What Small Voice?

The Mont Blanc 'homage' series of fountain pens does not include one for Ptolemy II Philadelphus but it possibly should do. He gathered together - or at least 'caused to be' - by laying out the amenities and handing over the impressive sums of cash to accomplish it: which was namely the re-writing into common Greek of the day, all the known books of sacred knowledge throughout the civilized globe.

When read now from accurate translations into modern English, this is quite the megalithic Sci Fi 'space opera!'

One incident worth looking at, in view of recent escapades into 'the landing of aliens(!)' onto the White House lawns - is the affair concerning a certain character called 'Elijah' and his inquiry about these things. He clearly knew that he was in touch with some extremely powerful sky-residing intelligence, but even he was not so directly engaged in obvious human physical ways that gave him total satisfaction about what was going on. And so he sets about to make inquiry - and then, this super-advanced intelligence shows him the variety of previous 'manifestations' of what other, and earlier 'prophets' had seen. 

He sees a very great wind arise on command of the voice (in his head, I must presume, given the entire context of the passages in question), and then a thunderous storm, and then a blazing fire, loud noise whatever else I can't recall at the present, but in the end he hears, as in literally hears with his material physical ears a 'still small voice' coming from a cave and he knows inside himself that this is now a real physical being he is at last encountering, but in fear he closes his eyes!! Damn. Just when we were all about to get a good look (via the text), as it were.

And then, to compound matters for all the rest of us, this voice says to Elijah 'what do you want?' No. Wait. The voice says 'what are you doing here?'

So what... Was this a simply rhetorical question on the part of a deity?

I mean, does he/it know the answer or not know it?

For my own purposes here and now I don't particularly wish to go into whether I believe this was God or a god, but I will rest on the clear conclusions (if we simply just go with the narrative as being honestly given to the intended readers) that 1. at this point it was a real human physical voice being heard, and 2. it came from a 'supernatural' (as in, not the usual human being living around the area pertaining to that day and age) person.

But the most important thing is that the voice (and this appears to also be the intention of this part of the narrative) is 'saying' or implying at least, that its personal reality does not lie particularly in extravagant 'manifestations' (I mean to say, they might for whatever reasons...) but it can also just 'turn up' like a common-or-garden variety humanoid. 

I took this shot myself, can't remember
if it was Enoch though, or Elijah,
going up into the clouds. Whichever, it's exactly
like one of the NASA Space Shuttle take-offs.

Again, for intellectual exercise purposes, let's 'go with' if not the ancient alien theory as such (this is just a stupid mirror-in-mirror fallacy, anyway; it doesn't explain the existence of things as they are at all!), then the notion of extremely advanced, 'alien' beings not essentially of or from this, our Earth and its timeline.

I mean let's also be very clear on this matter too - both in the Koranic text as well as the original Hebrew/Koine Greek Jewish and Christian texts there is not simply 'one' god but many gods from the heavens and some other even 'beyond the heavens' 'place,' and the Koran wording about it is 'ahad' not 'wahid,' which means 'Allah' is UNIFIED somehow, rather than 'is one' (which would be 'wahid') but elsewhere in the Koran Allah also claims He is able to marry if He so chooses 'one of' 'His own kind...' This is quite bizarre, really.

Well what kind, exactly, is 'He?' 

Let's apply our current knowledge of maths and physics.

The number of atoms in the human body is a digital multiple of a billion times a billion times a base billion. And that is a lot, quite a lot more even than the number of satellites in Elon Musk's 'constellation of satellites' he intends to have orbiting the planet so that he can dominate all the 5+G point-cloud data acquisition on we poor little living human creatures down here!

And so, if you want to use a Star Trek-style transporter beam technology, and manipulate a single human's integration of atoms it's going to take a ton of technology to do it.

The equipment involved, if it were to be assembled by today's top line leading edge technicians, is probably not going to be able to use exact mirrored co-ordinates, but 'scientific notation' resonant close proximations of... ...of you and your body as you are experiencing it right now, for instance, if I were to take you up into our space station here and then drop you off in front of Washington investigative journalist Lee Stranahan's nose on the White House lawn.

Bit of a wobbly pattern, there. Poor bastard must have been pretty
out-of-phase afterward. After that episode on the dance floor.

...I mean, to re-assemble your neural network structures (life's memories) is going to take quite some doing even yet one further step again in excess of just being able to send you 'here and there' you know, 'to-ing' and 'fro-ing.' (LOL). I mean, how many reading here are even going to get the joke reference about 'people multiplying, going to-and-fro...' Daniel. How many... But go your way, Dan, till the time of the end. LOL

You want to see aliens, do you?

Well. Possible.

Pieces Of The Puzzle III

Okay this is not going to be your standard article here.

One of our friends opined in 'another place' that things would be (not in these exact words!) entertaining, to say the least, if the aliens turned up on the White House lawn. Soon, hopefully.

Anything can happen of course.

Now before this new direction of thoughts, I was heading off into the cold, white, icy, snowy deepest heart of winter. And here I was going to take y'all to the place where there is literally nothing happening - no animals, no birds, no insects, certainly no reptiles despite their so-called 'cold-blooded' biology; no one moving around. And then absolute darkness falls and pretty much anything still out there without very advanced thermal clothing on is dead or dying and will be dead and frozen long before the (Rolls Royce) Dawn turns up to pick you up. ...Even if it's on its way and destined to arrive in half an hour.

Prague is one of these places, they say, that is
often in mist, and has street plans that no one can
work out!

What would be the point of going there? It's pitch black, still, abysmal or certainly can be...

The environment in such a place is a world away from say, the heat of East Africa. But it's not a world away, though, is it? The world, this world, this planet Earth - is, as it were, a crucible of many different things, many different living things, many different environments.

Now if you are a student or scholar of ancient languages that is what you will know the Old Testament says in Genesis - it does not say, the Elohim created all the things that lived upon and crawled upon the Earth: it says the Elohim were called upon, to gift things from their treasures (from wherever they came from in the heavens - it literally says that) to the treasury of Mankind. And then, neither does it say, as everyone seems to think, that 'the Spirit of God hovered over the waters,' but rather - the will of the Ruler of the Elohim 'did something' (wrestled with? Contended with? Made contention?) with or over the Typhon at the DEEPEST ABYSS OF THE WATERS and prevailed over him whereupon the Earth was then made livable and then, all the creatures thrived (were able to) and multiplied on the Earth.

In these ancient texts the intelligent beings of the Kousmos are divided into the Our-An, and the Tyr-An - (what is in, or from, or resides in, the heavens, and what lives in the uttermost depths of 'the abyss.'). By popular nonsense, the 'Anunnaki' are aliens that came here from maybe Orion or someplace, and 'created' human life on Earth - according to what the Sumerians wrote down. But Anunnaki just means children of the 'An' and the 'An' is nothing we can find easily translated into our modern language. ...Or at least I don't intend to go into it here. 

Advanced vehicle for a deep snowy winter...

However suffice to say because of the demands of this limited space and my own attention span - the 'Tyr-an' are inimical to the rest of life on Earth.

Now if you thought all this previous stuff is the 'out there' passages I foreshadowed, no - what comes now is the thing:

You see... once again by common popular notion, Ares, the Greek God of War is a 'god' according to Greeks. This is incorrect of a view though. The Greeks, albeit holding respect about this identity as supernaturally powerful, well... ...put it this way, the bravest philosophers outright said he was not a god at all, at one time 'an Olympian' (one of these 'An' who resided sometimes on the mountain tops in Thessaly and elsewhere in high places likewise - maybe Mount Hermon, for example), but cast from Olympus never to be able to return to the Council there. Ares was twice injured by men, who succeeded in spilling his blood - once by Diomedes in the Trojan war, and once by Hercules ('Melqart,' in the Old Testament), and he was stunned and knocked out altogether once with a stone hefted by Athena.  

Ares either created or fathered 'Ladon' aka 'Leviathan.'

And there we have, the contending figures from 'outer space' let's say, or better, from all different parts of the galaxies, where the most advanced intelligent species are.

Cutting to the part that will be of interest to some lurid readers here, then, are some 'speculations' regarding biological humanoids who are introduced into the planet, materially and physically - and who therefore exist here seemingly, as ordinary human beings: it is hypothetically the case, that they all follow roughly similar DNA structures that would be regarded as 'the type' required to fulfill some task or role over standard human time.

Let me take a look into my middle drawer and extract some files and see...

The 'Gibeon meteorite' dial watch

Oh, yes... ...Tony Blair is a very similar 'pattern' as Serge Lutens; virtually a carbon copy. Roger Vadim is another though different type of the same thing going on.

Now as for actual extraterrestrial things, you can buy a watch with a dial made from something that has come from very very far away in space. And you may buy some brands like this for two or three hundred dollars and still have ETA or Sellita Swiss watch movements inside them - pretty good value if you ask me. 

What is the objective of these 'aliens?' 

Well, it's only a hypothesis, isn't it.

Golden Pieces Of The Puzzle

When is it ever the time to say 'not gold, not yet Morgiana?' 

One of the problems with watching a kettle boil is avoiding getting scalded with hot water if and when the thing boils over because no one has taken it from the stove.

Morgiana - you will recall - was the clever slave girl boiling oil to pour onto a bunch of thieves hiding inside large vats. And the thieves were hiding inside there to leap out and do some evil when they got out.

The recent upward moves in the standard traded price of gold cannot be seen outside the light of whatever is going on behind the scenes to do with Iran and the Yemeni/Saudi affair. Is there any reason to suppose there has been a sudden general increase in overall investment market liquidity worldwide? The Euro-zone is a nightmare, Brexit an utter fraud being practiced on the people of the UK by thieves hiding in vats or snakes in baskets, whichever you prefer. Any liquidity there? I think not.

To 'the end of the rainbow...'

I've been saying since 2015/16 'not yet' regarding gold as far as quick trading is concerned but it is never a good time not to merely accumulate slowly - that is the essential 'secret' anyway.

But let us go to the great Biblical oracles - let's try 'The Mistress of the Ob' (aka 'the witch of Endor') - though of course, there is no word 'witch' in the Bible anywhere. All these terms (and there are several different ones) that have been turned into the modern 'witch' translation, have nothing to do with any witches being spoken about in the Bible source texts.

Historical literature also mixes up core original ideas and over time the common population loses touch with the key meanings that are implied by any poet or writer. Take for instance the Roman poet Naso (you know him as 'Ovid'). Now all modern texts and the Wiki and so on will tell you that his middle name (IE 'Ovidius') means 'owner of sheep' an 'ovius' being a sheep and we probably get 'ewes' from this root.

But I tell you that he was from a strange family and that they knew he had powers to delve into the Underworld. The Greeks had 'Orpheus' and the Romans 'Ovid.'

The Hungarian dude tells Nicole Kidman something about 'the Latin poet Ovid' in the bizarre film 'Eyes Wide Shut.'

'The Ov' is the opening to the Underworld at which portal or 'gate' you may converse with those who are beyond this, our, obvious world... LOL

'B' is regularly said as 'v' in Hebrew.

Anyway - what does our friend the Mistress of the Ob tell us about the near-term prospects for the price of gold:

"Gold is a magical talisman, with the properties of infusing the thoughts of men with a living shining power like the ways of the dynamic energy of the Sun on plants and trees and growth; it is warm and warming, and breathes the whisper of life in the middle of the deepest, coldest Winter of the mind."

Cave of Treasures (Extracanonical text from 'the Lost Books of the Bible' translated by S. C. Malan)

  

Pieces Of The Puzzle (II)

I don't know whether you realize this or not - but there are many things that even here in this fairly secluded place, I am not permitted to talk about. 

And that's sad for me, because one of my 'fears' is how far removed are people becoming, from genuine authentic factual knowledge of science and history and I suppose, human thinking as formalized by great figures of the past and even the present.

Idiosyncratically, a wide section of the public is easily attracted to 'darker' themes - magic, witchcraft, demonology, Satanism; all those sorts of subjects. Whether it is like rubber-necking, lurid details having their own magnetic properties to the human mind... ...likely it is that.

Let's go there soon, okay?

No one deliberately wishes mere harm and disaster upon themselves. 

And I would not be interested so much if they were proceeding with a good grasp on sound knowledge about these subjects and areas of research - except that too often, what they have (and it is especially so today, when YouTube channels tend to proliferate nonsense but with the tenor of a learned voice) is a very mistaken idea wrapped in some catchphrase or 'special' word.

Thus we cannot separate modern meanings of various words that originally meant quite other things than what are currently widely supposed in error.

Here's an example:

All the ancient writings about 'Alchemy' speak of chemical fire (aqua regia; nitric acid and hydrochloric acid) being able to solve the mystery of making gold from dross - and yet no one in the occult fields want to discuss 'dichroic glass,' and Florentine ruby glass as much as they want to talk about some other 'magical' purpose of 'Alchemical transmutation.'

And so to 'solve, dissolve, and resolve' are words/phrases which have taken on very arcane, metaphysical and mysterious meanings.

We are losing intellectual depth in our literature and in our cultural idioms.

The shawl is obvious, but the rest of the fabric is
gold shot Thai silk. Yeah - real gold.

Take the Bond Movie 'Goldfinger...' 

Goldfinger is the first time we actually hear Bond himself set out the iconic Bond instructions on the Martini. Dr No was the very first time we hear it in the films, but Dr No utters the famous words there, not James Bond.

We hear an immense amount everywhere among aficionados about Auric Goldfinger and about the gold tie-ins within the story - and I have never seen anyone that much pay attention to the glass Bond drinks the martini from in the movie, nor to the exotic style of tuxedo Goldfinger wears in the movie.

Transgenderism is not new by any means at all in our culture and mass entertainment: Fleming talks about it via the character 'Tilly Masterson' and in a number of other places in a variety of his books, including in 'The Spy Who Loved Me' which 'could have' been written by his wife Anne Rothermere, rather than by Fleming himself.

You could easily find yourself in a heated argument these days as to whether the producers actually realized what type of cocktail glass bond was using in Goldfinger, or if it was not simply an accident and a co-incidence...

Florentine glass-wear; it's hardly a typical Martini glass is it

So yes, it is tonight here the middle of the Winter Solstice in the Southern Hemisphere, and it is at the same time the Summer Solstice in the North where people will gather around the tables of the giants for what they think are rituals related to modern-day pagan ideas they have.

Stonehenge is a killing place and an eating place for gluttonous beings.

The more people 'celebrate' there, the more likely it is they will unleash some subtle metaphysical effect...

On the other hand, hidden in the most apparently inhospitable, deep and dark Winter reaches - even as it were an abyss itself - is a tiny advancing lantern...

To which will you go? 

  

Pieces Of The Puzzle (I)

I suppose one of the 'beauties' of these Blog sites, is that they archive various people's writings - and even in the case of this type of Blog (this one that you are reading here) that very few people ever find their way to - nonetheless it can serve to create a record somewhere (not just the so-called 'Wayback Machine' archival system - which can be tampered with by the FBI) of things that propose a different position to any 'official' or 'officially accepted' one on various matters.

Something from 'way'-back! A Malayan rubber estate inspection
by the Army 'Malayan Emergency' officers. This is a pic from my own sources.
That fellow on the left looks a bit like Rory Stewart!

Albeit I was about to go straight to this matter of 'the end of the rainbow' (and I shall go there, but not 'directly' - sigh, as usual with me, you all mutter), something was flung across the desk here which interposed itself rapidly, but in a way that is all the same connected. But I will have to explain why, 'connected.'

You see someone threw me a report on the UK Conservative MP Rory Stewart - specifically, about his father Brian Stewart. His father's biog claims he was some kind of Colonial Service Officer in Malaya, presumably, under Gerald Templer. Now my family was deeply connected with Templer, and the (then) British Colonial Service during that specific era. The official biog appears to suggest he was some kind of important person. And indeed he very well might have been - the problem I see is the timeline and well, frankly, all too much detail, when it comes to someone who was in MI6 at a high level. You need but consult Wikipedia on any very well-known MI6 name, and it will disclose the characteristically scant detail.

Now... ...just in case we have a few readers rush in and gainsay what I am about to say on whatever basis they will have - I must point out that Dick Franks ('Dickie' to his family and close friends) or, his real birth name, Arthur Franks, was a relative (not blood relative) of my father's, specifically he was married to one of my father's aunts. He resided for a long time in Singapore and that was where his family (he had a daughter...) lived and grew up until they went elsewhere.

General Sir Gerald Templer and the Tunku ('Bapa Malaysia')

Dick Franks was head of MI6 when Brian Stewart was serving in it, who had at one point (Stewart had) been under consideration for Chief.

The official biog now claims that Stewart was the managing director of the Rubber Growers Association of Malaya WHEN HE RETIRED FROM MI6. 

Now. Problem. Either he was in two phases in the MI6, and thus COULD have been MD of the RGA of MALAYA (which was called that prior to Independence in 1968), or, the official biog has it wrong and he was somehow MD of the Growers' Assoc. of MALAYSIA - that is it had to have been AFTER, well after, 1968; since he was still in MI6 in the Seventies.

Second problem: how does he become the MD of a Malaysian Growers' Assoc when it is a Muslim country with Bumiputra rules for senior execs particularly...?

Wiki says Brain Stewart, Malacca 1953

Sure it's possible and I have no interest in contacting people who could verify this from directly in the Malaysian scene. Like a lot of ex-Colonial places they also share some 'cultural cringe' attitudes but I find this questionable even if it were true at all, because it would suggest there is something untoward or unsavory about the control some UK interests are exerting inside the Malaysian raw materials industries elites.

It just has my ears prick up when I further read that 'Stewart was regarded in the Secret Services as highly competent but arrogant....'

I dunno - are we living in a parallel Universe here? Everything I read about 'Brian Stewart' could be written of my father... Now I know my dad took pains to 'go dark' when HE retired and even when he passed away, but since I myself lived in Penang (and was VERY WELL patched in, with the young brats, and their parents, virtually a 'rich kid' of Instagram except there was no Instagram then, only Eastman-Kodak and its 'society magazine') at the same time someone 'Brian Stewart' was making it large there among higher society - I think I would have certainly known of some arrogant 'Stewart' fellow swanning around.

I don't think this Rory Stewart is any kind of relative of ours: for one thing he's a right ugly little thing... ...and I'm not. Not physically, superficially, anyway. I am VERY ugly inside.

This is 'the Rainbow,' see... It's an illusion, or - an effect of light and the conditions and a prismatic medium the white light passes through. But you already knew that. Still, knowing it and believing that what you are seeing isn't actually there, are two different things.

The UK government is attempting to 'write history' here. 

Southern 'Winter Solstice'

In three days it will be the Winter Solstice here in the Southern Hemisphere. 

Supposedly, it is High Summer in London town right now, and I see, with the coverage of the half-dozen or so (false) contenders for leadership of the UK Parliamentary Conservative Party - door-stop interviews and footpath chases and so on - that it is mostly raining over there.

Rory Stewart was busted yesterday as a 'one-time' (huh! ...lol) MI6 spy.

A lot of the mainstream media keeps saying about him: 'he's come from nowhere.' 'An unknown up until recently.' 'A man with a likable personality and a clear vision.'

The major masthead newspaper that ran the story was The Telegraph. This was the paper once owned by Conrad Black and now owned by those identical twin UK iconoclasts - the infamous Barclay brothers of Brecqhou and Sark (Channel Islands). For all its best efforts to tell the unvarnished truth - and they regularly do that - even The Telegraph is also probably even more often hamstrung and held back by legal injunctions and various pressures exerted by the government and their backers, to delay or obscure what facts are discovered and known by their senior journalists and editors.

...by the independent Milanese family house,
Canali

The number one - and I mean THE NUMBER ONE - scandal in the US and the UK right now is the suppression by interests of the Obama Administration, of the interdiction of a Hezbollah plot to blow up targets in London in 2015. The scandal is that the bomb plot was huge and involved very large amounts of explosives, and that the Obama Administration 'negotiated' a deal with Tehran within a few months of the plot being uncovered. What did those 'negotiations' actually mean?

Obviously, no one got any large illegal cash payments processed through Panama...

No, because 'they' were looking there to get as far away as possible from where it all went down; notmentioningtheUkrainehereanywhere.

I don't know. Seriously, I do not believe there will be a general public revealing of what was going on then - and to some extent in various hornets' nests still today. I mean just how do you tell the voting public any of these things? Do any of you (still) think that James Comey was on the foreign embargoed accounts desk of HSBC New York, because he was an experienced, 'temporarily ex-government' senior bureaucrat. Because it is entirely possible that the programming has gone too deep and you cannot face the facts of it all.

For one thing, it is literally the key Washington 'invisible hand' that pushes this current propaganda scam in which vitriolic accusations are leveled at anyone and everyone who is not a supplicant to the 'Grand Master' of the 'place at the end of the rainbow.' LOL You know what I mean. 

Don't you want to find where the rainbow ends?

It ends here, dude, in the middle of Winter, in the cold and in the dark.

Watch Out For The Germans

You know when you see this term 'the elite' these days, I'm not sure exactly what people understand it to mean.

On the surface, there is, for instance, a strata of people in Germany, who are in the league of the 'extremely wealthy.' These are individuals who personally have from say, fifty million euros in cash above debt and forward maintenance costs on property (unlike the French 'moneyed class' who have exactly no money at all and a huge forward expenses bill in view all the time but own nice old buildings) - to um, fifty billion euros and above. They have these huge highly secured buildings in Bavaria and Eastern Switzerland, in which note shuffling machines work virtually day-long so that the bills on the bottoms of the stacks don't wear away to dust... You think I'm kidding, don't you?

This one's not a bad bloke, all in all. He owns, he owns,
owns, well... ...everything!
Give or take not very much that's left over in the West.

So the 'elite' Germans hang out at extremely private functions now and then, in which they pat themselves on the backs for all the things they have done. In several cases this consists of being smart enough to have been adopted by the original Reimann Family bosses (they had no actual genetic kids, as far as anyone knows), and as a consequence now own a conglomerate which is just about (IE probably is) the world's richest corporate group.

Now. Now... Nyeee-o-o-o-w...

Apologies to those fellas and fellettes here of rare and uncommon gender. You think you are or have been, or 'did/were and thereabouts' - running an agenda for awhile; something social/political and broadly-based - or maybe just that others like yourself have been and you are helping tag along or render support, whatever.

Well, see, it's not all exactly like you think it is, see...

See certain of these big industrial German families have some strange members in them... ...really really st-r-a-a-a-a-an-g-e. 

Trust me - it's not going to end up where you suspected it could have.

There's a two-layered thing going on: on the one hand, these companies take someone else's crafted product, cheat on the in-puts, multiply the volumes, and then sell it to the stupid public as a 'luxury' item and 'brand.' At which point the thing itself is unrecognizable to those who actually made up the original market (the buyer, and it prolly just was one buyer in some cases!).

And then along came the GFC. But then there was the 'bail-out' scheme across the globe, in which all their capital assets went up on paper and were underwritten by various taxpayer cohorts in several countries.

It's Burberry, but not any Burberry you
and I are allowed to buy

Were there really any sales of the genuine items? Nah, probably not or at best the same amount as always - which is 'not very many.' When the governments and their central banks flushed cash into the coffers of the top-tier racketeers then meaningful numbers of 'sales' appeared on balance sheets signed-off by the remnants of the global auditing racket absent Arthur Andersen (the actual only honest guys all along! ...Funny 'bout that.).

But, behind it all there's a few of these German guys who fear something - and they have long-range plans to keep themselves in charge forever or at least for as long as.

And these guys are a lot lot smarter than you could ordinarily suppose based on what you might typically observe about humanity - and they are quite capable of putting one face on for the chief accountants and clerks of the Singapore government, or for the Eurasia Group, or for the Atlantic Council, and they are quite another thing alone in private among themselves. They are... ...meta-schemically unstable. LOL


AND THEN ON ANOTHER HAND (you thought I'd forgotten about that), they have deep personal philosophies rooted in the days of mid-18th Century Europe and Germany, even later on as well to the late-19th Century and tiny tightly secretive inner circles of German philosophical fraternal groups. These formalized mindsets are crystallized in some of the more bizarre schools of European psychology (and now, certainly, American and English as well of course).

Charlene Flags The Start @ Le Mans

Princess Charlene (pronounced 'Char-laine') waved the starting flag an hour ago to signal the start of this year's (2019) Vingt-Quartre Heures du Mans (25 hours of Le Mans) endurance motor-car race.

The weather is currently fine enough, if a little cloudy and I am looking forward to another long night of silly noisy nonsense during which we'll see the latest V-12 Astons roaring up the straight at the Mulsanne Circuit, and Charlie Martin in the BMW Judd M3...

...Charlie, as you all know, being the first trans-gendered race driver to compete in the race.

That's Charlie, pronounced Char-lee.

Are You Ready For This?

Here are some of the log-line cut-in scenes for the movie "The Neon Stained Glass Murders."

Read along to the music...

I stopped my black Rolls Royce Wraith on one side of a high crest, backed by all three of the

main types of physical barrier - tall trees, thick shrubbery and viney wall. And waited in the

evening dusk, like the good (pretend) pre-booked late night test-drive Rolls dealership agent

that I was (not). This was likely to be just a probing run from the trial guy. I’d read all the prebriefing

files - or at least thought I had done - and moved the car seat back smoothly using

its quiet electric mechanism and sat in utter darkness; a Night Owl Pro Nexgen IR Illuminator

Night Vision on an internal, in-cabin, movable titanium micro-hydraulic mounting system in

front of my face, the G22 in my lap.

Hours passed. It was well into the darkness of early night now. I’d played around with the

massage function in the seat enough times. I’d stepped out of the car and then back in again

a few times. My back was feeling pretty okay.

...It wasn’t just one trial probing guy, there were four in full private security team operational

gear, in one vehicle, already inside the gated community proper and pulled up against an

exposed section of the perimeter wall of the target’s actual estate.

I had all the listed actual private security guard patrols; these were none of them.

All evening I had been thinking about the words of two guys: Edward Snowden and Thomas

Sheridan - Snowden’s main point was chiefly that you could not have a system open to ‘the

good guys’ but closed to ‘the bad guys; it was either fully closed and totally secure or it was

not secure, period.

*

...You can set the Wraith’s exhaust sound to a ‘sport mode’ and the thing sounds pretty

intimidating. I made sure I came down the drive in ‘sport exhaust sound’ mode and then I

switched it off right outside when I drifted it in and kept it at a slow crawling pause at the

porch area.

The front doors opened and a figure stepped out, dressed in a bright red silk Chinese-style

gown and wearing what looked like those black Tai Chi slippers. She had very short-cropped

but otherwise thick and rich hair with some kind of colored dye streak in there in several

parts. No makeup, no lipstick.

I lowered the large side glass window. “Rolls Royce has emergency interior palette-matching

British lipstick and mascara. For just such situations. No problem. Derbyshire Orris butterbased

lipstick, in colors matching the leather trim…”

I let the car slowly start to slip past her. “Best in-cabin light show in the world.”

“In the glove compartment,” I said. “How are you with ‘mandarin orange?’”

“Never have tried it…”

She was a slightly taller than average, rather svelte, wondrous magical sugary confection of

symmetrical good looks and bodily warmth in real life, up close.

*

I watched her in the lift as we rode up. This was no ‘still waters on the surface’ type of

personality - this was a highly energetic, dynamic, ambitious, borderline manic personality,

almost. Clearly remembering what I had said at the very first, she had insouciantly and

quickly availed herself of the mandarin orange lipstick inside from the Rolls’ glove

compartment even just ten minutes from leaving the explosion behind us in the wake of the

black Wraith.

There was a large print on a wall of Charlie Chaplin from the film ‘Circus.’ At first glance it

looked like your typical urban, rather common, iconic and popular wall-sized black and white

photo-print.

But when I touched a switch the lighting changed and the photograph showed a man

dressed in midnight blue, not black, and the ‘white’ photographic key-tones in the image

were Belgian cream.

She looked up at the high vaulted ceiling. “Wow. Colossal.”

Her gaze lowered to the book on the table stand. The cover read in prominent old fashioned

Copperplate scripting: Bobbi Fischer’s Seduction Chess - have the game wrapped in 3

moves.

She picked up the tome and turned it over in her hands and read out the title audibly but

hesitatingly: “Bobbi Fischer’s Seduction Che-ess?

“...Have the game wrapped in 3 moves.” She read the full subtitle out aloud.

There was a knock at the door. It must have been Naj with the Louboutin shoes.

*

She touched inside the box to feel the gleaming dark blue leather shoes, first the outsides of

them, then the insteps, all the way to the toes, and then finger-tapping the nail-lacquered

soles. Somehow the smell of new leather exuded all the way from the tissue paper covering

in the box right up to nose level, in the biting cold air of the living room.

She put down the box onto the floor with the Louboutins back in them, slipped off her black

tai chi pumps and disrobed in her bare feet, standing there in the cold room atmosphere

wearing just bra and panties. You could feel the heat from her body. And then she smoothly

reversed the gown with its dark blue lining side out and put the thing back on, tying it around

her waist with its mandarin orange sash. And squatted down to get the high heel shoes out

of the boxes and try them on one at a time holding onto the side table with one hand to

steady herself. She was an Eight in the Louboutins.

“Naj is going to go back to his place now and make us all midnight supper, aren’t you Naj?

“Truffle linguine…I was going to do truffles and linguine...” His voice was barely a whisper.

“That sounds good. And a good strong olive oil too, eh. I want the truffles to be able to go

right into our bloodstream and come out through the pores of our skin. You know what I

mean. I want to be able to smell it.”

“I don’t drink you know, I just thought you’d better know that!” She said. “Before you take off

into your 3-step seduction plan, or whatever, what is it…”

I signalled with both hands to Naj: “Go, go. Hurry, dude. In an hour we’re going to be

starving!”

“Oh you don’t need to drink the stuff I make to get rattled.” I shot back at her. “The way I

make it the fumes alone will almost kill you. And the way I make it in any case it’s generally

only for certain types of brave men, so you don’t have to drink it although there are some

women who are equal to the challenge - you know: risky adventurer explorer-types - rocket

men, rocket women; people who like to get things up, go where no one has gone before.”

“We’re not having sex.”

“Oh we are having sex.”

She looked around, seemingly more at ease stepping away from the sex chatter. “Where is

that gas fireplace of yours? It’s freezing in here. And who are you, by the way...”

“Over there.” I pointed expansively, way out across the floor right to the other side of the

large, high vaulted ceiling, living room. “Be careful how you go,” I said as she began walking

over to the gas fireplace. “Attitude determines altitude, and if you tilt up too fast, you’ll fall.”

“I won’t fall.”

She slowed down, realizing properly that what I had said had some basis in the actual fact of

walking in Louboutin high heels. Not that she didn’t already know and ought to have

considered in all of the circumstances. ‘All of the circumstances’ meaning the adrenaline and

the prior sex banter and the elevated tilting of her hips now with the meaningfully raised, high

stiletto heels. And the rhythmic insinuating effect on her ass muscles as she walked.

“You cannot… ...be serious.”

Ha ha. I laughed to myself. Too late. And she was the musician. Should have read Kitab al-

Musiqa by al-Farabi, the Ninth and Tenth Century Persian-Arabic scientist and philosopher -

on the cosmic qualities of music, and its influences.