Can It Be Said Enough? Thorium! Thorium! THORIUM!

Thorium?  Thorium.  This metal will supply cheap, clean, safe, plentiful nuclear power to the world for the next 1,000 years.

If we use it.

Thorium, a silvery-white metal named for the Norse god Thor, is a mildly radioactive element (with an atomic weight of 90) that is as abundant as lead.  Monazite, a rare earth and thorium phosphate mineral, is the primary source of the world's thorium. 

The naturally occurring isotopes of thorium are readily refined from mineral to metal.  Industry uses thorium to make high-grade glass, high-temperature ceramics, and high-performance alloys of magnesium.

Thorium is inherently safe.  Radiation from even pure thorium is too weak to penetrate human skin.  Only long term negligent exposure or massive over-exposure is medically dangerous.  Short of a career of mining without basic safety procedures or chewing it daily, thorium presents no medical dangers.

Thorium reactors are inherently safe.  Thorium  cannot sustain a chain reaction on its own; there must be an initiator.  Basically, disaster or attack would simply shut down the reaction.

Thorium reactors are inherently clean.  Unlike other reactors, thorium reactors produce waste that decays to the same level of radioactivity as coal ashes after 500 years.  In fact, thorium reactors can be used to safely 'burn out' waste materials from uranium reactors.

Thorium is three to four times more plentiful than uranium.  By weight, thorium produces 200 times more energy than uranium.  The USA, India, Turkey, and Australia all possess large reserves of thorium, accounting for over 50% of the Earth's known reserves.

Experts estimate that at present energy use and reactor technology, thorium could power America for the next 1,000 years with just known reserves.

Sound too good to be true?  There are some small challenges, but honestly, we went from no space program to landing on the Moon in less than a decade.  We need thorium reactors supplying American electricity much more than we needed astronauts on the Moon.

Thanks to American and Russian choices during the Cold War, too little research has gone into thorium reactor design.  A few thorium reactors are coming online now, but there is a good deal of argument about what will be most efficient, cheapest, and safest.  New reactor designs need testing and approval.

Thorium startup is expensive; and the thorium fuel itself needs to be 'activated' by irradiation.  Once the first reactor is up and running, though, it can be used to activate the next batch of fuel.  As more reactors come online, fuel activation is cheap and easy.

American coal, uranium, and oil interests don't want to face competition from thorium; the first time in history they have all agreed on anything.  They don't care what's good for America, just what's good for the Company.

Thorium reactors are hugely safer and simpler than present uranium/plutonium reactors.  They could entirely replace the burning of fossil fuels on Earth for the next ten centuries.  They would change everything.

Drought?  With enough cheap electricity, desalinated sea water could be pumped to suffering areas; droughts would be history.  Poverty?  Plentiful electricity could bring jobs and industry to the poorest places on Earth.  Global warming?  Gone.  Pollution from coal and oil?  Gone. 

Call it optimism, call it hope, but make sure you remember the mighty THORIUM!
 
For more information -
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thorium

Merry Christmas!

So ya know, I'm not particularly Christian, but there's nothing more heartening than an unsolicited seasonal greeting, however you spell it.

I was a mail carrier for a good part of the last 20 years, and the above observation is not something I read about, but something I experienced.  People enjoy a cheerful greeting, a smile in the daily course of business, even a random hug for just being human, but folks really appreciate a heartfelt holiday hail.

There are probably several reasons why.  There's usually a 'happy' or 'merry' in there, unlike the plain 'good' of daily greetings.  Holiday's are annual 'landmarks,' and thus a stronger connection.  And, honestly, who doesn't like being cheerful for cheerful's sake a few times a year?

Whatever the reasons,
We all like to hear
herald of seasons
with voice of good cheer.

So don't hesitate
It's always okay
To happily state
Happy Holiday!

I Like Robots

That's because I really, truly feel robots will define our future.  While not absolutely a bad thing, there will be negative along with positive effects.  Soon robots will become front-line soldiers, for instance - thanks to  political infighting among US military branches, the bad news is it may be our soldiers defending themselves from enemy robots instead of the other way around.

Anyway, my interest leads me to a weekly perusal of what's new in robotics on Youtube.  Why there?  Because long before a robot is seen as interesting to the media, geeks and nerds are already swapping videos of their accomplishments.

I come across all kind of robot exploits this way.  Here are a few that caught my interest.

What to get that hard-to-buy for kid this year?

Yes, this video is long and boring - and fascinating if you consider the implications.  True robot sports are just a few years away and games will never the same.

Sports and toys; no big deal, right?  What can robots do that isn't just for fun?  Build stuff.

Of course the US military have their share of robots, like this 'clothing and equipment' testing robot. . .

'load-carrying robot'. . .

and fence jumping robot.

Sadly, some robots are doomed to less survivable duty.  A company in Australia has recently delivered target robots to the USMC. 

But it won't just be the robots replacing humans and doing things alone.  We can build robots easily enough, but the brains to run them are the really hard part.  Adding humans to robots, or robots to humans, will be the most amazing part of the future - 

I like robots, and I hope they like me, because the alternative might suck.  

8)

This Is Only A Test

Saw this on G+ and wanted to share.  Though I don't know if this is truly significant of your neurological state, I found it a fun and interesting mental exercise.

A Short Neurological Test

1- Find the C below..

Please do not use any cursor help.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

2- If you already found the C, now find the 6 below.

99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999
69999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999

3 - Now find the N below. It's a little more difficult.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMNMM
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

This is NOT a joke. If you were able to pass these 3 tests, you can cancel
your annual visit to your neurologist. Your brain is great and you're far
from having a close relationship with Alzheimer.

Congratulations!

eonvrye that can raed this rsaie your hnad.


If you can read the following paragraph, you are just awesome.
Only great minds can read this
This is weird, but interesting!

If you can raed this, you have a sgtrane mnid too

Can you raed this? Olny 45 plepoe out of 100 can.

I cdnuolt blveiee that I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd what I was rdanieg. The
phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde
Uinervtisy, it dseno't mtaetr in what oerdr the ltteres in a word are, the
olny iproamtnt tihng is that the frsit and last ltteer be in the rghit
pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can still raed it whotuit a
pboerlm. This is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by
istlef, but the word as a wlohe. Azanmig huh? Yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot
slpeling was ipmorantt!

And yes, spelling is very ipmorantt.  Heh.

Crazy Talk

Just a moment as I don my foil skull cap and check for men in black. . . okay, paranoid crazy talk begins.

Our cultural battles have ignored the extremely wealthy for a very long time.  In fact, America has had no true class war that I remember.  Instead we've encouraged and supported a kind of intra-class 'cold war' since the Depression; those with nothing, those with some, and those with enough, all bickering and struggling with each other.

And the whole time the rich were helping drive the conflict.  They, the greedy and immoral, structured a false reward system around brand names and false appearances.  No matter how poor someone might be, anyone could feel better about themself if they owned a Fridgidaire.  The rich got richer by backing both sides of conflict.

At the same time They, the burgeoning 1%, bought the American government and commanded it to install laws that gave Them huge advantages in taxation, liability, land ownership, legal recourse, and more - just about every possible way our judicial, executive, legislative, and financial system could be twisted.  They said it was good for the economy and good for America, but over the decades it turns out to be good for Them and the hell with the rest of America.

By keeping everyone else at each other's throats, a very few have stolen America.  Worse, it's beginning to look like they will get away with it - unless something changes.  That change would be us.  Don't think it'll be easy, because it won't.  They'll fight us every step, legal and illegal.  They have the power of media, police, and our own military, and they will use it against us.

All we need is someone to stand up and say, "I aim to misbehave."

Whoops.  Went a little off the crazy end right there.  Think I'll get rid of this foil hat.

8)

Dear Mr. Incumbent Politician,

Usually I try to stay at least moderately informed about you and your opponent, then carefully weigh which one is best for the job every election. I'm changing my voting criteria this year.

If you bring criminal charges or cause the judicial system to bring criminal charges against against a major CEO, any one of the Bailout Group companies, or policemen who harm Americans participating in peaceful protests, I WILL AUTOMATICALLY vote for you.

If you pass a law that strips corporations of personhood or otherwise blocks a corporation from the same rights as a citizen of the United States, I WILL AUTOMATICALLY vote for you.

If you make the selling of debt a form of usury, fraud, or otherwise illegal I WILL AUTOMATICALLY vote for you.

If you force a shut down of Wall Street, for even one day, I WILL AUTOMATICALLY vote for you.

If you pass a law that taxes the 1% at a 200% unless they really make jobs, I WILL AUTOMATICALLY vote for you.

If you manage to strike any positive blow against corporate criminals or the ultra-rich, ultra-greedy 1% - say, force them to bank only in American banks or lose everything - I WILL AUTOMATICALLY vote for you.

On the other hand, should you fail to meet my new criteria, I WILL AUTOMATICALLY vote against you, no matter what schmuck I'm forced to vote for.

No promises accepted.

Inflexibly,
Citizen America.

Early Warning

Back in November virologist Ron Fouchier of the Erasmus Medical Centre in the Netherlands publicly announced at a virus conference in Malta that his team had modified the H1N1, or bird flu virus, to be far more deadly. The bird flu presently doesn't spread like a 'normal' flu, via airborn droplets from sneezes and coughs. Instead, the bird flu requires very close contanct, so is less contagious.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2063326/Scientists-mutate-bird-flu-make-MORE-contagious--critics-claim-bioweapon-kept-secret.html

Most people missed this, though there was a blip in the media. Now, Dr. Fouchier wants to publish the research and techniques, making this super-flu available to anyone who would like to recreate it.

http://www.foxnews.com/health/2011/12/20/scientists-spark-fears-by-creating-highly-contagious-airborne-strain-bird-flu/

What will eventually happen? Well, the secret is out, the horses are gone, the bag is empty, and everyone knows the bird flu can be modified into a world-smashing bioweapon. Knowing what's possible is half the problem solved - sooner or later, and I'd bet on real sooner, we'll be facing a terror inspired pandemic.

Not to worry. First, it's the flu; people die from flu every day, a sad fact but reassuring in that the world doesn't collapse. Second, it's the bird flu; until now those infected were often already sick or vulnerable or elderly, which is sad but also gives us hope that being normal and healthy will protect us. Third, it's just the flu; we already know what to do to avoid the flu.

The very best news is that, unlike other flu epidemics, we have plenty of warning. If any braincells are still firing Washington, DC, we have already acquired samples and are developing a vaccine.

Please let there be braincells left in Washington. . .

From The Past

Though often quoted, such wisdom as our ancestors were blessed with bears re-quoting, often and loudly.

For President Obama and all others in our government who believe they can take our freedoms to make us safe:
 "They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." - Benjamin Franklin 

Those patriots in the Occupy movement should take heed and heart with these words:
 "In the beginning of a change the patriot is a scarce man, and brave, and hated and scorned. When his cause succeeds, the timid join him, for then it costs nothing to be a patriot." - Mark Twain

 Here is a message to all those police forces and city governments who act outside the USofA Constitution:
"A Bill of Rights is what the people are entitled to against every government, and what no just government should refuse. . ." - Thomas Jefferson

 And finally, for all of us in Citizen America, our original leader has a reminder:
 "Government is not reason; it is not eloquent; it is force. Like fire, it is a dangerous servant and a fearful master." - George Washington

Dear Mr. President,

You don't know me, and apparently I don't know you. I voted for you to become President of the United States, mostly because I felt your upbringing might help you better understand what many previous Presidents have forgotten about America. We value freedom.

You may not know that you are handing the tools of dictatorship into the hands of corporations and zealots of the future. In signing SOPA and the defense funding bill, your children or their children may face an America where speaking out means disappearing, where information is rigidly controlled and censored, where civil rights have become civil wrongs. You may be signing away our freedom.

Maybe nobody in the White House is telling you the truth. Maybe you have no idea what kind of trouble you're making into law. Maybe you'll listen to me and all the others who are asking. . .

Please don't do it.

Respectfully;
Citizen America

The Case For Warp Drive

     Science is missing something; interstellar space travel can't be as impossible as they say.  That is, assuming aliens are here on Earth.
     That latter statement isn't an entirely silly assumption.  A heap, a hill, maybe even an entire mountain range of evidence exists for that assumption.  Sure, most of that evidence comes from freaky, flakey, very personal sources, but can it honestly be 100% wrong?  Airport radar contacts, exhaust burns in the desert, simultaneous sightings by groups of strangers, etc. - there's more to alien evidence than abduction stories.
     So, assume aliens are here, flying around probing, beaming, time-warping victims.  While we can also guess these activities are only a piece of the puzzle of alien activities, that subject can be saved for another time.  The question at the heart of this discussion changes; instead of 'if' or 'why,' we must ask 'how?' 
     This particular question is a big part of the skeptical argument against aliens.  How is it that aliens can cross the impossibly wide gulf of space and fail at something so simple as hiding from us hairless apes?   As fast as our own stealth technology is advancing, shouldn't those advanced aliens be completely undetectable?
     Let's apply a little Sherlock logic.  Given aliens are here, as hard as they might try they can't seem to stay hidden.  They may even have crashed a ship or two here on Earth.  This evidence tells us that their technology isn't infallable, or even a great deal beyond ours. 
     Conclusion?  Interstellar space travel must be far simpler than Earthly scientists believe.  If Earth's bumbling E.T.s can do it, surely it lies within our power, too. 
(Unless E.T. is holding us back...)
     Dear Scientists: please look a little harder for Warp Drive - it's only logical.

Magic In Common

Quantum.  It's the magic word in TV science fiction.  Scientists are just discovering it's Mother Nature's magic, as well.

With a moment of consideration it should not be surprising that the amazing development tool of evolution would come to use the weirdest, but most efficient energy handling scheme in the Universe.

I won't try to explain quantum behavior because I can't; small libraries could be made entirely of books to introduce quantum concepts, books written by people who know more about it than I do, books that fail to make quantum physics easy to understand.  Not to worry, I only intend to talk about one quantum feature - Quantum Entanglement (QE).

Entanglement.  One tenet of quantum physics is that you can't know both the location AND vector of any particle at the same time.  There exists a fundamental blur of uncertainty when we look that closely at reality.    Odd, but it gets odder.  Two particles, photons for instance, who encounter each other closely enough will temporarily blur together.  The photons become confused which is which, even after they become separated, and this is entanglement.  For a time, vibrate one and they both react; measure one, and the other, no matter how far away, will instantly display identical measurements.

Science is struggling to find ways to use this potentially powerful state of entanglement, but Mother Nature is way ahead of us.

Nerve cells and neurons are different from the other cells in the body.  Their special shape allowing connection to other nerves requires special internal structures.  The chemo-electric signals passing from nerve cell to nerve cell jumps along an internal support structure called they cytoskeleton.  Recently it has been shown that the cytoskeleton traps individual entangled photons in an internal tube.  Even more recently scientists have become involved in an extensive argument whether or not these quantum structures are useless and accidental, or an important part of what makes humans intelligent.

Similar structures have just now been discovered in photosynthetic cells.  Searching for how energy is so perfectly transferred within plants, researchers stumbled on what may be another application of QE by Mother Nature.  It seems that QE on a huge scale might allow a kind of 'wireless' energy transmission during photosynthesis.

Yes, it's weird, but it's in your head, so get used to it.  Computers using QE will be thousands of times faster than present technology.  QE may allow for instant communication over any distance with total security, for everything from cellphones to interplanetary probes to robot avatars.  QE could even allow power transmission from your power plant directly to your electric car, laptop computer, flashlight, or pocket outlet.

We know so little about the QE phenomena we don't have a handle on what might be bad about it.  If QE helps manage a person's memories, could such memories be seen by a QE reader?  Or even recorded?  Or even more terrifying possibilities - hacked, altered, or erased?

The bad always comes with the good, another lesson from Mother Nature.  She has possibly shown us the way to a new, brighter era for man, but don't forget Her dark side.

Cloudy Stuff

Take a body of written work and count word use, then organize it graphically - most used words bigger and centralized with other words getting smaller and further out by frequency.  That's dubbed cloud analysis and below is what one such analyzer made of this very blog.

Strange - I'm not sure what excessive use of pronouns means 8)  Oh, and if you look close, God is imbedded in She.

If you'd like to try this yourself, click below and get on the cloud.



As Good As It Gets

Altruism is arguably the highest social peak to which a human can aspire.  Risking limb or life for another, sharing when there is nothing to gain, going back for a fallen comrade - all acts of altruism we get to see too rarely in our fellow humans.

Well, don't worry - just do a little rat watching!  A study reported in Science clearly shows altruistic behavior in rats.  I won't go on when NPR has a fine story about it already.  I just want to say I will be careful who I call a rat in the future. . .

Click the pic to see NPR's story.

Credit: Science/AAAS

LA And Lies

By most media reports, the recent removal of Occupy LA protestors was marred only by protestor conduct.  The Mayor ordered the removal for safety reasons because someone got murdered less than a quarter mile from the camp.  LA also pointed to the litter, junk, and 'abandoned' gear left after the mass arrests as another justification for the action.

Lies.

Here is linked a letter to the editor by one of those arrested.  If you value being an American, you need to read this so you understand what is happening around us.  If you value your safety, you need to read this; it is the account of an eyewitness to the law enforcement horror we may all soon face.

Please read.

http://culvercitycrossroads.com/2011/12/05/dear-editor-lapd-arrests-the-truth-at-occupy-la/

A Matter Of Trust

     When humans first ran into aliens, it was almost exactly that.
     Alarms blared through the steel passageways of ESS Theseum; "Collision stations, all hands," rang out from the intercom over and over.  The crew reacted with frantic, well-trained precision.
     "Franklin, you're fired," snapped Captain Henry Hersht from his C3 station.  He leaned toward the Virtual Display, as if being closer to the VD would somehow force a faster answer.  "Nail down that asteroid's orbit so we can get out of the way."
     "Sorry, sir, don't know how we missed something that big."  Chief Franklin closed his eyes to better focus on his direct neural link.  "What are the odds of a random rock being in a perfect survey orbit. . . there, got it.  Up on the VD with vector change options."
     "Great.  Execute primary option."  Cpt. Hersht sat back, relieved.  "You're hired again."  He overrode the alarms and opened his personal intercom access.  "All over and well done.  All hands return. . ."  Collision alarms interrupted him.  He cursed, closed the intercom, and cut the alarms again.  "Chief?"
     "Sir." Chief Franklin pulled his link cable and turned to face his CO.  "The asteroid is maneuvering."
   
       
     "No, you're not getting it," Dr. Makkin said to the com display aboard ESS Perseus.  Pure joy of disovery had her wound up, just short of babbling.  "They are almost solely macro-systems.  Their muscles have no cells!  Instead they use contracting polymer membranes.  Even the bones are extruded polymers."  
     Similar conversations went on around her in the communications shack as the First Contact team sent it's first comprehensive report back to Earth.  A similar team of aliens were aboard their own ship in Earth orbit, doing the same while the quantum communications link was up.  While decoding each other's language was the first priority, both teams had tried to cover as much as possible.
     "It's the most amazing thing I've ever seen," Taylor continued.  "I have no idea how they procreate, develop, or even practice medicine.  Honestly, if I had to operate on one I'd need a woodshop instead of an operating room."  She smiled at the display.  "I'm really glad you got me on this mission, Uncle Vaz."
     The middle-aged man on the screen grinned at that.  The background was his austere office; his rumpled business attire and open sincerity did not hint that he was an extremely important man.
     "You earned that yourself, Taylor.  Despite the fact they look like a spider skeleton with wings, you say they're quite intelligent?" Vassily asked.  His years-seamed face easily hid his keen interest in the answer.  "What do they use for a brain?"
     "A distributed neural net, nerve clusters connected by extruded cabling."  Taylor grinned and tapped her head.  "Connectivity is an order of magnitude less than us, but at least an order of magnitude faster.  Very intelligent, and quick."
     "Easy to kill, I suppose, with their brains hanging out?"
     "What?"  She frowned.  "Why would you even ask that?"
     "Just answer the damned question."  He winced at his emotional slip.  "Sorry, but it's a serious question.  Understand?"
     "So.  It's like that."  Taylor shook her head.  "No, they'd be much harder to kill than your typical human.  And Uncle Vassily?  You're an ass for sending me to do your bloody spying."

         
     "Admiral Mawnsch, I must report failure."  Chief Seeker Tangor passed a traditional printed report to the Admiral, then collapsed into a padded nest-nook.  The Admiral's ready room resembled a normal, if sparingly decorated, nesting den.
     "Flying stones, Seeker," groused the Admiral and keyed up the ready room's illumination to read the report.  "Gather another specimen, another research group.  Cliff's edge; failure could mean our extinction.  Try again, Doctor."
     "Pushing uphill, sir.  We have the best scientists already, and the humans supplied plenty of samples and criminals.  Such an effort would be wasted."  Tangor clattered structural members in distress.  "Shall I explain?"
     "If you didn't, I'd have you recycled to a creche."
     "Sunrise," it replied morosely.  "They are so physically complex we will need decades, perhaps centuries, to understand them completely.  They are entirely made up of biologic nanomachines arranged in hierarchal subsystems."
     "Round cube?" Admiral Mawnsh scrunched in disbelief.
     "Indeed.  For instance, instead of flexation membranes, they use muscle tissue arranged in hundreds of discrete flexators."  Tangor summoned a VR between them.  Images of a human autopsy scrolled as he spoke.  "Muscle tissue is an amalgam of connective membranes and microscopic cells that contract under direct stimulus from their brain.  We estimate the human body contains some 20 trillion muscle cells.  Every organ and system in the human body, from supporting skeletal structures to oxygenation fluid, is built this way."
     "A strong wall has many stones," rasped the Admiral.  "With that kind of redundency they must be tough."
     "Reversal," said Tangor.  "They are relatively frail."
     "Carry on with your research, Seeker," said the Admiral as it stood to salute.  "Even the final brick is needed.  Flow to the desired goal will be found by another channel.  Dismissed."  The Seeker returned the salute and left Admiral Mawnsch alone.
     The Admiral spent the next watch poring over Tangor's report as well as others from scouting missions to Earth and agents in the First Contact Exchange Conference.  The risk and outcome matrix was easy enough to derive, but the Admiral  didn't like what it showed.  Finally Admiral Mawnsch opened a channel to sick bay.
     "Send Medical Seeker Jharmett to my ready room, ASAP.  Tell him to bring everything he has on the Humans."  After a few seconds of pained consideration, he called the com nest.
     "Lt. Chusque, get me a line to that Minister fellow, the one running the Earth side of the First Contact Team.  Yes, Brache, that's the one.  Coded and locked, Chusque, Imperial Secret."   


     "Don't dither."  Minister of Covert Operations Vassily Brache marched briskly along Green Hall, practically dragging Senior Analyst Troy Bensen.  "Don't act shy or intimidated.  You're working with the PM on this, so treat him like he's part of the team.  Got it?"
     "Right, sir," said the gawky analyst.  "No pressure, only the end of the world," he muttered to himself.  Vassily smacked the back of Troy's head.
     Then everything became a chaos of security checks and introductions, ending in the dark woods and ancient decor of famed Ivy Rotunda.  Despite the size of the hall it was standing room only.  It looked as if every Minister in Head Office was present.
     To Troy, who was familiar with lesser gatherings, the meeting proceeded with unbelievable swiftness.  Before he was able to fully gather his wits, all attention was on him.  He rose, but hesitated, cleared his throat to cover discomfiture.
     "Spit it out, Bensen," said Prime Minister Lief.
     "Yes, sir," he said firmly and threw himself into the report.  "Quick establishment of diplomatic relations isn't happening.  We and Poesht are too alien.  We don't understand or trust their motivations yet, and must assume they have the same problem."
     "The Poesht aren't ready for a war on this scale, and neither are we.  Both empires have enjoyed an extended historical period without external enemies.  Individually, the Poeshtans are much harder to kill than we are, so given equivalent readiness, they would have a significant advantage should war begin.  They are more than intelligent enough to recognize this as well as we do."  The hall was ominously silent as Benson activated a 360VD above the podium.  Graphs and diagrams sprang to life.
     "We could preemptively attack, but lack of military forces on both sides would most likely lead to an indecisive, extended, and expensive period of hostilities.  We would lose eventually, but both race's economy and government would destabilize.  There's a good chance of both collapsing."
     "We could start building up the military now in an attempt to reach parity.  However, all they need to do is start building up as well, and they could easily stay ahead of us.  Then it's an old-fashioned arms race until war breaks out or one of us goes bankrupt."
     "If we could significantly delay the previous two options, industry could be built up and readied for an outbreak of hostilities, supplying a deterrent we don't have now."
     "As it stands, Poesht would benefit most from a preemeptive attack while they still have a clear advantage.  Should that be their decision, we can expect action within weeks, perhaps just days.  Our best response is to strike before they do."  Troy dismissed the display and sat down, pale and sweating.
     The most powerful men in Earth's history pondered how to face the untenable situation.
     "Ladies and gentlemen," said PM Lief, "it seems our best choice is bloody bad.  Let's have a. . . yes, Minister Brache?"
     "Thank you, sir," said Vassily.  He rose and cleared his throat.  "I believe there is a more productive possiblity, sir.  If I may?"  With a quick glance around the table, the PM nodded and Vassily activated the central display, showing an extreme close-up of a tiny but monstrous creature.
     "The Poesht don't suffer from diseases as we know them.  However, parasites that infested and fed on them were once a constant problem. . ."


     "Yes, sir," said Admiral Mawnsch respectfully to his ultimate boss, the Secretary of the Cabinet.  They spoke over a secure link via Virtual Display.  "A pit is bottomless until you fall, Secretary.  We must assume they are as aware of the situation as we are.  Perhaps because of their fragility they are a very aggressive race, at least as aggressive as we are, if not more so.  They will certainly decide to risk financial self-destruction and begin a massive program to improve their military.  We will then be forced to either shoulder the same financial burden or attack now.  Either way it is very likely both peoples will suffer eventual collapse."
     "Better to lose a limb than wait in the trap.  Thank you for your report, Admiral."  Before the Secretary could dismiss the link, Admiral Mawnsch drummed his membranes for attention.
     "Sir, I may have an alternative. . ."

   
     "The citizens of Poesht present my humble self as their representative to the citizens of Earth."
     "We are honored to receive the interstellar Ambassador of Poesht and present. . ."
     The ceremony would continue for hours, as would the social gathering after, but Vassily turned away from the monitors.  To him, the job started now.
     "Launch," he said quietly to staff at stations around the room.  "God help us all."
     Celebratory fireworks programs started in cities all across Earth and her many colonies.  Unnoticable among the brilliant displays other shells arced aloft, their detonations insignificant.  Invisibly, the haze of spores slowly drifted down to gently infect the jubilant billions.


     With an angry curse Admiral Mawnsch turned off the diplomatic scenes on the main screen.  He had commanded fleets in war, ordered ships to certain doom, lost friends in combat, and never had words been harder to utter.  He looked around the bridge at the assembled team.
     "Commence operation," he rumbled.
     In ancient holiday tradition, formations of naval space vessels flew low over the cities of the wide-flung Poesht Empire, scattering treats to the appreciative crowds with every fly-over.  Unseeable to the celebrating citizens, microscopic mites clung to each toy and sweet.  By the time they all went home to enjoy family and food on the joyous occaision of interstellar peace, most were infested.  In the normal course of living infestations rates reached 100% within a month.


     The meeting was absolutely secret; no aides or advisors or even bodyguards allowed.  The small interplanetary freighter had been abandoned here months ago and would be destroyed as soon as the two beings each left in their respective tiny shuttlecrafts.  The only objects in the otherwise empty central cargo bay was a cheap folding table and toaster-sized generation-one translator.  The two beings entered from opposite sides of the bay at nearly the same instant.
     "Admiral Mawnsch, good to see you again," said Vassily.  "How are you today?"
     "Please dispense with banalities, Minister Brache." the Admiral growled.  "Let us not chew a bitter fruit; this unsavory task is best done quickly."
     "Indeed."
     They approached the table silently and each placed a secure document carrier in front of him.  At a shared nod they slid their respective cases toward the other and opened them.  Each exposed a simple keypad panel and a set of complex keys hung in the lid.
     Turning the keys and entering a code would release a virus on each homeworld, a virus designed to switch both the mites and spores from benign to deadly, resulting in a plague like nothing in history.  Both looked at the devices with unpleasant expressions, though neither could read the other's face.
     "My staff will confirm proper function within the hour," said Vassily as he shut the case.
     "As shall my technicians."  Mawnsch showed atypical hesitation.  "Vassily.  I am told a cure will take three to five years."
     "Yes, we think about the same for us.  I will keep you in the loop on our program."
     "Not my concern.  I'm folding my tent.  What weighs on my mind is, what will we do then?"
     "I should hope something better than what we do now, sir.  Holding each other as genocidal hostages is very close to madness.  I pray we can work out a real solution before then."  Vassily forced himself to step forward and put out his hand, a gesture understood by both races.
     The Admiral's membranes flapped sharply, which was interpreted as a bark of laughter, and slapped it's primary manipulator digits into Vassily's hand.  The man winced, but grasped them firmly.
     "To trust," he said.

The End

Can You Imagine

Politics, war, violence, protests - we are awash in mundanity.  Thank (insert deity name here) for the people who are still willing to feed our imagination.


Our world is full of strangeness and oddities, events, creatures, and objects you and I might imagine but never expect to see.  For instance, at the poles surface ice forms on seawater.  Salt inhibits freezing, so the temperature must be considerably below freezing for a solid ice-pack to form.  During the freezing process, growing ice crystals concentrate and squeeze out the saltier water, until an extremely cold and salty solution forms just below the ice.  Now, watch -

Superconductivity is old news to many of us, to the point of 'blah blah blah' when it comes up.  Here is is a demonstration that should rekindle the wonder a bit - 

And it's not just nature that can amaze.  Human performers always push at that barrier between the prosaic and imagination -

Don't let the doom-speakers and nay-sayers get you down.  There is more than enough strangeness and wonder in this world for us all.  Can you imagine?  Yes!

A Good Place

My writing is deeply affected by what I see and hear.  In fact, I discovered during October I could actually write a short story every day or two given a compelling image.

With a little thought I remember several stories that were inspired and informed by songs, such as Jimi Hendrix's 'Watchtower.'  I've even written some (hidden) fan fiction related to the television series 'Firefly.'

What I can't do is write while listening to radio or even in the same room with a cajoling, tempting, playing television.  My mind wants to sing the song or watch the images.  Ah, and the beautiful, flickering, challenging graphics of computer games - totally addictive.

Clearly the challenge is to avoid the distractions, however much my desires seek them out.  I need someplace to hide, apparently; someplace with locks, maybe some bars, possibly an armed guard.

Egad, my perfect writing place is prison?
Heh!

Think Too Much

I don't recall being an angry or violent child, but I was definitely physical.  in 1st or 2nd grade I remember me and another kid were scufflng, for no particular reason except to be wrestling.  We were ended up on the ground, with me rather proudly on top, when a friend of his came up and dumped a handful of dirt and gravel on me. 



Dirt and gravel is what I was rolling in, so that isn't what set me off; the real problem was I felt the stuff roll into my ear, bounce on my eardrum.  The dirt and gravel were IN MY HEAD!  The teachers rescued the boys from my panicked wrath, and I got paddled because both boys insisted I started the fight.  In my eyes those boys lied, and adults I was told to trust and believe failed to trust and believe me.  I felt betrayed; my punishment didn't seem fair.




One Sunday night not long thereafter I went to bed and did some thinking while waiting for sleep to come. Mom and Dad were at the kitchen table doing adult stuff.  Fresh in my mind was a preacher's recent assertions about who went to hell and who went to heaven.  As a child I knew I was "innocent" and would automatically go to the good place.  




The preacher had explained in detail the suffering due those bound to hell.  Perhaps as part of the sermon he also asserted that the righteous would be washed in the lake of forgetfullness so they wouldn't feel badly about loved ones who went to hell instead of heaven.  Another point the preacher made clear was sin, any sin, damned you, even if the sin came one second after you were saved, and as humans we were bound to sin.  




The idea, of course, was to insure people went to church and were washed clean of sin as often as possible, and to walk on moral eggshells in between.  For me, letting those concepts roll around in my brain, I came to some. . . disquieting conclusions.




What if we all died suddenly.  Me, my younger brother, and little sister would go to heaven, no questions asked.  Now, if Mom and Dad hadn't sinned, they'd be there too.  But what if they made a mistake, somehow, and ended up going the wrong way?  To be honest, this situation concerned me more in regard to my Mom, for some reason.  




They would end up in hell, suffering, missing us kids, while we kids would be with the angels, totally oblivious to our parents' suffering.  While knowing we kids were okay might be good, they'd also know we had forgotten them so our eternity would not be troubled.  As for me, I would be mind-controlled to ignore or forget my parent's plight.  


That didn't seem fair.  But what if the scenario was turned around?  What if I was the one sent to hell for some reason, say on my 13th birthday?  The rest would be happy in heaven, ignorant or uncaring of my suffering.  Either heavenly management would force my mother to forget me and the love she had for me, or change her so she simply didn't care.  These conclusions seemed to make it clear that God and Heaven and all the rest wasn't what the preachers seemed to think.  Stealing memories and controlling minds were, to me, almost worse than anything Hell might bring to bear.  




I tried for some years after that, but church and I eventually parted ways.  At the age of seven I'd learned that life was unfair, from the schoolyard to the gates of Heaven itself.  In the almost half-century since I haven't seen anything to change that observation.  Fairness isn't impossible, but we just need to remember it isn't something you get, it's something you make.




And it might help if you don't think about it too much.

More On Piracy

Piracy is a high risk, high return economic venture.  Raise the risk, lower the return, and it makes piracy less attractive.  Skew the variables far enough, and pirates don't need to be arrested or killed; they will be forced to seek other employment.

Sadly, Somalia offers little other employment opportunity.  This would mean the desperate young men would either turn to other forms of crime, or move away.

Recent headlines seem to show present anti-piracy efforts are having just that effect.  Somali criminals are kidnapping high profile international targets outside Somalia then returning to pirate havens to hold them for ransom.

This doesn't seem to be a good development, but appearances are deceptive.  Somali authorities, what few exist, were happy to ignore piracy as long as the victims did not involve Somalia.  High profile victims from neighboring countries will bring far more attention and pressure to the criminals.

At this point locals will be forced to face and deal with their own situation.  It might cause towns to fail, local economies to crash, local tribes to lose everything, but anything being supported by piracy, kidnap, and murder must face consequenses.

The good news is such disaster need not strike.  Remove criminals from power and foreign aid received would be used in a constructive way, aid organizations able to once again operate locally, neighboring countries feel better about helping.

My guess?  It'll be the best thing to happen for Somalia in decades.

Guardians of Peace and Knowledge

To gush some more, the time I recently spent in the Navy's MMOWGLI 'game' was rewarding.  I got to absorb how other folks, some quite knowledgable, percieve the modern problems of pirates, terrorism, and profiteering.  Here's a 'for instance.'

A new problem the US military faces in the new kind of war they fight today is a lack of local support.  Local politicians, holy men, even neighborhood citizens don't want to call attention to themselves by dealing with Americans unless it can benefit them or their community.  Even if they take the risk, the soldier they work with will be gone in a few months and the new guy will be clueless.

Solution: A new program designed to create and maintain long term relations with local contacts.   Build an elite unit from career-oriented volunteer servicemembers, require long-term commitment.  They would work in 5-man teams, assigned to exclusively cover an important area of operations.  They would learn everything possible about local leaders, criminals, land ownership, all the details warfighters can't take the time to learn. 

At need, one team member would be detailed to liason duties for units operating in their area.  The agent accompanies important patrols, dealing with locals, making new contacts, gathering information. 

Another team member would be attached to local military intelligence as the handler for the agent in the field.  This handler agent processes the field agent's reports and schedules, allowing the field agent remain focused.  He would also insure that information from both directions was handed off to who needs it. 

Every three months the agent in the field rotates back to the States for R&R, the handler rotates to the field, and another team member takes over as handler.  This keeps local contacts and awareness intact, and keeps the agents fresh and motivated - six months overseas, then six months at home.

The three agents not in the field use the incoming intelligence from the agents in the field to update databases, remaining abreast of changes.  They also pursue a continued academic education program of language, psychology, history, economics, and business administration.

To highlight this focus on education, units would be based at military academies.  This presents several advantages:  1) agents would be an educational resource, even act as instructors, 2) continued education would not remove agents from assignment, 3) academy cadets could intern with the unit, perhaps OJT for a dedicated training program.

Personal qualifications would focus not just on warfighting skills, but also on tact, finesse, and ability to mediate high intensity social conflict.  The program would need to recruit and operate across military branches.  Recruitment should also come from post-graduate schools to reach people who know how to plan and reach for future goals.

The immediate result should be fewer surprise roadside bombs.  In the future these agents could make organized terrorism extremely difficult, quell modern piracy, and defuse problems before the rest of us know there are any.

Too bad I didn't get this written in the time I spent in MMOWGLI.  8)

Have you noted a lack of Occupy America in the media lately?  Apparently letting the protesters suffer bad weather in silence is the new policy.  Well, I won't forget them, and I hope you won't, either.  Any non-violent change takes a lot of time and dedication, but this change needs to come.

What change?

In theory a free market economy follows some basic, natural rules.  Should sole vendor Al sell rutabagas for $10 a pound, consumers must pay it or do without their rutabagas.  A high demand and limited supply of rutabagas let's Al sell them for as much as people will pay.  When vendor Bill sees how much Al is making on rutabagas, he finds a supplier and starts selling rutabagas for $10 a pound, too.

Poor Bill sees people still buying rutabagas from Al; consumers have habits.  Al is, in fact, getting more traffic and sales on all his products thanks to that reliable consumer habit.  Bill is stuck with rutabagas he can't sell that will soon rot and turn into a loss!

To avoid a disaster, Bill must sell those rutabagas, so he puts up a big sign announcing his $5/lb sale on rutabagas.  He quickly sells out of rutabagas, and makes additional sales for supplies to make rutabaga pies.  Now Al has Bill's problem, too many rutabagas.  With the big profits from previous rutabaga sales, Al feels he can drop his price even lower, bringing back customers.  Eventually both Al and Bill reach a price point that still earns them enough profit to continue offering rutabagas.

This basic scenario of market competition illustrates how a free market works to keep prices and supplies at a consumer-driven equilibrium.  If Al and Bill got together and agreed to fix the price of rutabagas at $10/lb, it would change the whole dynamic.

If Al and Bill were CEOs of American corporations, they would make a secret deal to both sell rutabagas at $100/lb, force farmers to supply the rutabagas for $1/lb, and force competitors into bankruptcy with infringement suits.

And now we understand why Occupy America is so ignored.

Hang in there 8)

Back From the Navy

Quite an interesting time it was, too.  They called it a Massive Multiplayer Online War Game, though it was really a big online sticky-note-and-bulletin-board brainstorm.  What made it a game was points were awarded for attracting discussion on your idea, with a bit more for participating in other folk's discussion chains.

Surprisingly, of the thousand or so who participated this week, a writer from Oklahoma finished 4th in the leader boards - me!

What I had to say generated a lot of interest, which was cool, but the best part of doing so well is I will likely be invited to the next stage of the event.  Woot!

But now, back to writing!

Navy Time

I apologize to anyone looking for new posts recently, but my excuse is that the Navy wanted me.

No, don't laugh - really.

Crowd sourcing is all the rage these days.  It works by asking LOTS of people to express their opinions and ideas about a problem they are interested in, then correlating the data in several ways.  With luck all those minds will hit on an optimum solution, but at least the data will reveal a lot on what people already know and believe about the subject.

The technique has been around a while, but only with computer advancements has it become useful.  Nowadays pervasive internet availability means that, in theory, a truly massive crowd source is possible.

I was invited to participate in a Naval crowd source exercise about future piracy this week.  I was pretty excited; I'm still excited, but sleepy 8)

Have a look: MMOWGLI

More later.

Occupy America!

Teddy should be leading Occupy America!

Even dead, he couldn't do any worse.

Earn it or give it up!








Like that'll ever happen.

Oh, yeah, it's all the fault of the 99%!






Just ask Cain.








How Congress operates -

      - Dud and run!

Zombie Christmas Album

This special offer is not available in stores! 


(tune of 'We Wish You A Merry Christmas')


We wish you a Zombie Christmas,
We wish you a Zombie Christmas,
We wish you a Zombie Christmas,
and a loaded 12-gauge.
Glad tidings we bring to help save your skin
Here come Nazi zombies in a blood-thirsty rage.


But wait, there's more!


(tune of 'Silent Night')


Zombie night, bloody sight;
All the dead walk tonight -
Zombie horde goes on for a mile,
Every one with a big, hungry smile.
Try to stay in one piece,
Try to stay in one piece.


And who could forget this classic?


(tune of 'Christmas Song')


Zombies roasting on an open fire,
Lots more nipping at our toes.
Moaning 'brains' in an undead choir,
And look, some undead Eskimos.
               
Everybody knows this is zombie apocalypse,
At least whoever's still alive,
Snarling dead that have chewed off their lips,
Will make it hard to sleep tonight.


Order in the next 15 minutes and we'll add Zombie Christmas volume II free!


(tune of 'Let it Snow')


Oh, the zombies outside are frightful;
They'll be inside by nightfall.
Since we got nowhere to run,
Let'em come, let'em come, let'em come.


Zombie operators are standing by, order now!

Under Glass

Chang'an, Hann Dynasty, 6 B.C.


     Ritual finished, Hann the Ascendant kicked aside the pile of sacrificed virgins.  Power beyond imagination surged through him.  Certain none could now stop his desires for ultimate rulership, he moved to the door his enemies were trying to break down and threw it open.
     With his new strength he slew the warriors with his bare hands, hardly weakened by the wounds from their weapons.  Their bodies were added to the others scattered on the floor of Hann's sanctum.  Even as they fell, Hann admired their bravery.  When the last warrior choked on his final breath, Hann was faced by an old man, eyes white with cataracts and dressed in priestly garb.  The elder bore a cushion with an object hidden under rich, red cloth.
     "Old one," said Hann, "Step aside.  Out of respect I will not slay you, but be warned no weapon you might have there can kill me."
     "I am old and weak, sir.  I could not kill you."  He bowed and slipped the cloth from the object on the cushion.  "I can only stop you."


     
Boston, Massachussetts, 2012 A.D.


     By themselves the items were odd, but taken all together it was the creepiest thing Michael had ever seen.  
     "Well, Mr. Brin, what do you think?"  The formally dressed collector seemed eager to know.  "Was it worth the trip to Boston?"  
     Michael covered his pause with a look around the cluttered sitting room.  Clutter was the wrong word; it was both too little and too much.  Mr. Woodrow's extensive collection of oddities was carefully arranged floor to ceiling, leaving just enough room for a path past each shelf.
     "Amazing, sir.  Quite impressive,"  Michael said in full honesty.  "I've never seen anything like it."
     "Oh, please, call me Ian." The old fellow held out his hand a little off-center.  Mike put his hand to one side, but Ian didn't see it.  
     "Of course," Michael said, taking the old man's hand and returning a firm handshake, "and you should call me Mike."  Apparently he was blind.
     "So, tell me, Mike.  Do you think we're worthy of an article here?"
     "At least, if not a feature spread," said Mike.  "Wonderful collection, blind caretaker, open to the public; what's not to love.  What fascinates me is how everything is right out where everyone can touch it."  He carefully balanced his curiosity with a reporter's indifference.  "In most museums there are glass and ropes."
     "That's exactly how I think it should be for these things."  Mike could see the old fellow's passion.  "They weren't meant as works of art, but they've grown into something special nonetheless.  Still, there are a few items I don't keep out."
     "Really?  I'd love to. . ."  Ian interrupted before he could finish.
     "No, no, I'm sorry."  The thought seemed to shake the old man.  "Too, uh, sensitive."
     "Indeed, I understand," Mike said with a nod.  He carefully noted Ian's blind glance toward the rear hall.  "Private collection."
     "Not - well, yes, something like that," said Ian, relief evident in his voice.
     After some further polite exchanges, Michael excused himself and trudged to his rental car.  Early sunset and lowering storm clouds had already blanketed the town with darkness and snow.  Neither would stop the heist.
     Mike mulled over the job during dinner at The Capital Grille.  No alarm, no pet; it seemed the old fellow had no idea that what he had was so valuable.  Either this would be the easiest heist for the money that he'd ever pulled, or he'd missed something.  Mike was still confident in his ability to overcome any obstacle a blind, old man or older house might present, but considering every angle was part of his process.
     It was a little after 3 a.m. when Mike made his move.  The snow had stopped for now, though the clouds still threatened.  He already knew there were no windows into the back of the house and now he thought he knew why.  It was a matter of five minutes and he was through the front door.
     A few more minutes of quiet search discovered the locked door he'd expected.  The lock was effective, but unsophisticated, and Mike was in the private collection before 3:30 am.  It only took one look around for him to understand why this stuff wasn't on display.
     If the rest of the collection was strange, this stuff was incomprehensible.  There were jars with macabre things floating in murky liquid, racks of shrunken heads, even a stuffed and mounted animal Mike didn't recognize.  He wasn't here to take the tour, though, so he kept searching rather than stop to figure things out.
     Between a ribcage with strange spikes, and a laquered box covered with geometric designs, Mike located what he'd been hired to steal.  Under the bell glass cover was a hand-made leather doll that vaguely resembled a teddy bear.  The thick skin looked slimy and none of the usual facial details were there. Crude stitching reminded him of Frankenstein's monster.  Mike felt aversion at the thought of touching it, but finally told himself he was here to steal it, not write a review.
     He examined the bell jar closely for alarms, but found nothing amiss.  Satisfied, he lifted the glass and -
     - fell to the floor in agony.  Pain overrode every thought, every brain cell.  Bones cracked and shattered under the pressure of shrinking skin; organs and muscles squirted out in all directions then withered to dust.  In seconds Mike was a near-duplicate of the doll, which went through a simultaneous mirrored transformation.
     Taking great care not to look at it, the Chinese man placed the newly-shrunken doll under the glass.  More quickly he dressed himself in Mike's empty clothing and moved to the door.  He paused there, fingers touching the wooden panel.
     "I am leaving, Ian," he said.  "My conquest was only delayed."
     "You know I can't let you, Hann," came the old man's voice outside the door.
     "Stop me if you dare," said Hann.
     "I'm far too old, now.  I can only kill you."
     With a shuddering thump, bright flame blossomed under the door.  Hann lunged away as the door shattered and a wall of fire burst in.




     The young fireman poked through the smoking rubble with a wrecking bar, searching for and extinguishing hotspots that might rekindle the blaze.  Dawn grayed the sky but it was still cold enough to make him glad for the protective gear  Twisting aside a charcoaled beam, he found embers and something sticking out of them.
     With a gloved hand he reached and pulled at the object.  What came out was one of the strangest things he'd seen in a house fire; a weird leather teddy bear that was not even scorched.  After a brief examination through his faceshield, he tossed it away from the burned structure; no need to leave a possible fuel source in the place.  He failed to notice the young Asian man snatch the doll from the slush and run away.
     The next thing Mike knew he was naked and cold, someplace he didn't remember, curled up facing an upside down fish tank over that strange doll.  He discovered that someone's clothing was piled under him, so he dressed and left.  Whoever wanted that damn doll thing could get it himself.




The End

Town Hall vs The Constitution of the United States

So, I've been wondering. . . does the Constitutional right to peaceful assembly override local city ordinances about the use of public areas? 

Asked this way, it seems an innocent, inconsequential question.  Yet that very question is in the news every day.  Occupy Wall Street has morphed into Occupy America and a young veteran is in intensive care in Oakland, California because of this question.

His skull fracture isn't the first act of violence committed against protesters.  Each one of these acts of police violence are directly related to the conflict of local ordinances with the Constitution of the United States of America.  Locally influential business and politicos feel local ordinances are more important than Consitutional rights and set the local police to enforce this belief.  Protesters believe their Constitutional rights of assembly are foremost and set out on their campaign of protest informed by this belief.

So far, legal response has supported the policy of local authorities enforcing local ordinances over Constitutional rights.  For instance, in Nashville, Tennessee, local politicos enacted an ordinance yesterday putting a curfew on a local park where protesters were gathered.  Dozens of protesters were arrested overnight using this ordinance.

This local response to legitimate, Constitutional protest isn't new, of course.  Protesters throughout American history have suffered the same tactics.  As long as local thugs are allowed to override constitutional rights, it will continue.

Good news?  Authorities are reacting to pressure from Occupy protesters.  This movement is facing the most entrenched and powerful foe to Constitutional, civil and personal rights ever faced by Americans, so this reaction is a good thing.

The bad news is this conflict will continue for a very long time.  Occupy America will need support from folks like us for years to come.  Do what you can; donate time, money, or just your voice.  Wall Street in all its corrupted forms must be forced to face the consequences of their crimes against America.

Dear President Obama

I hope this letter finds you well, because 99% of the rest of Americans are not.  Let me explain.

Those policemen who are supposed to protect and serve Citizens are acting like corporate goon squads.  They are treating fellow Americans gathered in peaceful assembly like criminals, even committing acts of illegal violence, violating civil rights, and suspending basic human rights.  I would appreciate it if you would call the Mayors of the offending cities and encourage them to rein in those men who are working to push Occupy Wall Street into Blood Bath Wall Street.

And while I deeply appreciate the sentiment of your recent mortgage help, the people who really need the help are those who have MISSED mortgage payments because of the economy, not those who are simply unable to sell their home for what they paid.  Americans are being kicked out of their homes because of unemployment caused by Wall Street.  Americans are being kicked out of their homes because corporate greed abolished their jobs and sent those jobs overseas.  Americans are being kicked out of their homes fraudulently by mortgage brokers willing to fudge the paperwork to make a profit.  I would appreciate it if you would ask Congress to pass a law that suspends foreclosures nationwide until affected Americans can protect themselves with bankruptcy, finding employment, or bailouts.

In closing, let me assure you that I voted for you and will again.  Keep up the good work, sir.

Respectfully,
Citizen America

Citizen Rant

Dear Presidential Candidates,


Who gives a crap about tax rates?  Banks, investment firms, and most large corporations are robbing us blind every day!  And really, tax RATES are far less important than tax BREAKS - all the breaks go to the rich and the corporations.


What we Americans want and need is for our government to stand up for us, protect us, and represent us.  This means PENALIZING corporations who send jobs and money out of the United States.  This means DISMANTLING investment groups that try to profit by destroying our economy.  This means CLOSING banks that gamble on the stock market.  This means BANNING dangerous investment practices like derivatives and trading utility futures.  This means making mortgages and other long-term loans NON-TRANSFERABLE without the borrower's permission.  


And don't forget to look closely at government itself.  This means NO PAY for Congress if they don't balance the yearly budget.  This means NO WAR unless Congress approves.  This means NO CAMPAIGN FUNDING from corporations, foreign governments, PACs, unions, or other 'special interests' - require the media to equally issue and honor campaign 'air-time vouchers' as part of doing business.


Please don't give us the same tired lies; take a stand, make a promise, be an American!


Hopefully,
Mr. Citizen

Graphic Twist

     Tom Brand looked around the dark alley as he took a long draw on the cigarillo. He pulled down the brim of the leather Stetson until his squinting eyes were just red gleams of reflected light from the burning stogie. 
     Anger twisted Brand's cruelly scarred face; sweat and blood on his short beard glittered in the full moon above the roofs of San Fiera.
      He pulled the little cigar from his lips, blew the ash from the glowing end, and tossed the twist of burning tobacco into the storeroom of El Perro Grande Saloon. 
     "Adios. . ." he grated through clenched teeth as he turned and strode away, spurs chiming. 
     The glowing cigarillo spun through the back door, trail of sparks sketchily illuminating bags and barrels stacked high.  It struck the potbellied stove, careened off a small barrel marked 'Gunpowder,' and arced toward the floor as a bestial figure lunged across the saloon's storeroom to the back door.  Spotting Tom Brand, his hated foe, Lobo the bandit king loosed a howl and crouched for a killing leap. 
     The cigarillo ember hit the gunpowder-covered floor.
     Detonation flashes lit up the town.  Half the saloon was blasted into kindling and the rest into a heap of flaming wreckage, burying Lobo's gang in a fiery tomb.  Brand didn't flinch as deadly chunks of debri whistled past.
     ". . .ya stinkin' werewolves," he finished and lit another stogie.
     Silver spurs clinking with every step, Brand stalked across the muddy alley to where the smoking body of his enemy had been flung by the explosion.  The werewolf's unnatural vitality was already healing burns and knitting flesh.  Brand threw the front of his poncho over his left shoulder, exposing the infamous .50 caliber revolver, Silver Reaper. 
     "You're done hurtin' these folk, Lobo.  Your gang is dead." he said calmly.  "Easy way is you lay there and let them throw you in jail.  Or there's the hard way."  Brand dropped his right hand to the gleaming butt of Silver Reaper.
     A handful of townspeople had come out of hiding and were watching the confrontation.  Mayor Keller limped closer, graying fur silvered by the moonlight.
     "I have deputies on the way," he rumbled.  "Thank you, Tom."
     Without warning Lobo flung himself off the ground, fangs bared, claws reaching for Keller.  As fast the the bandit werewolf could move, he was no match for Tom Brand's fast draw.  The Reaper spoke once and Lobo sprawled dead at the Mayor's feet.
     "Hard way it is."


     Henri blinked when his bedroom light suddenly came on.  His Mom was standing in the door, disapproval in her blue eyes.  His face burned from being caught reading after bedtime again.  With a deep breath she smoothed back the fur on her snout and face with both hands.
     "Dear, we talked about this," she said as she sat on the bed beside the boy.  "Your Father and I don't want you up reading so late."  She gently removed the comic book from his hands and glanced at the garish, bloody cover, which read, 'Tom Brand vs. The Bandits of San Fiera.'  "Especially these things."
     "Mom, all the guys will be talking about the new Brand tomorrow at school.  I gotta read it or they'll think I'm stupid or something."  Ears laid back in supplication, Henri gave his Mom his best puppy-dog eyes.
     "Why this, dear?  You know there's no such thing as humans."
     "That's why they call him an anti-hero, Mom."  His youthful scorn at her supposed ignorance almost made her laugh.  She bared her teeth in a stern face as she stood to leave.
     "Well, whatever he is, no more reading after bedtime, period.  Do you understand, young man?"  She waited a moment to let it sink in, then dropped the comic book back on the bed.  "Now, finish up and get to bed for real."
     "Thanks, Mom.  You're the best."  They touched noses and Henri curled up with his comic again.

After the Apple

NOTE:  Lighthearted Blasphemy Ahead

       God wasn't having a good day.  However, reneging on His Forever Open Door policy was never going to happen, so when Archangel Michael messaged Him an angel was seeking audience, God sat up straight and nodded permission.
       "Presenting Angel M. Istake," rang out Michael's voice.  The Heavenly Host sounded their golden horns as the Angel hustled past.  In moments he was before the Throne of God, where he prostrated himself on the steps of silver.
       "Let Us not be so formal, Angel," came the Voice of God.  "Get up, son."
       "Thank You Sir, and thank You for seeing me on such short notice."  Eagerness lit up Angel Istake's face as he drew forth scrolls from his robes.  "I think I've a got solution for the Tree of Knowledge problem, Sir."  The Angel held out the scrolls for God's perusal.
       "Give the apple teeth?  Nice work, son; elegant," said God, "but you're a little late."  With a wave of His hand, the clouds parted and showed Adam and Eve being evicted from the Garden.  "Make sure that gets on the Cloud Server; it might come in handy later."
       "Oh, Lord, I'm sorry about this," the Angel cried.  "I really tried to get it done in time, but everything seemed to go wrong."
       "Hey, don't sweat it," said God.  "You aren't perfect."  God rose from His throne and stepped beside the Angel, placed His arm around the Angel's shoulders.  "Maybe you'd like to do Me a favor with another project?"
       "Anything, Lord!" blurted the Angel.  "Whatever You need, Sir."
       "No need for all the 'sirs' and such, son, " spoke God.  "We're all in Heaven together, aren't We?  You just call Me Yahweh, and I'll call you - what did you say your name was?"
       "Murphy, Sir, I mean, Murphy.  Murphy Istake."
       "Well, Murphy, I'm thinking of installing a new set of rules on Earth," said God, "something to encourage humanity to think things out a little more carefully in the future."
       "Wonderful, Sir, I mean Yahweh.  I'll get right on that," said Angel Murphy.  "I should have something to Beta test by tomorrow."
       "Outstanding, son.  Like your attitude."  God slightly smote the Angel's shoulder.  "What to you think about naming this project Murphy's Law?"


End

Deadly Secret

       What is a mask?  Just an object to hide the face?  We each wear our masks already, presenting the person we want others to see, hiding our secrets behind lies and smiles.  Why would we need another mask?
       Freedom.  I am my Beast behind this mask.  I am free here to snarl and growl, with no danger my neighbors will suspect or my victims flee.  Behind here my face won't belie my words.  Behind here I am free to be a predator.
       Stalking the crowds of masks, knowing they feel their own freedom, intoxicates me.  Someone here in this street, someone dancing and walking and breathing will end tonight.  And however briefly, another will share my Beast.
       Among so many people I walk alone, touching them, smelling them.  Soon enough I will choose, but for now the warmth of the herd sooths me.  Music blares from passing floats and people cry out in excitement.  Then I fall down.
      "Oh, dear, I'm sorry," she says, helping me up off the sidewalk with a white-gloved hand. 
       It was a strong hand.  She was tall and slender, wearing a fantastical red velvet outfit, including be-flowered hat and hood.  With the lovely, simple white mask she was a complete mystery to behold.
       "No, my fault I think," I said.  Here was fate; welcome to your last hours.
       "I'm sure I tripped you," she insisted.  "Such a crowd, isn't it?  Perhaps we could get out of the traffic for now?  I could buy you a drink in apology."
       "If you like, sure."  Still holding my hand, she moves toward neon lights off of Canal.  Her utter openness and trust unsettles me and I let her drag me along like a child.  I have the inappropriate urge to laugh madly.
       Instead of a bar, she turns into an alley lined with parked cars.  With happy laughter she spins and hugs me to her.  The rough play arouses me, but people passing on the street just a few feet away force me to resist my urges.  So we twirl to her merriment until we careen into an SUV and tumble to the pavement.  Tangled there, she rubs my erection.
       I can resist no longer.  I pull the switchblade from my pocket and press the button; the blade springs out with a muted click as her hand touches my mouth.  Then there is pain, something like a blowtorch held to my spine.  I try to scream but her hand holds it back; I thrust with the knife but she catches my wrist in a crushing grip. 
       Pain drowns me for a white-hot time before the numbness spreads and I become aware of her again.  All my limbs are weak and painfully held; somehow she seems to have four hands on me.   Fear and arousal throbs in my gut.
       "Even you are soft and weak," she whispers in strangely malformed words.  "Monkey hunting monkeys, so pathetic."  She frees my mouth and laughs, not the pretty laughter of before, but hissing and ugly.
       "Who are you?"  I ask the first question that comes to mind while I consider escape.  She responds with more laughter.
       "You monkeys, with your curiosity and ego.  Thought you came first?"  She pulls me very close, so close I can see facets of compound eyes behind the false human eyes of the mask.  "I own this Earth.  It was my hunting ground before the lizards and soon you mammals will be ripe for harvest, too."
       Through the numbness I feel something probe my crotch; I headbutt the creature, slam a knee low to her body.  In that moment of her pain and distraction I twist free.  Her outfit falls open, her mask twists askew and I cannot choke down the scream.  Evolution, facing similar needs, crafted her head into a cariacture of the human face, but the rest of her is pure insect.
       The egg-laying cloacae instantly retreat into her swollen abdomen as the foot-long black stinger extrudes.  Before the plates can close and shield her again, I throw myself back on top of her, jam the knife into the exposed tip of her abdomen.  I take another sting in the hip as I pry apart the exoskeletal plates, then plunge hand and knife inside her again and again.
       Her death throes are inhuman, but very satisfactory.  There are no sirens, no screams; it seems my kill has gone unnoticed by the thousands celebrating Mardi Gras.  No time to feel relief; I rearrange her clothing and pick her up.  Her venom weakens me, but I manage to stagger away from the parade route and back to my car without attracting undue attention.
       Her body secure in my trunk, I rest behind the wheel, enjoying the feelings of a successful hunt.  With any luck, the pool of her blood and guts won't attract more attention than the vomit it resembled.  Fate has finally brought me what I desire most and I would hate the authorities to get involved.  There would be scientists and soldiers, getting in the way of hunting.  No, I would keep this secret even more closely than all my other human victims.

     Finally, a worthy adversary for my hunt. 

The End