The lost tribe of saturn, p.1
The Lost Tribe of Saturn,
The Lost Tribe of Saturn
Copyright 2017 Richards Hall and e.
(the next page)
The fictional office of Wiiir-D management is now open for business.
This may be a quirky place to start a next page, but the open road of expanding distance is a quirky place, to be used sparingly.
At least on my part. No worries, except that I do, and I generally delete what I say. You just never know who’s reading and judging you, as one may distance synchronicity to the gorging chant of none one me, none one me, none one me, me me me. Repeat repeat repeat.
First things first, I must give myself a big shout out of - D’OH!!! When I originally released this work I put the the next page at the end. Obviously it belongs here.
I am slow.
Today I feel a need to provide some explanation, and then too much much more explanation, as applies to calling Life Sentences . . . zone 6.1. Rest assured, it’s all background to prime you for good times.
Good good times.
This entertainment, which really doesn’t get much beyond barely started in zone 6.1, and which is nowhere near as preachy as what immediately follows, if preachy a’tall, is going to be told for however long it’s going to be told in 5 distancing time zones, with the current chronicle-piece, be it story, chapter or zonal chronicle, placed on top, generally on day one of the month, with the prior piece placed on the bottom, and the whole package renamed with somewhere a nod to Tribe of Saturn or LTS. If ever I decide to tag a dollar cost any given month, to keep it honest, the next month this will be free again, and fully inclusive apart from covers.
Let me repeat, this here opening along with zone 6.1 is not at all representative of the entertainment. This is almost a prelude of punishment, which you can skip for all I care.
Go ahead, hurt me.
Let’s discuss the safety of sameness. I am going to be hopping about, trying to keep it brief and sketchy. Skeletal. Boo.
In the most life and death of life and death situations nothing beats reliable same-thinking. Think of unreliable same-thinking as everyone headed to the freeway. That may be asking for a lot. Perhaps I do, but I don’t ask for it quickly. Nor do I ask. Let me just suggest that there is a time and place for sameness, or maybe just a coming time and place. It may be that it is always coming, and arriving, and going.
The gift to humanity may be that we are an imagined, imagining people. Perhaps the gift of humanity, as meant for someone or something else. Maybe as something to nosh. We are not permanent, as in one at a time permanent. Are we permanent as we as in infinite? I haven’t quite figured that one out. As noted, I am slow.
We imagine us as us. There is no us without us. That is so stupefying-ly obvious we don’t even think about it, but it is word mirroring magyck. Imagine quantum, and you have to imagine it, as you will, or can. Quantum preceded word, and word preceded us. Thus, we use words to imagine quantum, which maybe we can’t imagine except as crippled with words. Did anything precede quantum? I would bet yes, but not in so many words, if any words. I would further bet that something alien to our quantum consumes our quantum, particle by particle. Something the size of a gig-a-normous quantum whale or as tiny as a quantum ant.
Maybe bigger, maybe tinier, and maybe not a biologic mass.
As a people we can morph, and we can morph the landscape. By my count, there is much more quantifiable right and not-right to landscaping than there is to people’ing. When it comes to people, what is right is not necessarily good, not on a one at a time situational basis. Absolute good is judged by personal theology, which may or may not be dependent on the quality of your logic. Your death is probably absolute, I say you have the right to judge it absolutely, and judge how you get there.
Other people may or may not judge you by your logic, and may or may not exploit it for what it’s worth.
Or not worth.
Rightness, which is quantifiable but not necessarily good for you, protects the greater grid. Exploiting bad judgment, as judged not good by you if you think or care to apply logic, does not protect or service the grid, and an unprotected, bad grid, might not be so nice to have around or be a part of.
The greater grid is the at-large human imagination. Is it greater because I say so? Frankly, I say it isn’t. It’s the lessor grid of all the grids invading and colonizing the EARTH. Of everything here, we alone are terrorists, not fitting in as much as trying to make as much fit in us as possible. It could be we are a work in progress, so you have an out if you’re looking for an in.
If you’re looking hard enough.
Consider ants. What do they do? Among other things, they create stationary orbits in EARTH. EARTH seems to have a more or less stationary orbit in space. What helps keep that orbit stationary is the accumulation of water, stone and any form of quantum. Quantum is imagination made matter. Does that mean it’s real? Maybe it’s just imagined to matter. As matter, as imagined.
Or not. And we’re off to the races.
Without talking religion or divinity, let’s define GOD as IT, and IT is as is. We do not do IT’s work, it is working us to do IT’s work. You are already assimilated, and you will be excreted when you are no longer of value.
Fuck me. I think those words precede you.
I am sure of it.
And pretty sure of IT.
As we move into space, we won’t spread people, we will spread imagination, with the long range possibility of creating independent, self-perpetuating new grids of imagination that can adapt to new surroundings with different resources demanding physical and mental adaptation. Sort of sounds like having children.
As for space, there is horizontal and vertical movement, and some people don’t really want to move both ways or even one way, or more than an inch. Do we move at all? Do we just imagine we move?
One thing we can do is imagine distance away altogether when it comes to modern, imaginary colonizing. By phone or internet we can communicate with someone on the opposite side of the EARTH with the intimacy of whispering in someone’s ear. Or eye, which gets ticklish, distracting and outright annoying.
(I can joke because I don’t take this seriously. Do you? What do you take seriously? The most impassioned people on television most likely are discussing NFL draft mistakes. Or generally beefing about everything but the amount beef they are beefing down. How fat can an ex-athlete get?)
Thus, if you wanted to create an imagination arc - which is another hop - not just for something to ride - go ahead, hop on - but as an exercise in imagination, you have a pretty easy time of finding same thinking people to contribute necessary ecology to your ongoing arc-dependent colony. Or contribute arc’ing to your ongoing ecology-dependent colony.
I don’t have an easy time of it, but you probably do.
There’s my imagination running wild.
And I say arc as a last resort. You should probably have a last resort, along with a current resort and a next resort. It is resort season. It is always resort season, but maybe it shouldn’t always be fattening and or food first.
Damn, the big thing on heroes on television is giving their life for you. “I WOULD DIE FOR YOU.
“GIVE UP MY LIFE!!!
“Nothing matters to me more than you.
“Hello? Give up my cheeseburgers, fried chicken, fries, cigarettes, beer, soda, taco’s, ice cream of the day, cake of the month, or anything else bigger, faster or the best?
No one seeds a plant for the sake of the plant, nor die for death’s sake. Do they? Ummm… They seed a plant for their sake, pre-seed, technically, or someone else’s sake, whether with intent or not. The EARTH was not seeded with people for the sake of people. Being self-obsessed, or self-addicted, is not wise, and obsession and addiction is only smart when it makes money. You have a crisis to confront or die from, your self. Explanation is futile. Too many people doing good to themselves are doing it by doing right against you. That’s the genius of it, but it’s not their genius.
It’s the grid cleaning house. If you don’t care, enough said. More than enough.
The Lost Tribe of Saturn by Richards Hall / History & Fiction have rating 3.2 out of 5 / Based on19 votes