blogOPTICA

We Eat Live Chickens

April 1, 2009

Strategy Briefing, White House, Washington DC

Recently elected President John McCain, (soon to be ex-president McCain), sits unmoving, paralyzed. His impairment the result of a recent aneurism, he waits quietly alone, his gray head tilted awkwardly to the right. As he attempts to move, his mototized wheelchair hums, then whispers. He is alone in a remote corner of the oversized office. He is drooling profusely. 

The defualt surrogate, Sarah Palin, the only sentient elected official, now acting-President pending a forthcoming public announcement regarding McCain's recent incapacity--known, intimately, as Sally to an affectionate few power brokers--has settled comfortably into an overstuffed 'presidential' chair, a leftover from the previous administration. Richard Cheney, recently promoted Chairman of the Boards of Haliburton, Exxon, AIG , Bank of America, News Corp, (and, oh, lest we forget, the former U.S. Vice President), shifts to and fro from one leg, to the other, in the center of the room.

A large, dimly illuminated portrait of former president George W. Bush hangs on the wall behind Cheney, (someone has unsuccessfully tried to peel the canvas off the backing...there are finger nail-like scratches across the face of the painting, and a heavy cluster of claw-marks partially reveal a solid black under-color in one corner of the painting).

Various cabinet officers and few, probably CIA operatives, whatever, in sunglasses and fedoras, (strange clone-like personages, oddly, Jack Abramoff look-alikes), stand around the room occasionally talking into their lapels.

Karl Rove, (a non-compensated advisor), is facing the recently divorced, about to be anointed new U.S. President, Sarah Palin. She is sitting directly across from Rove at a massive heavily stained marble, Corinthian style, conference table, (also a remnant from the former occupant's furniture collection).

Rove: "Sally...oh, forgive me, I meant to say Madame President. First of all let me congratulate you on your recent appointment to..."

Palin, (interrupting): "Thank you, thank you, thank you. I have worked so hard to honestly represent the values of America, our fatherland, well, maybe only the lower forty-eight."

Rove: "Ahhh, yes, well, you're welcome. I have called this meeting in anticipation of your upcoming announcement to the people of America--many of whom spoke in one voice--who elected us all; umm...I mean you and President McCain, of course, to serve our homeland indefinitely, as public servants."

Palin: "Yup. Yup. Thanks."

Rove (glancing furtively around the room): "In this meeting you will be briefed on the single most important, highly code-name classified, top secret type of thing, policy, okay, affecting your presidency."

Palin: "Yup. I'm ready." (she doesn't blink an eye). "I'm really, really ready."

Cheney (walks over, stands behind Rove): "Good. Listen carefully Sarah, this is important...you must tell no one. NO ONE AT ALL!" (Cheney raises his voice, the quasi scream sounds eerily like escaping steam hissing from an over pressurized boiler)

Rove: "Got that? It's important, to the faithful citizens of our beloved country you MUST offer a loving lie, and keep it secret, eternally...do you understand?"

Palin: "Yup. Yup" (she blinks rapid fire)

Rove (turning to Cheney): "Dick, I think it's time."

Cheney: "Yes, of course. You must know, Ms. Palin...others see this differently." (Cheney turns, faces away from the group and removes a black velvet cape and hood that has been covering his head, his face, shoulders with generous loose folds of opaque fabric draping all the way down his back, effectively covering his buttocks.)

Rove: "This may be startling, please take a deep breath, Madame President. But, in advance of this revelation you should know this government has not been headed by those who have been elected, but by shadows of humans of extreme power like Vice President Cheney."

Palin: "Gasp! But, but...I'm a Christian."

Cheney (whips around, his face now revealed in the bright light of the conference room's harsh fluorescent lighting. He shields his eyes from the glare): "Christian, yeah, right, so am I. But Ms. Palin WE are not pathetic humans at all. WE, the true controllers, are REPTILES! WE are above religion, above morality, above ethics...above the law."

Cheney's voice lowers becoming almost inaudible. Raspy sounds slither through his trademark crooked smile. The vestige of a red forked tongue flicks over thin, yet protruding, ruby-red lips smearing rouge into a hideous pig-like caricature of his former self. Illusionistically, his face appears covered with greenish yellow scales. Though extremely thick, his epidermis is not skin at all. Yellow eyed, instead of the non-lethal baby blue contacts he wore in public, his vertical slotted irises expand to sinister empty voids. 

Cheney stares directly at Palin. She is barely able to conceal an overwhelming orgasmic-like anesthesia washing over her trembling body.

Cheney: "So? Being Christian doesn't count. DO...YOU... UNDERSTAND!"

Palin : "YAAAAAAAUUUUU-PPPPPPPPPP! (she screams)

(To Be Continued)

G H DIEL

Copyright EXOPTICA MEDEA PUBLISHING - All Rights Reserved   

2085 - A Future, A Fiction

EIGHTEEN THOUGHTS ON FUTURE EVENTS AND TECHNOLGY, 2001 - 2085
A Fiction, by G.H. DIEL

1. Personal/Public high speed transportation becomes widespread.
2. Terrorist evolved governments spread like Communism in earlier century, but most still are Fascist-based founded on religious ideologies, ultimately, all fail.
3. Several world metropolitan areas, including US centers, bombed by terrorists-with nuclear devices.
4. Nuclear Bombing of South American and Middle East
5. A single device -- a 'universal recorder' containing highly detailed personal records permeates the world permitting unlimited access to private and governmental records, making 'private' information available to all, levels playing field for most governments and their populations.
6. International manned bases on the Moon, Mars and manned solar system probes.
7. Coastal areas of world flooded; countries that can afford it, protect territory with massive dikes.
8. 'Transparency' fabrics become consumer products allowing individuals to move around in public, invisibly.
9. Obesity and 'physical' defects eliminated genetically and with stem-cell derivatives, as are many traditional diseases: diabetes, organ disease, and most cancers
10. Synthetic body parts become commonly available.
11. Famine and arid areas still a problem, as are pockets of homelessness and poverty - same as now (early 21st century). Fresh water replaces oil as the most valuable global natural resource.
12. Earth's population declines, dramatically.
13. Rich have--poor still do not, but social programs and governments do improve, social consciousness sees gains globally, though description of the type of government and economic systems to not fit into traditional niches.
14. Human 'ethos' and moral understanding changes slowly; pretty much same as in early 21st century.
15. Religion still focuses on the 'human' spirit, though it is still intangible--a single device may usurp this, providing recognition of a 'tangible' human soul.
16. Synthetic, 'designer beings', created in varying parts, genetic altered, mechanical/electrical/organic parts replacement.
17. Life expectancy, infinite: electronic/organic memory interface and genetic replication of organs and DNA, that is, 'cloning', extends memory, forever.
18. It becomes common knowledge, based on scientific and theological research, that 'life' is nothing other than memories--also, the definition of 'time' changes as it is proven that there is no 'past', that there is no 'present', only the future.

Thanks,

GHD (Search "G H Diel)

Face it.

I'm pretty certain this never happened ... but, then again ... well, you be the judge.

http://exoptica.com/wtc_cheney1.avi

G H Diel

Excerpt from, 'LIGHT', a Short Story by G. H. Diel

Nora Burgoin poked tentatively forward to more carefully inspect the opening, possibly an entrance to a cave pit. She pressed her lithe body tightly against the rough floor of the confined space. Cautiously she inched ahead toward the dark elliptical opening she already knew to be there. The opening now being brightly illuminated by her spanking new helmet lamp, she inspected the interior vista for structural stability. Still a little dubious of it's safety, she moved back a half meter for a wider view.

"Hmm, not as deep as I thought, nor as big," she called out to her two companions, one of which, her younger brother, held her long legs firmly for support assisting her traverse up the slight incline.

"I heard that," Nora's sometime boyfriend, David Sumner, said, laughing lightly, as he attempted to lighten the stressed atmosphere after the three had almost failed to negotiate the tight squeeze into the new-found passage, and, now, this find: an apparent pit.

A registered cave guide and highly respected geologist, Doctor David Sumner--his specialty: sulfuric acid formed crystalline gypsum, the more experienced caver of the trio, did not realize, however, that this short, highly privileged exploration of a heretofore inaccessible corner of the Lechuguilla Cave complex, was about to become more--much, much more--than a routine survey.

Nora moved forward a bit more and reached, partly seeing, partly feeling, for the opening's bottom edge. As her helmet-mounted LEDs flashed across the cave room's unexplored interior she saw something totally unexpected. She blinked reflexively to refocus her eyes in the dim light, her legs shook orgasmically as she strained in amazement at what appeared to be the glistening interior of an enormous, roughly split, geode-like outcropping about four meters ahead and below her.

"Brad, David, there's something down here," she called out.

The super bright light, intermittently catching then reflecting off the unexpected find, only partially illuminated the giant, half-split rock heavily encrusted with thousands of transparent, beautifully formed clusters of quartz-like crystals.

The two men cavers wedged ahead a bit more, craning their necks as they went. They crept up, next to Nora, in stunned silence. Each man pressed his body firmly against hers, each for a different reason.

Without warning the subterranean cavern came alive with a sound not unlike glass moving against glass. At first lightly tinkling like a crystal chandelier caught in a strong breeze from an unseen open door; or maybe, ice cube laden water roughly stirred in a glass pitcher--a not entirely unfriendly sound, normally--became progressively louder and ominous from deep within the chamber. The gentle sounds swelled in volume then exploded into a chorus, a high-pitched crescendo, a jolting painful wave, aggressively attacking the explorer's eardrums and their bodies.

"Brad," Nora screamed, "pull me back, pull me back!"

Brad slid down and tried to control his sister's flaying legs and simultaneously trying to help her down the slope. David pushed past both of them into the marginally larger open area below to where the path into the passage angled sharply back upon itself.

ZZZZZING! CLANK, ZZZZZ!

Vibrating like a mad hornet, Nora's helmet flew above their head out into the wider chamber at the u-turn. David leaned into the opening of the passage trying desperately to help his companions extract themselves. Twisting around at the motion buzzing overhead, he pointed his flashlight in the direction of the sound. From the little he could see, Nora's hard hat's light had been broken by a large crystal. Stretching awkwardly, he could see that the crystal was embedded in the headgear's shell, through the light. The hardhat wobbled over his head--apparently floating freely and unsupported against the chamber's ceiling--and, to his dismay, began moving, threatening him, with it determined progress.

"She got hit by something, I think it fell from above!" Brad shouted, his voice edged irrationally with panic.

The two men swiveled their bodies and flashed their lamps back to the girl. The helmet began bouncing around haphazardly, bumping the ceiling like a child's lost party balloon.

Brad pulled his sister's, now limp, body onto a smoother area of the chamber floor and rolled her over, facing up. A tiny gash in her forehead bled heavily ruining her pretty face and ashen hair with an unwanted mask of ruby-red, trickles of blood ran from her ears down the sides of her neck.

Brad covered the still bleeding wound with one hand reaching for a handkerchief David was pushing at him--his hands were shaking as he reached for the relatively clean linen.

"She's bleeding a lot," he said, his voice a nervous whisper.

"Get out of here!" David shouted. "Turn off your lights ... get her out of here, pull her out .. we'll feel our way out of this goddamn tunnel!"

"Wha?' why ...?" Brad, started to question the other man's request, but surprised by his frantic tone, said nothing, and switched off his light.

Once in total darkness the overwhelming 'glass-banging' vibrations, still howling like banshees, stopped abruptly. In the pitch-black, David felt something fall onto his back, instinctively he reached for the object, grabbed it, and brought it around to his front. By touch, feeling the familiar bowl-shaped form with dangling straps, he knew it was Nora's helmet; but also attached, protruding dead center from the light, he also felt an oddly smooth, cold-to-the-touch, angular form, which he assumed correctly to be a large crystal.

"Nora's hard hat, her helmet, it fell when we turned off the lights!" He almost screamed. His mouth, bone-dry, struggled to form the words, his brain felt rock-heavy.

"It, it ... just floated in the air ... then fell ... it hit me when we turned off the lights," his voice cracked.

TO BE CONTINUED

Crystal Cave Of Giants, Mexico Crystal Cave Of Giants, Mexico http://planet-3rd.blogspot.com/2008/05/crystal-cave.html

Light, An excerpt from the short story by G. H. Diel   

Interested in more stories by this author? Here's a free 100 page excerpt from the advance reader's version of 'Die Seele', Part I, of 'The Beth Trilogy', A Story of Travel and Colonization', click HERE, then select 'CLICK ON GRAPHIC GRAPHIC ABOVE FOR FREE PDF EXCERPT'.      

Copyright 2007 Exoptica Medea Publishing

More information: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lechuguilla_Cave

A Short Story of the Fourth Dimension, Flatland Redux, Roger's Email

Hey Richard,

As I said:

The Quantum State is both discrete and invariant, a condition of the universe, multiverse it has been suggested, at a founding state a homomorphism, a magnetogravity wave function that exists to support particle states, specifically matter.

A single point of the state is reflected throughout the ‘founding’ wave--a tensor field, if you will--simultaneously, conscious observation, however, is a merely a relative reference frame.

The founding state remains unchanged with observation, only the entanglement is observed A wave that can be perceived individually and not as connected to, or part of something else, but at any observation permeates, guides and founds reality and dimensional space, is invariant.

A model representing this wave preceding and entangled with particle aggregation, is a never changing state, A wave ‘fabric’ in the nether regions of the Planck Scale, which can neither be created nor destroyed--we call quantum waves.

Entangled particles, singular or in aggregate, 'compact' the wave relative to their individual or shared states, ie., spin, charge, orbit or their common Eigenvalues, this 'compactification' of the wave on the entangled particles holds and forms a new restricted state, we call gravity.

Come visit,

YBF, Roger

A Short Story of the Fourth Dimension, Flatland Redux, Part 3

North Street Fourth Dimension and Two Iterations of Time — Thoughts on Observing the Usual in an Unusual Way
By G. H. Diel

Sitting on the concrete bench--just a ways up North Street from where I originally began counting steps on my pedometer, just past the Boys and Girls Club, and, across the street from the Dairy Cone--I close my eyes and feel my neck bend forward, lowering my chin to my chest. I am slightly entering what I call a creative hypnagogic state, what my wife calls ‘goofing off’. No, no, no, that is a stereotype, my wife is totally supportive of my creative premises as both an artist and writer, for she too, is one of each--less I return the favor, she tolerates me.

The last image in my mind before I doze off is the hand lettered paper sign written in large, looping, fine-line felt tip pen letters, filling the window of the ice cream shop. From more than five feet away the sign's message is illegible: ’Closed Until Spring, Thank You For Your Business’.

I look up, making an uncomfortable, deep nasally, snort, to see Roger and his F-150 drive into the empty parking lot of the Dairy Cone. He walks up the ramp to the window displaying the sign, shields his eyes with his hand, leans forward, taps the window several times with his finger tips, moves over to the next window, does the same thing. Rog walks back to his truck, stops, turns, folds his arms, and looks at the vacant building one last time.

“Hey Roger, they’re closed.” I call out; he turns, searches around, and then sees me on the bench. ‘Physicists‘, I think … they just have to prove everything for themselves.’

“Richard, old bro,” he calls back, and flashes me a ’V’ for victory salute with two fingers, at least I think I saw two fingers.

“Do you have time to talk a bit?” I yell from across the street. ‘Didn’t Roger just stop here a few minutes ago, my memory is not real sharp this morning, I must’ve hallucinated.’ The thought evaporates almost as quickly as it formed, like a dream unremembered.

Roger pauses for a gravel truck to pass, and then heads over my way. He’s dressed top to bottom in authentic L.L. Bean: a muted plaid long sleeve flannel shirt, a weathered cordovan leather belt with brass buckle, plain front, khaki chinos--without cuffs, and what must be a new pair of oiled-leather engineer boots. Totally appropriately attired, especially for the chairman of the Physics department at the college, he flashes a cheesy smile in my direction.

“They’re closed,” he says.

“I know,” I said. “Got a minute? I’ve got some questions about quantum states, Planck values, you know, the usual.”

Roger perks up. “You bet, always got time for you, Richard. I don‘t have to be anywhere for another hour, what time is it now,” and he looks down at his stainless steel field watch, squinting with his one good eye he studies time.

“Six fifteen, that’s cool. Go.”

He gives the go ahead to start the discussion and sits down next to me on the bench.

“Look,” I said watching his expression carefully, pausing for emphasis, “… at the quantum level there isn’t much dimensional space, is there?” I offer.

"Well quan-tum lev-el, as you call it," he says slowly, phonetically separating the word's syllables, “The quantum ... state, is, in my analysis, both discrete and invariant--simultaneously, and I suspect that to be a condition of the universe, multiverse in fact, and at a founding state a homomorphism, a wave function that exists to support particle states, you know: matter. I have described it to students as a wave that can be perceived individually and not as connected to, or part of something else, but at any observation permeates, guides and founds reality and dimensional space. It is also a never changing state; call it quantum if you wish. It sounds a little confusing at first, but think of quantum mechanics as a model representing this wave preceding and entangled with particle assemblage--I’m not sure about particle creation however, you’ve got this wave fabric in the nether regions of the Planck Scale, and then you have matter and energy, which cannot be created or destroyed.”

“Really.” I said, and raised an eyebrow, what about peer review?

Yep, I think so, I'll shoot an email to you clarifying that notion. My peers? Well, that’s a long travel for acceptance.”

Standing abruptly, Roger rockets upward, he's suddenly anxious.

"Peer review," he whispered, chuckling to himself.

He wiped a tear, or maybe sweat from one eye, the good one, I think. Today he was fully, prosthetically equipped, shiny plastic teeth, glass eye, what a charmer.

"I should be going, come by and see the new ultrasound acoustic levitation unit the department is building, it’s a meter sized test-bed, really impressive, we’re working with globs of mercury right now, planning to introduce living creatures, mice and frogs soon. I’ll give you a personal demonstration.”

“You know, the acoustic waves supporting the mercury, it’s kind of like what I was saying about quantum mechanics, depending on how we calibrate the sound generator we can cause the mercury to separate in to small globs or reform back to a single glob, kind of like putting a broken egg back together. Want a ride?” He looked up at the sky checking the probability for weather change, or, perhaps, evidence of ... waves.

Rogers’s abrupt change of direction startled me. “Huh, yeah sure, thanks, just up to the bridge.” I pointed to the base of Blyoc Hill and the aging bridge spanning the Messalonskee Stream, just past the hospital.

We walked across North Street, now lightly traveled with morning commuters, to the truck. I opened the rider’s side door; the floor of on that side was covered with a good six inches of red and white empty Marlboro boxes.

“Just kick them aside, make room for yourself,” Roger said.

“I thought you quit smoking?” I said.

“I did,” Roger said. “They’re somebody else’s.”

I said nothing more as Roger started the old truck, loudly rumbling, mufferless, slowly rolling at first and then he accelerated the old thing fast enough to push me into the seat, running the yellow, just turning red, stoplight at Eustis Parkway. We pulled up into a turnout just after the bridge, and Roger skidded the truck to a stop, I got out.

“Hey, Thanks Roger,” I said.

“No problem, See you later, come visit.” His window down, his hand jabbed into the air marking a distinctive screwing and unscrewing motion of the aether.

Spewing gravel from the rear wheels, he shouted as he sped away, “Bon Appétit, dude!”

I walked back to the bridge, and looked over the railing at the stream below; the water level was high due to a recent rain. I leaned on the railing and folded my hands, thinking about nothing in particular, then, turning my head I looked back down North Street, and jumped straight up as if kicked in the ass. There, in front of the Dairy Cone was Roger’s truck and a little further down, Roger’s truck again, Roger, or somebody like him had his arm up in the air from the drivers side window. Everything around me moved as I expected, but the old F-150 in two places at once on North Street. I wiped my eyes, and looked again, still there! I started to walk toward the unreal scene, rather fast for a fat old man, expecting the enigma before me to dematerialize as I approached closer and closer ... it didn’t.

TO BE CONTINUED

(See October 18, 2007 for Part 2)

A Short Story of the Fourth Dimension, Flatland Redux, Part 2

A 2 Dimensional Space and No Time on North Street — Thoughts on Observing the Usual in an Unusual Way

By G. H. Diel

As I watch, in the distance the Ford truck distorts, my bad eyesight certainly the cause, and flashing in the sharply angled sunlight, becomes a ‘dome’ like apparition on the horizon floating like a soap bubble on the broken pavement of North Street. I ‘know’ Roger is inside that apparition and yet he and the truck disappear. I think of the book ‘Flatland’, I close my eyes and jump into an internal hallucination thinking I am a Square without depth perception, I am the world of 1D and 2D,point and length, Roger is the world of 3D, with of course depth, and transposing this to the world of the fourth dimension, if Roger remains in the 3D world and I evolve in the 4D--things will become weird. I open my eyes and sit down on bench across from the Dairy Cone, I probably should not try to walk while I am contemplating the world of two dimensions I will call ‘Flatdom’, forgive me Dr. Abbott. What am I observing here? Roger, disappearing over the hill, his truck actually becoming ever smaller as he moves away? No, that’s one aspect that is impossible. The F-150 merely appears to become smaller. Pause, a long, long pause, my thoughts suddenly become vacuous. Nothing. Smaller truck--the truck actually got smaller? It certainly appeared to.

In Edwin Abbott Abbot’s book, ‘Flatland, A Romance of Many Dimensions‘, a sentient creature, a modest ’Square’ with observational limitations of ’his’ own, limits most certainly physiologically set, attempts to communication with the lesser dimensionally ordered worlds of ‘Points’ and ‘Lines’ only to be subsequently confronted by a ‘higher’ order being ‘Sphere’ from our own observable world of three dimensions. My apologies to Dr. Abbott for the liberties I am taking with his wonderful story; however, I have a story of my own to tell.

Sphere, who has been observing Square, Point and Line for eons, one day, overcome by a a previously unexplored altruistic desire, decides to introduce himself to his lesser world occupants, descends and settles on the surface of Flatdom--all two dimensions of it. That same day, Square decides to take a short trip hoping to return home before the ‘darkness’ starts and he must sleep--he does not want to sleep away from home. Square is not but a short distance into his trip and he sees the results of Sphere’s descent. Unexpectedly, before his very eye a ‘Point’ appears as if by magic. It is Sphere touching the ground of Flatdom, barely. The new Point expands into multiple straight lines, angled at very slight degrees to one another, each the same.

If Square had two eyes he would have perceived the ‘time’ aspect of the creation before him, and would have perceived the apparition as indeed a Curve, a line segment drawn on the surface of Sphere, alas this was not to be. Stereoscopic vision was not in the makeup of Square. Sphere immersed himself more and more onto Flatdom watching its occupants scatter right and left and at random angles, Points leaving traces, forming Lines hiccupping at angles, forming odd shape variants of Squares without closure, and Squares replicating into innumerable illogical, and incomplete, angles of itself. Oh, Flatdom’s inhabitants knew well the vagaries of two dimensions, though they could not explain them. It was a matter of semantics, as far as 3D Sphere was concerned, for to him all of 2D land was a smorgasbord, laid out at his feet, ready to be taken or played like a piano.

Sphere, being the benevolent being he was, never considered exploiting his superior observations or implementing machinations that might offend Flatdom beings. Square, Line and Point (the plural also applies as Flatdom was populated by many), simply observed, in language that made sense to them, phenomena and variations of their own kind that appeared then suddenly disappeared.

One day by mistake, Sphere, cleaved by a cut on his surface slipped into, or more accurately onto Flatdom and with his ‘scoop-like’ form carved a small canyon in the two dimensional world of ‘flat’. Now of course the presence of three dimensional phenomena could not be seen as ‘objects’ by the two-dimensional creatures, but they could experience effects such as impenetrable, unseen impasses, but crevices presented a unique problem: for falling into a hole for a two dimensional object forced a two dimensional awareness and ultimately a language of measure. This was an almost supernatural event in Flatdom, for in Flatdom there existed no understanding of ‘Time’ as used in the three-dimensional world.

Also so in the 2-D world there existed no convergence of objects in perspective. There existed no such ‘phenomena’ such as this, this 'foreshortening' to make room for other objects. But here, now, with an incremental measure being suggested to them as two dimensional creatures fell into the crevice and disappeared ... Square could perceive that the event did not all happen at once. This boarded on heresy! For Flatdom was, had been, and always would be a purely quantum world of probability consisting of seemingly chance appearance and disappearance, without measure--no third dimension, no colors, only the phenomena of ‘light‘ or its absence, no 'Time' and perhaps, ... no Gravity.

TO BE CONTINUED

(See October 12, 2007 Post for Part 1)

A Short Story of the Fourth Dimension, Flatland Redux, Part 1

4+2 Dimensional Space on North Street — Thoughts on Observing the Usual in an Unusual Way
By G. H. Diel

It is a beautiful early Fall morning in my little town. My daily walk takes me up and down North Street, an important secondary thoroughfare here, semi-efficiently joining east and west parts of the town—if you know your way around. The section of the street I’m on is straight for the most part, level, before about three-quarters of a mile further up will begin it’s steep climb, a hill—treacherous on an icy winter day—leading to Blyoc College. Today, the street is framed by beautiful color changing hardwoods. As usual, my head is filled with thoughts of 4+2 space.

Unexpectedly, a growling car horn, no doubt weakened by a loose connection, blurts one of those short ‘beeps’ people give trying to get your attention. I am startled away from my rumination and turn to see my friend, Roger, moving up slowly behind me. He has pulled over to the parking spaces on the wrong side of the street illegally; he’s obviously on his way to the college, but made this stop just for me. The driver’s side window is down and Roger is hanging out the window like a cheerful troll, his left arm folded over the side of the aging, rust-pone, F-150. Roger is smiling—toothless, as he almost always is, hating his dentures—ready to break into his trademark, semi-maniacal cackle at the least provocation. His family and friends think nothing of his quirky personality, nor do I.

Shaking his long white, ZZ Top style, throw-back—I mean retro—beard and hair, moving like some aging, time ravaged, Farah Fawcett. Suddenly, spastically, his dangling arm shoots straight up and unscrews an unseen light bulb from the air. His behavior semi-understood as always, after all, this is Maine.

”Hey, Richard,” he said waving his hand toward me, still clenching the invisible lamp, welcoming me aboard.
”Hey,” I said back flatly, reflexively. My mind filled with attemps at visualizing the fourth dimension shifts slowly into 3D.
“Want a ride? Hop on the light express.”
”Thanks, Rog, not this time, I’ll walk—exercise you know, and I patted my increasingly rotund mid-section.
”Gotcha, dude. See you later, gotta go, Carpe Diem,” he says, rolling up his window and checking over his shoulder for any stray police cruiser.

He heads up the street, his ‘sort-of’ white truck becoming ever smaller as he moves away at a good clip in the twenty-five mile-an-hour zone, sparks fly from a dragging muffler and blue smoke spurts behind, and, In a minute or so, Roger and his pickup are gone, perspective taking its toll. Roger and Ford have, to me, disapeared over the crest of Blyoc Hill.

I can’t wait for winter, the snow, the scraping, dead batteries, the rock-hard icy car seats ... what a life.

Ever have a sense of karma, Feng Shui, deja-vu, I dunno, whatever it is, that feeling that something is out of place, or in-place, but you can’t see it? It’s there, but, then again, not there? This is it. I was having one of those moments. I stood in the breaking sunlight of the crisp New England morning impassively watching Roger’s truck morph into nothingness. A cool breeze washed over my face.

”Flatland!” I said out loud, out of the blue, then nervously looked around to see if anyone was watching.

TO BE CONTINUED

See also Itzhak Bars, http://physics1.usc.edu/~bars/research.html#2T