Got Their Hands on Some Good Shit
"Derby," Keya's gaze locked on to the backside of my optic nerve. Her essence penetrated cornea, iris, pupil, lens, and retina. We were seeing each other, beyond the mechanism of human tissue. "You know something about this phenomena don't you? This schism of culture and SPIRIT. Did I wake up to a revolt? Has there been some mass shift of consciousness that, somehow, I stumbled onto?"
This was the moment that I realized the ramifications of my power. The world was now run by the most powerful global conglomerate ever formed, disguised as a democratic utility service provider called POP. POP controlled all information which was both blood and veins to the traffic of human cognition. At this moment, most humans (I say most but still the number of initiates is in the millions) are trapped on the verge of insanity, due to this barrage of electronic noise.
While a trace of connection still remains between them and the underlying intelligence of the universe, the masses are held in suspension. Exactly half of the uninitiated think the world is blue and the other half red, which has been expertly programmed into the outflow of information, so their distraction will prevent them from learning about their true natures.
I'm able to watch this colorful stream and appreciate it as an art form. The beauty of it entertains me as I watch it now. Such a complex development, as is Zol. Though pale in comparison to elements of the natural world, I appreciate POP for the weasel that it is. What a prankster! Zol, the only begotten son of POP--you're a naughty boy! But I have perfect peace with the situation. First there was a mountain. Then there was no mountain. Then there was Zol!
Without blinking or without missing any nuance of her body language or the distinct meaning of each of her words, I absorbed every layer of meaning communicated by Keya. "Listen by non-listening, see by turning the light around," DuBois had said to me, when we left Warbling and the chamber of the Forbidden Word. So that now, as I stood back to study the art of POP culture, while simultaneously holding hands with Keya in the anteroom of our hearts' conjunction, I was also easily able to recall the rest of the conversation with Alfred...
"The Polish Police?!," I resisted. "How? What do you mean? Why? Is this a joke?"
"Musme ahreesan," offered Warbling.
My blinking encouraged him to continue.
"Chits were originally a group of political protesters in the region previously known as America. They held an uprising. It was February, in the two "L"d Zol time. They saw the writing on the...
I interrupted Alfred, "What do you mean the two "L"d Zol time? I don't understand."
"I think DuBois explained to you but I see you still haven't grasped the significance. The ancient time. The prezol record is Akashic. 20l0 is Zolo. 2011 is the two "L"'d Zol time. 2012 is Zolz. 2013 is ZOB, etc. All things which become words become phenomena. Human brains are powerful beyond comprehension. Zol is an outcome of those times. So in February 2011 there was an uprising because Amazon was about to merge with Chevron/Mobile/Shell to control all energy and all information. The organizers which eventually fled to Tibet tried to prevent the merger," Alfred was talking fast, but everything was falling into place.
"By the time of Zolz (Dec 21, 2012) the last straw of the BP (Beyond Profane) disaster had broke the seahorse's back. The economic collapse had impoverished 98% of the human population. Great cappucino was nearly impossible to find anywhere. My feet were killing me."
I noticed him pause to see if I was paying attention.
He continued, "Actually I was just a boy and my uncle brought me with him to Srinigar. Have you ever heard the story of the planting of Tio Tabasco's head?"
All the imagery of the machette being swung onto the neck of Tio Tabasco and the bloody appendage being buried to revive the Jatoba tree forest rushed in with his question. "Yes, I remember the story. How did it end?"
"Well," answered Alfred, my uncle and the rest of the protesters discovered the medicine from the vine of the Turimlaka. Seems the roots from the Jatoba had spread from below the oceans to connect continents. The record is incomplete but somehow they brewed the concoction known as the elixir of Shambasa. These ceremonies brought them in touch with the teaching of Tio Tabasco. They had visions. They had knowledge of the whispering moon. And they could dance like James Brown."
"Cool. I want some!"
Though compassionate, Alfred Warbling had more ground to cover. "We no longer require the elixir for clarification. Nor will you after your washing."
"My washing?," I asked.
"Yes. After your next visit with the Duchess, the pieces of your journey's puzzle will fit snuggly together."
Oh yes. That was one sweet rain.
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"great cappuccino was nearly impossible to find..."
ReplyDeleteYou think of everything.