus less-smart, arguably, on the way to not-smart, grid unlocking, setting up looters with a back bone of commercialized spirituality. Or is that backbone a gold dingus?
Spiritualiz-ed commercialization? For the record, commercialization is not nearly as bad or hypocritical as make a buck spirituality. It’s as right as immaturity is. Or isn’t.
Nor is anything bad or good per Saturnite point of view, apart from all items being right. How items interact with other items, things, else and other can be deemed to either be working correctly, or contrary to design or desire. There’s room for all manner of classification, but not here. That just wouldn’t be good.
As further for the fiction machine deal, a hand is a fiction based on truth covered with hand-ness. A hand is always immediate when it comes to your attention. Thinking or talking about your hand incorporates hand-ness, the fictionalizing of the story or a story about your hand based on what it was that made you think of your hand. If this read makes you think of your hand, that’s the story. If an itch makes you think of your hand, that’s the story, although an itch might not make you think, just react. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Refer to your personal theology where your concept of good is most likely good enough. Or don’t, just react.
What it was – the ongoing passage of the truth of immediacy – onces, which, yes, are the cousins of black-sheep ounces – fictionalized in the future and proven within fiction, whether true or false as only you know, where your godly judgment goes and stops, goes and stops, goes and stops.
And anyone on Verse 444 was capable of making godly judgment pretty damn mite-sized trite.
And then again, onces can be ongoing, like a house. Once a house, always a house, until it’s something else, based on either fact or just point of view. So immediacy may not be all that time-able, not accurately with a’forethought.
Infinity is only a guess.
Here’s a guess about infinity. When no one’s looking in places one can’t get to, infinity voids itself to create space, room and distance to keep on going, deceiving you with loops, double-backs and double-ups, leaving you with an at large, unregulated, disordered, infinitized counting system on the lines of 1, 2, 3, 1, 1, 4, 5, 6, 5, 4, 4, 4, 1, 1, 1 and so on and so forth, forth, sixth, first . . .
Nyfty tryck. Not? Try explaining that with only an OH so beautiful formula and no tongued-mouth or written wiiir-D’s. Or try explaining it if I didn’t. Is it better to formulate a hard-wired reaction and bypass the chatter? Not in my wiiirl-D or any manner of self-aware wiiirl-D. Watch and see, if it is you still can, quantum mechanics will show it’s face as the formula that disproves ALL formulas.
Wiiir-D’s Wiiir-D’s Wiiir-D’s. May as well get on board unless you prefer the lost soul train. Soon enough the Saturnites will be crawling out of the word work.
Did that sound like a suggestion?
Sue me, I’m listening.
As in making a list, and as of now you are not on it.
Apart from more accessible distance, which is actually a big deal, the up Saturnites had on the rest of the EARTHverse 444 inhabitants was they knew the grid-working nature of those rest, that they were essentially those fiction machines, relentlessly corroding the Verses until all would be fictionalized as grid, the one-word idea, which could be easily erased to clear the board.
Well, successfully corroding the Verses.
Successfully spending, I may have misspoke.
Bad idea? Not from the perspective of EARTH Earth, the heart of EARTHflow where EARTHsong was put in play.
EARTHsong, the engineering of the EARTHverse as comprised of EARTHverses.
Why did EARTHsong get put in play? To get rid of bad time. Something like a heavenly place maintaining itself by disposing of entropy into otherness. Otherness ideally kept at a safe distance.
Distance distance distance. Why such a big? What is in between the immediacy of your hand and the non-immedicacy of your hand? Distance. Fictionalized, randomize-able distance, bringing you back to square one. Congratulations. Your fictionalized hand may go away, but the handness remains with you, within you, even if forgotten most immediately, as you scream in abject agony at the killer-whale that bit it off.
And you’d be a little lucky to scream as another killer-whale buddy no doubt is going to bite your head off right smartly just about now.
You were looking sleepy, I thought I’d liven things up, glop-boy.
Not that that’s a good thing. What does your personal theology tell you?
Here’s the thing about those whales. Imagine you were on a ship in the far south Atlantic that sunk, and you found yourself – you lucky dog, you – an ice flow to rest upon to await the arrival of the rescue helicopter.
I don’t know, that sounds funny.
Say instead killer-whales show up. Killer-whales will eat anything. Why they wouldn’t eat you, I don’t know.
“OH, no, Dominic, don’t eat that. It’s intelligent. It’s wearing shoes.”
Suppose those whales started making waves. Literally, waves. Why? To wash you off of the ice flow to eat you. It’s what they do. Who is more intelligent? Them or you?
Is it that they are more intelligent, or is it that you are immature by being in that situation? Immature in the sense you haven’t figured it all out. No one has.
Immaturity is the stew mix Saturnites couldn’t figure out. It was not a bad item, it was a right item, so they just behaved like machines to get around the issue. Is counting on machines the way to get around immaturity? They may seriously help, but they will do you no good if you aren’t trying or can’t make an effort because you have let yourself be engineered into terminal immaturity.
Immaturity may be a given and may be a must. Reverse engineering is a cancerous degeneracy.
Which may not be a bad thing if you’re a killer whale. The big bad mean kids like being called shark. I don’t know. Sharks don’t seem to utilize team work, but they do have the dull, dead, recessed eyes so in fashion.
And EARTH Earth hadn’t had any idea nor anticipation of Saturnites arriving on the scene. That was an EARTH Earth defect worded over confident. The thinking that the nothing-ness they tried to shove aside couldn’t shove back, and shove back harder.
It was about up.
And we are far from over, even if I have to switch sides to get it done.
I don’t actually know what that means, but it seemed the thing to say. I might guess at what it means, but that doesn’t seem the thing to say.
If anyone is thinking there may be an echo about, they may be right.
And I may be wrong. I make many mistakes, which I do work to correct.
And yet more about distance. Are space and time just badly vocabulari’ized expressions of distance and word? Distancing and word? Distance and wording? Distancing and wording? Any combo?
Let’s garden a bit. The five elements of plants are seed, soil, water, sun and . . . distance. All the first four – four? What the, that’s gotta be wrong – all the first four cover distance and are covered in distance. That cover and covered, that covering en-total is worded, and travels distance, via go.
In conclusion, word is an immature expression of truth, and thanks to timing, truth is not a constant, so there’s no call to get hung-out and dried-up about it.
Pre-conclusion. Actually more a start. Go go go, which might more rightly be expressed as GGG’s.
At Grace Pobbible Industrial Sleep, GPIS, the study of space was the big to-do. Space as was up-close and personal, as space was called space at GPIS, with focus on invisible sleep-space where nothing could get at you.
An ideal Grace wanted to make fact, a sort of intuitive idea tying back and into that spare grid to lock out trouble.
Armed as she was with blue potential to work with, an idea she had assimilated from the mentoring of Mulligan’s Magyck’s and Industry’s, she was empowered to make a grid lock that exceeded any expectations, going so far as to lock the Saturnites in unawares, before they were ready to arc and go. A lot of arc’ing had to do with putting what was in front of you behind you, so you could go go go.
Locked in, the Saturnites had no other option than to make-do, but their making-do lead to all of the other inhabitants of EARTHverse 444 thinking they could make-do, not that there was any sort of synchronicity to that line of thinking.
This missing synchronicity was a loss before it even existed, as EARTHverses flowed up stream via synchronicity, with EARTHverse 1 seemlessly becoming EARTHverse 2, and then EARTHverse 3. Verse 444 did synchronize for a time into Verse 445, but Verse 444 stayed on the scene sticking out like a sore thumb. That didn’t seem to faze Verse 444, but the Saturnites knew – or at first thought – they had to get out of town quick, even if it meant taking some of the locals with them, which was going to be long, slow and trycky going.
With their adapted hands more or less tied and arc’ing on indefinite hold, the Saturnites turned to their next to-do, pyramid’ing.
SO, invisible sleep-space. Let’s look at Grace’s day job a little closer, even if not too closely at the invisible aspect.
I mean, seriously, I’m not nuts.
Blue potential could light up a certain type of time, mind-memory. Certain types. Mind-memory was just the start that was found first. That in itself was a vast frontier, where conquest-one of grid colonization was corralling a mind’s history, which was unwieldy. Dicing it up into pieces showed commercial potential, selling specific knowledge as it were, to service greater grid, of course, keeping it on course.
Keep that orbit tight, kids. Too much litter is going to make it look breaking down and vulnerable.
Weakening, as in the mind’s eye of predators looking for an opening.
Well, servicing greater grid wasn’t Grace’s ideal, but a little blue potential did rub off on her. In point of fact, the goal of generic intelligence as discreetly championed by Saturnites without a major grid of their own to lock down, was chasing infinity, which incorporates the art of distancing – putting as much time-able distance as possible between oneself and imminent final peril. And arc’ing wasn’t arc’ing unless you were looking down the barrel of final peril. And then living to tell about it. The true test of arc’ing was being able to talk about it, begging the question does planet death just represent voided thought awareness of a once home-planet. Even transplanted awareness? Or potential for maturity, even if only a stop gap, as in SATURN’ixm?
Are orbits simply distance gaps protected by wording? Protected why? Do you really want to know? I only ask, I don’t know.
As for lighting up mind-memory, and how lit memory played at chasing infinity, it certainly helps in the chase if you weren’t repeatedly treading over the same territory once all of the useful information was spent. A couple re-visits may be necessary and useful, but enough is enough sometimes.
All in all, the Saturnites marketed the intelligence chase as arc’ing, as in what they preached even as pyramid’ing, the word they used when cornered, was what they practiced, and where they each hid their own personalized arc in a concealed basement, taking into consideration the free-market cosmos community, which we won’t further consider, as they nonchalantly understated the danger of agents of intelligence coming for payback over the intelligence that was exploited away. Maybe it was anyone’s to have or accept, but not to take away and lock away. Intelligence will leak out, as it is smarter and more exploitative than you can ever hope to be, and will eat you away from any variety of egged us, come what may and will.
The Saturnites were into something newer, pyramids that arc’d, that they called synchronicity stations. They were free to call them what they wanted, and they were called all sort of item, as each was unique, free from the religion of conformity to us, if you call that freedom.
Freedom without meaning is a simple invitation to beastly degeneration, where the hunger to tyrannize and consume outweighs the want to be free of it, or just free from the hypocrisy of gloating gods of devil goods and devilry sucking you in. But it’s not about the items and goods of desire, which are all right, it’s about the disorder over distribution. And where can you apply a salvo without the ripping off of a bandage that didn’t work – if you even give a damn?
If words don’t really work this way, maybe they should.
You know how fighter pilots have a little airplane kill painted on their own machine? Well, think the rings of SATURN, not as kills, but as win-wins.
You know what’s up with country music, and songs about HO’s, and out-of-control anti-procreation’al want’appeal? That’s all that’ll be necessary to occupy and cushion the dullard entertainment needs of folks who want to live on Mars, which might be fine and dandy for Martian wanna-be’s hungering for a stark, barren wiiirl-D to do over. As a plus, banshee country shriek works at paint and lessor enzyme removal while low drawl-drool wards off bats. Computers and robots will do anything important enough to be done right. Good entertainment is expensive, discounted by me’ness and thus not cost effective.
Intelligence/Information. Yada yada yada. What is important in your personal theology? That you are free to have one?
As they’d say, it’s only exploitation if someone cares. Keep exploit-ees in the dark and you’re good to go unless you’re ever got, ex’ploit’er. Which of course applies to a EARTHverse 444 Earthearth you-person.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but the I see you fits if the ex’ploit’er shoe fits. You may already not give a damn.
Good, save ‘em all to yourself. Win win.
There were those on EARTH Earth and even SATURN Saturn that felt the colonizers of the EARTHverse were all at base level exploit’ees. Those those could be trouble makers aching for a fight, harking back to why not a better grid? Thus the fantasy of different those thinking that gunning-up, muscling-up and deafeningly dumbing-up, while numbing-up, would put them in good stead come fight night, where they waited in darkness practicing to lose at final jeopardy. Of course that happens elsewhere, if it even does, as previously note and derailed.
And arguably, there was no longer a SATURN Saturn. A big point, as the differentiation between colonizing and arc’ing was that one bought a one-way-only ticket to an arc, and you had better be bringing all the Eco-system, or Eco-system potential you can muster.
Saturnites theorized that Wiiir-D’s were a sort of Eco seed.
For some reason Eco calls for capitalization. I won’t argue. On that note, I also think it stands for ecology, not economy. Your thinking may differ.
Still, perhaps from a do-able perspective, a colonizing space craft filled with economy makes more economic sense than one filled with ecology.
Sheesh, what a mess that would be. Economically, who’d travel better, brilliant money makers or illiterate imbeciles? Who’d travel easier? Would either travel at all if they had to do something for themselves, including employing reason, if only to exist beyond wealth’eringerer’ness and numbness?
Wealth’eringerer’ness, now that’s a beauty.
So far so good with that line of thought, as sometimes you had to arc with what you had and hope to catch a break regarding supplies on the way. Or get caught, as maybe by the hand of an EARTHverse listening and listing for want of assistance in racing to gridlock.
As for anyone wondering what-the-duck’s up with Ted and Hark, consider them on break. We’ll hark back to them another time.
And we are now child-friendly.
For now, maybe not always. Make sure you put them to bed on time.
Duck duck goose, duck duck goose, duck duck goose, moose.
And now we have their attention. Go to bed.
To summarize the story so far, Grace Pobbible isn’t a Saturnite nor a wanna be.
Is it any wonder some people with no time on their hands don’t like to read?
As for a dol-garned better grid, Grace, I ask you, at whose expense and at what cost and for whose betterment? Why yours and not ours? Interesting how why makes ours yours, while ours sounds like hours. At least Saturnites would find it interesting. And for the record Grace was an ours-minded type of gal.
As for hours, believe it or not, like it or not, or deny it or not, time is on the clock, and nowhere else.
Bravado at it’s most reckless. Almost. Naming names is reckless’er.
And back to sleep-space, the early days, when the first complete, as in up-to-date, mind-memory histories were bottled, canned and kegged, which happened in Bossche Bol. Again, Bossche Bol was the Saturnite community, an all-out territory, housed in a mountain pass with abundant cool, clear water, and beer was a big part of it. Just sayin’. Blight Brewery was a mainstay. Not that Blight beer just flowed out of rock on it’s own accord.
Seems someone had the notion the light in Blight would stand out to beer drinkers.
Maybe not so much, but it was still a stand-out beer, and a heady competitor with the dominant Margiekugels brand.
A beer drinker might get the joke if not too stoned, and that is optimistic, long range fore-shadowing.
Does it seem we’re getting off track? Nope. We’re getting on track. Think beer and drunk driving, and drunk driving and running down a pedestrian, a pedestrian whose complete history was on tap, and think Trey Boyette, state senator, although that’s a fabricated word not used on EARTHverse 444, but close enough a moniker to describe Boyette’s place in the grand scheming of the local political scene.
For another thing, they didn’t use the word state alone either. EARTHverse 444 was totally a territorial domain of territories, cities and towns.
Territories – terror-stories for the unawares.
To summarize into closing, as it surely isn’t obvious as the plot is getting dense, Saturnite Trey Boyette is a suspect in the hit-and-run death of a Grace Pobbible protect’ee, as she oversaw with a vengeance the wit and wisdom of all of her employees.
Wit and wisdom, right on. Tell me that isn’t full of loopholes.
In a sense, a trap that wasn’t a trap was sprung and something unawares was caught. Caught to be tested for awareness, and maybe dealt a life sentence of a different sort than you might imagine, or that you might have to imagine, and that might take a life time to deal out.
|and . . . |*
. . . in a dark finish of unanswered questions, coinciding with bed time . . .
Go to bed, that means now.
A question to like or not – is a smart wiiirl-D of exploited immature people a smart planet or simply a call-out to who, whom or whatever to come and feast at will?
Fortunately, even if not for you personally, an EARTHverse is first and foremost, when necessary, a stomach juiced with timing.
Bad bad bad timing. Corrosive water, which all life strives to conquer or leave behind. Life did not evolve out of the ocean, it fled. Fled – past past past tense of flood.
SATURN’ixm was the answer. It would seem the so-called word of god solely exists to be violated and mutilated, perhaps to get immaturity out of your system, or at least some of it – definitely just some – as terminal immaturity is the ONE disease, even if wrongly named, but not especially rude.. Some can deal, if only as well as possible as most can’t and won’t as terminal immaturity is a teeming and teaming-up of bands of necrotic immaturity spreading with the carry of an ocean, infesting reason worse and worse with every passing moment. What me want and like is better than what you want and like. How not?
Do I deal with my immaturity well? Hell no, but I don’t deal it out via bullying and playing king of the hill, and of course I am an aberration.
The Saturnites knew all too well that Wiiir-D’s were going to get them, get everyone if them let them, if them made them, if them made them do them wrong, unless, UNLESS, through advertising, truth would save the wiiirl-D.
In a wiiirl-D of Wiiir-D’s, every Wiiir-D is a bullet-arrow with iii’s looking out for everyone, and anyone will be profiled as meat if they are illiterate. Each and every single last Wiiir-D is a fiction, thinking is totally fictionalized, and literacy is about being ready for any and everything that can be fictionalized – and there’s a lot to work from – ad infinitim . . . to a point.
As a you on EARTHverse 444, this certainly means knowing what is reading you and why, be it hungry cat or slimy belly-crawling politician sic’d on you by the conspiratorial league of injustice.
Sooner or later any intelligence the smart kids are exploiting is going to come for pay-back, and fool-headed illiterates will be the first line of payment.
So here’s the picture, as the EARTH’ener wiiirl-D wars with the EARTHverse, who’s going to come out on both top and bottom? I’d be siding with the Saturnitized EARTHversions, backed by EARTHearth, and a friendly Narrator on the verge of disciplinary action, if I was to want to pick a winner.
If I was to want to pick a winner, which may be an un-Wiiir-D’able.
As for now, I think pause, but I say . . .
-- > STOP < --
(The next page)
The fictional office of Wiiir-D management is now open for business. Help wanted.
This may be a quirky place to start a next page, but the open road of expanding distance is a quirky place, to be used sparingly.
At least on my part. No worries, except that I do, and I generally delete what I say. You just never know who’s reading and judging you, as one may distance synchronicity to the Gorge-ing chant of none one me, none one me, none one me, me me me. Repeat repeat repeat.
Today I feel a need to provide some explanation as applies to calling Life Sentences . . . zone 6.1. This entertainment is going to be told for however long it’s going to be told in 5 distancing time zones, with the current chronicle-piece, be it story, chapter or zonal chronicle, placed on top, generally on day one of the month, with the prior piece placed on the bottom, and the whole package renamed with somewhere a nod to Tribe of Saturn or LTS. If ever I decide to tag a dollar cost any given month, to keep it honest, the next month this will be free again, and fully inclusive apart from covers.
I’d like to deceive myself that the Lost Tribe of Saturn, LTS, is a prototype ongoing fictional pyramid, morphing into a synchronicity station, which is more living-on oriented than an arc-escape, and it’s skeletal and in need of a painting-in job, and the search is on for station-aries – not, and painter’in’er’s, not fans, even as this has an open door for outside short, tight, synchronizing pre-fan fiction getting in on the ground floor setting tones, hues and shadings.
Maybe there’s a tad bit of room in the basement for arc studies, just in case. Richards Hall is just the name on the shoppe, not my name. I’m ‘e’. ‘e’ for editor as I sense the quirk that I edit the ragged, jagged and raging narration passing through my noggin, even as the dark-hooded, dark, be-headed emperor of time strives to beat me down. GGG’s, Louisa, grandma.
As for anymore next page twaddle, I will only edit it away unless spoken to.
<<< . . . >>>
Saving your stake in the Saturnite world by saving yourself from immaturity in 100 billion easy steps, starting with artsy photography with a hint of order and a dash of synchronization. If you want to know why, I’ll tell you, in lightly fictional fashion. If you’d rather pyramid, which has it’s discipline cost, the fiction covers that positive approach also. If you choose to grow up on your own, you may find childhood’s end currently bleak and barren, much like a baby sea turtle reaching the ocean. What have we learned from the tale of the tortoise and the hare? People are a mass of . . . just swim faster already little turtle.