Some Angels Live - III --------- Chris Isaak Wicked Game

"With such mindcraft as yours, you must have been trained by someone high up." Rogan peered at her. "Where do you come from?"

She did not know fully if she could trust him, but similarly did not see any reason to lie. "I was raised at Shinefel. I had a job, friends and a family, but that all ended the day the Lumatel agents came."

"What did they do?"

"They came round to the coop under pretext of testing multi-dimensional image mapping. They had some advanced technology. I was pretty taken with it all I admit. They must have taken some of my chip in the distraction."

"You were a victim of mindcraft theft. An increasingly common occurrence these days." He paused for a moment, as if finding the right words. "When you say 'some of my'..."

"-- all of it. Yep." She laughed weakly. "For a while I had no lumadata."

"How long before you regained full energy levels?"

"F-five months." She stumbled as the words brought back memories of that painful time.

"Ouch. Guess you won't be making that mistake again huh?"

"I hope so, but - but - I'm scared that..." Her throat tightened.

"That they'll come back?"

"Yes. I'd never withstand it."

"I bet. Well, they won't find you here. This is the most secure place on Earth, but you can't stay here forever. You need to learn how to secure your lumadata."

"The droids. Up there. Was it them who gave it back? My - my - ?"

"Your mindcraft field, yes. Mindcraft particles, lumadata particles: they are one and the same, although you could argue one is more fashionable an expression." He smiled. "The droids will continue to replenish your lumadata as long as you're living and breathing. They'll ask nothing in return."

"That's reassuring."

"Yes, Kosmanarshi, it is but.."

"What?"

"..but that can't be your saving grace. Prevention is better than cure as the old saying goes. You need to avoid situations that threaten your lumadata, and if that isn't possible then you need to get much better at defending yourself against those who pose the threat!"

"Why?"

Rogan glared at her.

"Because, you stupid insolent girl, every time calamity occurs because you've let some lumatel agent into your coop, it will take a little longer for that mindcraft pool to be replenished. It will be no fault of the droids. They will carry on with their duties as ever, but with each setback from mindcraft robbery, you will hurt a little more keenly. Your lumadata receptors will slow down. Your torus will permanently and irrevocably shrink."

"Oh."

She looked down sadly.

"Look. Don't despair. I'm sorry I got spikey it's just; it's just I've seen this happen a lot. So tragic, especially when it could be overcome. Here." He handed her a small piece of what looked like glass. It was black, but in certain lights it showed a moody green hue.

"That's pretty. What is it?"

"It's cloud rock. It preserves mindcraft particles."

"What do I do with it?"

"You need to go somewhere sunny. Somewhere private. Like in a secluded woodland somewhere. Remove and expose your memechip. Allow the luma particles to flow away. While the lumadata is gone you will feel alone and vulnerable. They key is to be patient enough to wait for the lumadata to return to the memechip. It should do eventually because it was allocated to your torus by the droids, but it could take hours - or days."

"How will I know when that's done?"

"The queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach will subside and you'll feel normal. Then when all the luma particles are safely back in the memechip you need to take this piece of rock and place it inside your memechip just before you close and restore it. With a bit of luck it should stop the burglars in their tracks."

"Really? How?"

For the first time, Rogan laughed. His laugh was kind.

"Let's just say, it'll confuse the hell out of them."

Some Angels Live - II -------- Mahler 1

Still trembling she leant away from the apparatus, trying to make sense of what she had seen. "What are those things?"

"They are droids. Robotic creatures. They come from a distant galaxy. Their casing is of a metal ore that can only be found deep underground on the planet Lithier."

"But I don't understand. Why are they here? Why can't I see them without the -- when I'm not -- ?"

"They can't be seen with the naked eye. Viewing them requires technology. I made this instrument as a means of studying the human torus. I did not intend to come across these creatures, but in doing so, that is what I found. I was initially terrified, like you I admit, and feared for my life, but having studied these robots for some time I no longer view them as malevolent. They are peaceful. Gentle giants in fact. It is my belief that they came to put right imbalances of mindcraft atoms."

"....Mindcraft atoms....?"

"The particles that make up your energy field. Your torus. Your ability to think reflect, create art and music. Everything that makes you human."

"Why come to Earth just for that? What's in it for them?"

"That's something I've been pondering. My best guess is that they see it as their duty because it was they themselves who created mindcraft atoms. To them it was a gift bestowed upon the human race. They wanted us to see the error of our ways and cease to make war and to destroy so readily in view of the delicate balance, the fragile ecosystem in which we live."

"You believe they are sentient?"

"Almost certainly. They know everything about us, perhaps better than we know ourselves. They are us. So much so that they feel our pain. That is why they made the journey to be with us. Everytime someone is born without Mindcraft energy, a droid cries. It is all they can do to gather it up and hand it back."

She was certain that he was making this up. He had to be didn't he?

"Okay, maybe you're right. Say they are good benevolent beings. If that's the case how come there's some people with a heap of mindcraft whatsit, while others only have barely any?"

"It is the droids task to ensure that each living human being has sufficient force within his torus to do his or her job, big or small whatever that is. We are all different, and so need different amounts. Robots being robots they can gage fairly accurately how much the correct amount is. They would never exceed the appropriate amount for each person. That in itself would be dangerous. But whenever someone loses some mindcraft power it causes suffering. Evil reigns. The droids can feel it. They know. That is how closely connected they are to us. Rest assured Kosmanarshi. The reason you have a large torus field is because you need it." He smiled. Kosmanarshi shivered.

Some angels live - I ------- Current tune --- Capdown - Civil Disobedience

They were standing in the observatory, next to the silver telescope. Just down the hill Rogan had found Kosmanarshi sitting alone exhausted, her eyes half closed.

"I don't know. You say that I'm foolish. Maybe. I say making it this far is reason enough."

"Only because the angels are helping you. They are everywhere and it is they who protect you. Large ones small ones fat and skinny, they devote themselves to your safety."

"Why would they do that?"

"Because of your torus."

"My what now?"

"Your torus, your energy. You have a startling current for someone your age. But it exposes you to danger. There are those who desire your end because of what it represents."

"What does it represent?"

He suddenly looked at her, taken aback at her ignorance. "Lots of things, someone with high luma strength can bring hope and freedom; to those who are worthy."

"How do you know this?"

"I read a lot. I spotted you or rather, your torus, with this." He pointed to the telescope behind him. "Everyone has one, but yours is purple and larger than is customary. Is it so hard to understand why I approached you? I mean I'm standing there just doing my regular observations when suddenly I find a giant purple orb just loitering in a rock crevice. What am I supposed to do?"

"I've never heard anyone talk about a torus before."

"It's ancient knowledge, not generally spoken of. Maybe it should be."

"Is that a normal telescope?"

"It can be used in the normal way but I refined it a little. Now it can detect the torus of all living things. Take a look."

He stepped aside to let her up onto the ledge. The instrument was pointed in the direction of the sand plains ahead. She stepped up to the lens and squinted her eyes.

"What do you see?"

Kosmanarshi did not respond. She was frightened. Her hand fell away from the instrument. She was shaking.

"You saw them didn't you?"

Steppenwolf don't ask me which album ("born to be wild" wasn't on it)

It was International Poetry Day the other day; progress I suppose but if you saw what I had to say about annual days that are devoted to a concept that should theoretically apply all the year around - like for example rights and esteem for those in possession of a vagina - then you'll understand why I don't rate it too highly as something that furthers the cause of the tortured creator of prose. "An artist/writer's place is in the broom closet/mysterious void behind the washing machine where the dishcloths go to die, clutching tightly hold of their Ipad/caked up paintbrush/sledgehammer, sighing whenever a word/splodge of paint/some other obscure medium of expression goes array on the wrong part of the sentence/canvass/multidimensional vacuum." Was it Churchill who said that? Somewhere on the globe there's an allotted corner for any genre you can think of. Meanwhile there's infinite space for art that ticks the boxes. I'll try not to worry about it. I struggle with this. As a rule I avoid crowd pleasing because it's a half-measure. Let's see... originality and compromise: best of friends they aren't. (The reverse sentence structure was for emphasis and not a Yoda impression, but you can say it in a Yoda style if it makes pleases you). I sometimes imagine a connoisseur ogling my oil paint stuff and uttering those fateful four words 'you could go far'. Really? Where too? Will it be shiny? All that glisters. Blah blah. It's true though. I don't imagine it could ever be as shiny as the moment at which we finish a creation born of our own minds, completed for no-one else but ourselves. In all likelihood no-one else'll care or even understand; but that's okay because we don't want them to. The reasons you turn to the canvass are personal and volatile. I despised the write-up process during my art G.C.S.E.. I made some okay things - sculptures and clumsy sketches. My art teacher would glance over my shoulder and say, "That's great." And I would feel great. Then she'd say: "Now explain in a concise three stage plan how you came up with the idea." And I'd be shot down like a clay pigeon. I didn't have a 'three stage' anything I just wanted to draw people's faces in black charcoal. Maybe that's the mandatory clincher between amateur and professional. High ranking craftsmen and ladies don't just produce pretty trinkets. They carry their wares to your doorstep, boot your door down and give you a thirty-minute powerpoint, even without the interactive white board.

Kurt Atterberg Piano Concerto

Sanctioning a population (or a grouping therein) for committing mass murder is one thing. Doing so whilst aiming a missile their way is another. The atrocities taking place in Damascus don't bare mentioning. Suffice to say the web is currently brimming with graphic images. I don't condone violence. I am a peaceful person and like many, being confronted with these images is upsetting to say the least. However, when I read about the U.S. planned retaliation -- firing missiles at specified targets so that they can 'get the message across' -- I nearly laughed. What message? The one to indicate who has the biggest dick in a cross- continent wrestling match? What? What do they hope to achieve? No one; not the civilians; not the military (except maybe through some kind of inbuilt sick joy at getting to play with 'big toys'?); not the banks; and not even the politicians making these horrendous decisions will benefit. It will cause a war. Another pointless, resource depleting war. Devastating for everyone. The only good thing I can find to say about this situation is that I no longer feel guilty about having bought new shoes when my old pair fell to bits. I waste hours in a permanent state of anxiety at the fear of overspending by one or two pence. Meanwhile the government is busy spending millions on drones and killing machines. Where's that sterling come from? Partly taxpayers. Partly borrowed zeroes added to infinitesimal debt. I just don't understand the mentality. It's starting to piss me off. Sleazy oil companies and pharmaceutical monopolies quietly licking each other's bum holes in an interminable chain of command. And yet when you get to the end of that long line; step behind the smoke screen -- it's just some guy. Okay he wears a suit. Maybe he attends the odd secret conference that decides our futures. It's still just a guy. He still uses the toilet. I bet sometimes, just sometimes, he thinks of what he's done and feels afraid. Then he shrugs it off and carries on. Maybe he's tired with the world so he has to buy another 4X4 just so his wife turns a blind eye to those hookers he hired. Maybe he has to start a war so we forget the lies that were already there. He's still just a man. Nobody made him the centre of the universe.

Public Service Broadcast

Sobering: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0gh3JrdL-Zg&feature=player_embedded *Happy news bulletin: Today whilst sitting in morning sunshine, arduous reading of a long, depressing book about WWII was brought to a halt when two peacock butterflies landed on the page I was on. They were exploiting the flat surface for cleaning of antennae and proboscis. Subsequent 10 minutes was spent in contemplative wonder of their beautiful colourings. Yey :D

Zapp 4

1) I feel reasonably well. I've been eating loads and dare I say it my ghoulish appearance is gradually being replaced by a modest collection of freckles and sunshine. There was one day about a month ago when I cried. It was sparked off by an email from a friend, although on reflection there was nothing unkind or malicious in the words written. It seemed to trigger a response to something else deep within. It was like having a mirror held up to my own hypocrisy. My failure to challenge the things that I hate. The admissions that I will one day become those things. I've been bitten by corporatocracy. It's too late. 2) "You either pay the farmers or pay the hospital" -- kid of 11 gives pretty accurate depiction of the food system http://www.ted.com/talks/birke_baehr_what_s_wrong_with_our_food_system.html