Monday, June 30, 2014

this is interesting

 Check this 


Abstract


We consider the effect of a period of inflation with a high energy density upon the stability of the Higgs potential in the early Universe. The recent measurement of a large tensor-to-scalar ratio, rT0.16, by the BICEP2 experiment possibly implies that the energy density during inflation was very high, comparable with the GUT scale. Given that the standard model Higgs potential is known to develop an instability at Λ1010GeV this means that the resulting large quantum fluctuations of the Higgs field could destabilize the vacuum during inflation, even if the Higgs field starts at zero expectation value. We estimate the probability of such a catastrophic destabilization given such an inflationary scenario, and calculate that for a Higgs boson mass of mh=125.5GeV that the top mass must be less than mt172GeV. We present two possible cures: a direct coupling between the Higgs field and the inflaton and a nonzero temperature from dissipation during inflation.
DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.1103/PhysRevLett.112.201801
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  • Published 20 May 2014
  • Received 16 April 2014
© 2014 American Physical Society

The Human Centipede: An economic driver to why knowledge is broken

This post is going to be hard to understand, but it is important. It will not be acted upon any time soon, but it will be acted upon. The central idea is the connection between the Reaganite financial architecture, and the conservative technocratic consensus. Here the word conservative means its cognitive definition: that is the movement opposed to rapid change, not its conventional meaning, that is, the movement of the right. This is because the right is not a conservative movement at the present time, it is a reactionary movement, attempting to roll back the social changes of the last three progressive waves, and last four if you count its most reactionary members. The right wants a very different society.

Looked at this way the Democratic Party is the conservative party, and the Republican Party is the reactionary party. In a two party system, there is a ratchet effect towards the active movement, where there is alternation between the active party, the one which makes changes, and the conservative party which fixes and adjusts, but largely leaves in place the changes. In the US, from 1933-1980, the Republicans were the conservative party, and the Democrats were an active party of liberalism. These positions eroded starting with Nixon, who began building the new Republican governing corps, and Jimmy Carter, who started the Democrats on the path to neo-liberalism, including deregulation.

From 1980 through the present, the Republicans have been the active party, and the Democrats the conservative party, paring back only the most egregiously unworkable of Republican actions, thus for roughly 50 years, there was a ratchet left, and now for 40 years there has been a ratchet rightward.

Core to the ratchet rightward has been the creation of a professional technocratic class, and this class consists of one half of Reagan's legacy. What has happened in American politics is very similar to what happened early in the 19th century: the Federalist Party disintegrated, and the Jeffersonian movement split into two parts, Whig and Democratic. In effect, Jackson was the figure who was the Reagan of his time, afterwards the Jacksonians were the party of government, and the Whigs the party of cleaning up the loose ends. This lasted for 32 years.

So first point: to think clearly requires using words with their correct cognitive meaning, even where this conflicts with the conventional meaning. The Republicans are a party of change, and therefore not a conservative party. The Democrats have only wanted to ameliorate the effects of Republican policies, not overturn them. That is, they are the conservative party. For reference Bob Dole and Alan Simpson are now too far to the left for the Republican Party.

First lemma: the Democrats are conservatives, the Republicans are reactionaries.

In 1776 Adam Smith published a book, an inquiry into the Wealth of Nations, of which the first three parts are widely quoted, if not read. He observed that cities concentrate the value of land rents, and that, therefore, prices would rise in cities because the value of land rent is convenience, that is time, and the purpose of a city is to engage in those arts of commerce where time is valuable, because it reduces the time for movement of goods, ideas, and people. People trade time for money directly by what they pay for land.

In 1933, in response to the collapse of the banking system in the face of a global depression, the Democratic Senate and President FDR collaborated on a new architecture for the financial system: FDR and his Treasury Secretary, Republican Bill Woodin, instituted regulation of the banks, and issuing of "Federal Reserve Notes" to pay depositors. Senator Wagner wrote in deposit insurance, which is the FDIC, SLDIC, and backed by the Federal Reserve. This made land rents, in effect, the basis of US currency, because banks could issue money against the loans on the books, which were commercial and residential assets. More value, more money. This creates and organic link between the value of the economy at the personal level, and the amount of currency in circulation.

FDR's theory was that ordinary people, across the country, needed to be able to have enough purchasing power to afford the products of factories and the industrial system, even though left to itself, the industrial system would focus only on the cities, where money pools up. The country side being poor, and short on demand for labor because it takes more and more labor to save smaller and smaller amounts of time, while the cities have money and high demand for labor is an old problem. It is "the city problem," and was known to the ancient Romans: the dispossessed poor of the country side poor into the cities, but that deprives the empire of soldiers and grain, and creates a chaotic urban poor that revolts.

FDR's solution was to build up cities with public works, but to ship money out to the country side through farm and mining subsidies. Thus verticle and horizontal redistribution were at work: prevent money from pooling up in the hands of the rich, or in the cities. People in the countryside could then buy manufactured goods, and this would slow the influx of people to the cities.

Second point: By linking value to development, it meant that people would not have to go to the largest cities, but could go to subsidiary city centers.

Second lemma: left to itself, the economy will pool liquidity in cities, impoverishing the rural areas, and lead to people crushing into the cities.

In the Reagan Revolution, one of the most important legacies was making the tax system regressive and flatter: income tax rates were flattened, and payroll tax rates were raised, more taxation was moved to the states, where it is regressive. This had the effect of reducing demand, and creating GDP which was real estate flipping.

A second prong of the Reagan Revolution was the spreading of the security industrial complex, including prisons and the military out over the hinterland. This changed the nature of horizontal demand spreading and paved the way for handing money to a different group of people in a wide swath of the country: from those who wanted to do good for their area, to those who liked beating on people: prison guards, franchise owners, and the generally greedy.

This, in turn, created a demand for a kind of revived moralizing. After all, if your job is to incarcerate non-violent marijuana users and degrade them, or squeeze dimes out of fast food workers for the Great McDonald's empire, a church that preaches that people get the material circumstances that they morally deserve, and this you are justified giving them anal probes and minimum wage jobs, is for you.

Third Lemma: Reaganism created real estate inflation in the cities, and the revival of old testament style calvinism in the country sides. 

These two prongs were combined with another trend, that of creeping certification.

Creeping certification was creating a slow change of knowledge manufacture from a revolutionary mode of the early 20th century, which saw the founding of core disciplines in the arts, humanities, and the sciences. to an evolutionary mode. Working with the conventionalizations became more important than redefining them. This meant that "education" became more important as training in the conventionalizations.

This leads to the increasing sorry spectacle of knowledge and academia as a self-perpetuating oligarchy: one gets a degree by being in human bondage to a professor, one becomes a professor by peonage as a post-doc. Instead of an orderly path from PhD to assistant professor, one must spend upwards of 5 years, and often closer to 10 or even 15, before one is on the tenure track. Thus it is no longer knowledge, but the human centipede.

This means that there were three impulses into the center for bright people: the money was in the cities, the oligarchy of certification led in to the cities, and the social repression meant that for any not wishing to fit in with the marry and reproduce early ideology of life that the interior of the country increasingly fell into, had to get out.

Third Lemma: The Reagan tax rates, the fundamentalist revival, and the increasing conventionalization of knowledge, produced  a drive inwards of intelligent and socially liberal people to the bicoastal areas.

The result of this was a pump: people who wanted to become professionals moved to cities to engage in their economic lives, raise their children in schools which were cordoned off by local funding. Then on retirement, they would cash out of their houses, and move to a low tax, low education state in the sunbelt, where their retirement dollars would go farther, and wages were lower without unions and education. This pump drove the rise of the same Republican areas of the countr


Saturday, June 28, 2014

Marne 2

III
War, Now and Forever and Afterwards

1
9 Aug 1914
Outside of Paris

There had been no reason to expect any other people, and for a while that was true. But as they got in range of Paris, something wonderful happened, but truly disturbing in its own way. It happened the night before, probably, when they saw and preparation, which they knew this themselves cast in two light. They knew that they looked to a apparition, as he looked to them. Then the apparition was pale and ghostly, and they realized that they were pale and ghostly to its eyes, while to itself it seemed solid. In other words, a complete reversal. They were on the street, and suddenly it was there, though they could only just see it. Not only was it ghostly, but it seemed as if cold and wet, as if something was wrong with either their eyes, or its.

It wanted off, but they knew it was only the first apparition that they would see. Mayor was the first of a large horde of people, in the last war, in 1871, people piled on to battlefields. Now there was a front line, which stretched endlessly coiled on for steps of the mountain, upon every hill and dale. They had used the railway to find a trammel, really just a board with four wheels running on the railway. She sat along the front wall he applied is muscle to the wheels, and could get it going, even though it was going slowly, it was faster than walking.

“This is nice, pleasant effect. What made you think of it, wasn't something that you did in Baden, or someplace like that?”

“Something like that. My great grand uncle showed me how it worked, and then one day I and a friend used to borrow one, though of course we would put it back. We just went to the end, and then back again.“

She looked surprised, she couldn't help the reaction.

“So you did so many times, thousands?”

“Many times, but not thousands, of few times at best.”

But even a few times was more than she could claim, and for the first time, she was enraptured by his talking. There was a melodic note to it, that harmed in the air for a brief moment, brief moment that she could capture. And that moment made in think that he could like, more than like, the attention that she gave him.

But making this show was beyond him, so he just smiled instead and continued to pump. And pump and pump and pump, until he got his back into it and there was no motion. Just a seamless transfer, smooth motion from is hands and legs, into the machinery that replaced his own natural functions. Then he realized his great grand uncle was new to this thing as well, because originally became from the sea, on drifting waters and times, with many men under his watch. He recalled that as a junior commander one day he just walked off a shift, and never looked back. Everything was then hushed up, as many things were, loose ends and so on. He didn't realize this until after the fact, when loose ends came and revealed themselves in quietly minuted ornately signed and documented, but there was an undercurrent that could not be hidden, though it was carefully orchestrated to reveal nothing, but the wafts of odor which if you knew the language of these words was obvious, at least someone who knew what they were talking about.

Such as, not to put too fine a point on it, himself.

Thus he read the papers instantly, pouring over them like they were the Bible. Most of the time they were bland. But unlike most papers, they were not entirely so, and in these cracks and crevices of the story took place that was anything but ordinary, far from it. Of course to you and I it would be humdrum, to younger man maneuvering is way too seduced a far older and wiser woman. There were hints of an affair, though nothing of the kind was spelled out. But in this time, and in this place, that would be enough. And then he bid adieu, in the was that. An order given, an order received, and that was that, his grant uncle was on his way, going in to the country where no one knew him, and no one cared.

It was as if there were something seemingly, in this piece of paper from Franco-Prussian War, but what made it important was he was going to join what would become Germany, though Germany did not quite yet exist. He reported, and conscripted, and changed their name. This was the older brother, actually one of three, and he had admired him, even lauded him, until he found out that wasn't at all what he looked like.

These things, and a few others, were streaming along his mind while she was talking about something, and he realized he needed to respond to it, or admit he wasn't the same. And he wanted to be listening. So inner thoughts were abandoned, and gradually subsided, so as to understand what she was saying. Fortunately he caught just the tail end of the sentence, and could respond adequately. But just barely, and he responded currently, to currently in fact.

“What were you thinking of, I can tell you had something on your mind, even if you are going to tell me good you were a bit late.”

Of course this would catch him off guard, indeed it was meant to, she was going in exactly the kind of German, because there were many kinds, and she might have been more fluent that he was.

“I was thinking about my great uncle, who came from the sea. And the road to his brother, telling him that Baden was the place to be.”

“It must have been a wonderful story, I hate to remind you your not of this world.”

He looked down at his boots.

“I keep forgetting, that I will not be going there, at least in this form, ever again. You're sure that there is no going back. We won't be resurrected will we?”

“I don't think so, but you never know. I know that I've seen nothing like it in my experience, but who really knows? I do know, that there is a connection between us, and more than either of us knows.”

“What I have been wondering, is there a God, which we will talk to? Or is there something else here that we have not been privy to.”

“I do know, though I have thought of this many times.”

“It's nice to know that the same things are on our mind.”

She nodded, and bit her lip as if she had something else to say, but repressed.

“You have something to say, I can hear it, in your voice, and your features.”

She stared in to the sky, trying to find words to say. It was different for her, she had many many things to say, but most of them were submerged in her mind, vying for thoughts, but hovering below limits of speech, trying not to be noticed. He had one thing to say, and the question was whether he would say it or not, where as she had innumerable things to say, and how she said it was not clear. It was as if looking upwards could resolve these differences, and with resolution a lower to charge forward with a single purpose. But as you can guess, that was very often.

“I have so many things that I want to say, and I fear that it will be nonsensical, or trite. I really want to please you, and I don't know what could be of interest to you. So I don't say anything at all, even though I would wish I could.”

“Say the first thing that comes into your mind.”

First, before anything else, she blushed, and by that there was understanding between them, she wanted him for the first time, that moment. Or rather, she told him so, though she had really wanted to him, before anything else. There was a magnetic moment, which he had missed, but which had grown into fruition of its own accord. Though secret, it had consumed your, though as yet unexpressed in its range and vivacity. She looked up to him, and their was a blushing at the tips of her cheeks, and finally he grassed the steps of her affection. But still, nothing was spoken. Nor was it going to be if she could help it, nor was it going to be if he could help it, it was as if it was a secret only left in words. In every other respect, it might as well been illuminated.

This left a tension between the to, which had to be broken, or it would become a miasma, that would have broken in half. He realized that this would be his responsibility, because she would be grappling on to whether she would or she wouldn't, on able to grapple with it.

“How are until Paris?”

“How long can you run this?”

She gestured at the rail, and quizzically looked at him.

He shrugged.

“I can do this, for a long time. How long to Paris?”

“It is about 60 km or so.”

“So the middle of the next day we should be in Paris.”

She looked back at him, and saw that he was exhausted, the sweat gleaming from all over his face, even she felt tired.

“Are you sure you don't need rest?”

He basically grunted. It was clear he was exhausted, but wasn't going to say so if he didn't have to, but her heart was caring, and he knew that he could admit so, and not pay a price for it.

“I would say that I could take a short break, at that town there, it has a side trail.”

So it did. So he slowed down, and attached the lock as they went. He had stopped pedaling along time ago, and that coasting abruptly came to a halt.

They looked around and saw something more than a tiny village, but not much more. It had a few shops, and what looked like a village center contain all of the functions of town center. It wasn't sleepy, exactly, but it was the sort of place where you needed some place it was there, but unlike the village which was compact, there were clearly many things which were not provided, but instead you had to walk to a larger business center, that was clearly to marked.

“It seems there are only the necessities, and very little else.”

“That's because there is only enough to get by, and for everything else, you have to go a little bit further, now we've gotten in to the suburbs.” He knew what she meant, but it wasn't exactly the first word on his fingertips. He was used to a contained village, though he had been around enough to know what she meant, but it was odd none the less.

She saw the contortions, and guest that hadn't seen her real city, not like Paris was, or even Frankfurt, places such as that. Her face slapped in to caring mode, has one might in to a face for a baby, saying it was all right, there was nothing to fear. He in turn scowled, and for a moment got off and created his feet down, with his back towards her and scanned the related buildings. She realized that she had done something wrong, and modified her voice appropriately
.
“This is not the main train station, that is a little further on.” she had said this, but she was saying it again, more to unruffled feathers, so to speak, and try and get the main thread reestablished. That thread was inexpressible, but somehow tangible in a way that made it possible to know that she'd gotten off track. And she definitely wanted back on to the track, because there was life there, life the inexpressible.

Each time it was inexpressible, sublime, yet tangible. The more she had, the more she wanted.
They had set off on foot, to find any supplies, because most things were invisible. You see, those things were going to be taken off, and used. Thus they were not visible to them. It was only what was not going to be used that would be visible. Thus the moment it was not going to be used was the moment that it could be seen in this contra world. Then it would become visible, and that meant that something new that it's was going to be unconsumed, and would in time be rotten. Something knew, or was it one of the properties that things had? Either way, it was strange, very strange in fact.

But whatever the case, things that were on the bottom or on top had the best chance of being new but were turning rotten, turning as it were under the state of grace. That meant that they looked under and below for the best material, you would think that people would protect their things so that nothing could go bad, he actually thought it would, but she knew better, sometimes things just went bad and there was nothing you could do about it. Thus she showed him high above, and down below, things which were good, but no one was going to take them. And it seemed they were all fresh, as if something knew that now was the time of freshness, and when it was done and they were going to spoil, poof - they would disappear again, perhaps to another world, or back to this one where they were thrown out as spoiled.

Who was going to say?

Thus they had gotten some peaches, from our away in America, one would think that there would be gone, but no there were some left. Probably they were going to go in to peach cobbler, or somesuch. No that couldn't be right because then they would have be consumed, they picked at them and realized these were going to trust be discarded. So they were there just to be eaten, it made him realize that, if she was right about such things, there would not be enough, and so they should stay away from the front lines, and go in la belle a France, and weekly. He realized, if she didn't, there would be swarms of people like him, cut down in the prime of youth. So after half an hour, he turned to her and said:

“We have to keep going, I was just the first, but there will be thousands, and I mean that thousands, who will come after me, French, German, Belgian.”

“How many would will there be?”

“To lines of men from the sea to high up in the woods, without a break, without measure.”

“You have to be joking.”

“No, actually, I'm not.”

There was a moment of silence as if to enunciate the point, and for her it was a design, a pattern, that she could not comprehend. At that moment they both ran, and got on to the tramway, and flew as fast as it could do so. All the while she imagined that in a few days, or months, she didn't suspect years, there would be many of them where now there were very few.

Somehow the war was real to them, which it had not been before.

They were on the Tramway, and he was pumping for his very life. He knew that Paris would just be a gateway, because the Parisians would defend to the last bitter breath. He knew that Paris would be gateway and they would resist everything that his German army would throw at it, and then some. What he didn't know, they would hurl back even more of the same. Wars of the 19th century since the Crimean War, which most people had willfully decided to forget, were of short duration. The American Civil War was not on the European continent, so it did not matter, at least to Europeans. Thus the last war in their minds was the Napoleonic wars, and that had ended a century ago.

This came through his mind as he was pumping up and down, a vision if you will, perhaps a delusion, but real nonetheless. He was not able to see that the Napoleonic era was going to be the template for his own age. Only the top people suspected, and they work telling anybody but in whispers. Many miles away in Berlin, the Kaiser suspected this was not going to go as planned, but no one listened to him, because closer to many people the this was going to be the great victory, a great victory that many had dreamed of. In France they dreamed of victory, but the the rude shock was closer at hand for them. It would only take Joffrey's look around, and see that all of his plans for victory were for nothing, nothing and a day, as it were. He would stretch out his hand and find it empty, and then get down to the business of saving France from itself, more than from the Germans. But Joffrey was at that point yet, he like his enemies, saw a glorious triumphant battle crying, blaring on horns, and featuring his name in lights. Joffrey, Joffrey, Joffrey, a name the would being forgotten, forgotten and buried.

Than out of corner of her by, she saw figure, which was, like them, alert and people. He was also French. Though they had seen figures, this was the first time they saw one in the very flesh and blood. Or, so to speak. Neither short nor tall, but wiry and thin, he looked like the part of some crazed man. She froze, and he wrapped him self around her to protect her, and the man? Man just walked, and walked, Pairing down the distance, and tell he was 20 meter away from them, and then he stopped. This meant something, it meant, for example, that he was thinking. There was something alive, he was not just an automata, doing things by rote.

“Who are you?” this was Albert speaking, having regaining his voice.

The Frenchman opened his voice, but for several seconds nothing came out. Then gradually he began to speak. “Are you real? Or is this just another illusion? And where is everyone in this place anyway?” This was confusion, confusion that was felt all the way in.

“Is as real as your, which is only just.” Woman explained. “ what brought you here?” The are as yet were no niceties, no greetings, which was very odd in this time, and this place. But the circumstances allowed for it, because everything was off of kilter.

Before he fast them, he focused his eyes, and walked until he was standing beside. Albert saw something, and behind his back used the hand to signal that something was terribly wrong. What he saw was that much of man's brain was the into pieces, and scattered behind him. The man had gotten focus and replied to the woman
.
“ I was with some other people, we were going to in front, because no one expects Belgian to stand up to the German onslaught. We were on the back of a there of horse-drawn carriages, and then, I was off the carriage. I was staring into the sky, I don't know how long, them, magically, I got up. There were no people, none at all.” There was a monotonous pace, as if there were something wrong with him. Then he glanced beside, probably to follow a movement, that only the could see. Them a saw what was wrong, a good third of his skull was blowing off. While most of the skull was matted here, there was definitely something ominous about what was underneath. It was torn and shredded, as if it was meant to be that way. The man taking notice this at all, but the pair could not help wearing there eyes. The man taking notice no notice of them at all, and kept talking. Finally Albert could not take it anymore, and slammed his arm against beside of ahead, quite efficiently, as the was a combatant. He was good at what he did. This was not a gunfights, with slapping back and for, instead he picked up his on, slammed it twice in the head, and it was done.

M was taken aback, such violence as she had never imagined it to be, was just played out. She looked down at the body, and it was clear what had happened: more than half of its head had been lost, in fact, losing more each time.
Then man's body was gone, like a dream, or less dream, more than a reality. The body was gone from their sight. Young woman searched around as if to see that it was truly gone, with a man looked at where the body had so recently been. And he knew that it was truly gone.

“Don't you realize, that when I get it, I knew it was going to be gone.”

“No I don't know that, what touched your brain and said this to you? Was it from the inside, or something from the outside that you could explain to me?”
He thought for a minute and then described what he felt
.
“I knew, rather in detail mind you, that is head was half missing. I saw it in his eyes, his eyes were dead to me.”

She just nodded at this, intimate sense, in fact why didn't she think of it? It must be, she felt herself, that she knew and didn't want to express it in so many words.

2
10 Aug 1914
Paris

Somehow, it was Paris, clip-clop, messy, in a phrase - the only city from here, all along the coast, from London in the north, to Brussels in the East, nowhere in the West and South. In fact you could to find Paris, as the one true city, in all the land of France. Because anything that you could think of that was in the land, had its best was representation there and only there. It was, again, morning, but shorter, but not enough so you would know. The sun was not up quite yet, nor were the children awake. In fact there were only two people awake at all, the old man who is downstairs sharpening everything that he had to sharpen, an upstairs, made during all things that she knew had to be done, but were disagreeable to everyone, so they were to be done sight unseen.

If only they could be done as before, in the 80s, the 90s, what time that would be, the German hordes had retreated, all the riffraff which gathered around Marx had blown over, all was gay, and that didn't mean homosexual, but pleasant and gentle and all the things that meant the older definition of the word. But that was not to be, there was up ahead in the distance, a decision to be made, should I stay, or should we go. Though people talked in the old dialect with its wordy verbose nature, people who that it's a was dying, as if going to sleep, and never wake up again. In this house, it was not wanted, but it was coming anyway.

In other places in the district, the new voice was a shattering voice. But here it was whispered edge which came to most people, children, the mother, and every one else, talked to them themselves. Them there was Peternote, who only talked people when they talked them. Right now, he was a closet, and no one talked to him for two days, because he did not want to talk them. He knew that his time was coming, but not quite yet, though a ray from the emerging sun was creeping its way, down to where he was. He nudged his way, up into the light, but not so close as to be seen.

He mumbled to himself, and nodded, and whispered. But these were actual noises, there was no question that he was awake, and listening intently to the carrying on, though now it was just too people soon it would be more, and more noisy.

Truly, this moment of the day perplexed, and derided, him. He didn't like how all of the other toys were dead, he didn't like how the people were asleep, off in a dream world which he could not get to, though he knew that something was going on inside their mind. He wished that he had a companion, some like him who he could talk to through the hours of the night. It would be comforting. But it was not to be.

So he waited, waited if that moment, where the children listen to him intently, their secrets unlocked, and they're minds awakened to what he would have the say. Because he, and only he, Peternote, would tell them what was going to be happening. And he would be right, that world was gone and he was going to tell the children about a new world, new in every detail, which the people of books time would recognize. Even if you do not, you would recognize that it had come, and gone.

But then he froze, because someone was opening the door, and since the hands and feet were so small it had to be one of the children, probably J since her hands and feet were so tiny and petite. As said before, Peternote did not want to speak to either of them, because he came from the time which the future which he could see was only glimmering in man's eye, which had caught wildfire in 1860's, into a magic breath. One which spoke of marvelous things, of woman's equality, and all people being free. It was marvelous time, full of marvelous ideas, but has yet it was unformed, and Peternoke was made by a man that had captured these, he saw in a novel in fact. And remember novels were quite a new thing. They had changed him for the new century, and combined only a few which were decent.

And in this dream world Peternoke slid from and to hear until finally he arrived in the hands, and he knew that this was the time, but not quite yet. These children, but not quite yet. Then the hands and feet didn't enter this inner sanctum, and he slipped back, and rested. He always wondered what dreaming would be like, if only he could dream.

On the other side, the boy understood more than anyone could imagine. He couldn't read it's mind, but the could feel rage that Peternote felt, even Peternote did not know he felt as strongly as he did. He could feel the animosity, and he realized that it was going to have it be relieved somehow, though as a boy he could only think of some violent fisticuffs as resolution. He knew that there was a better way, but he did know how to resolve them. You would have to think about it, because that was the first barrier, barrier between Peternote and the two people who meant him the best thing in the world. He would raise this in quite of the evening with his sister. He would make it clear that this would have to be the first thing.

Thus he turned away from the door, and picked up blocks, and played with them. But in the back of his head, there was a spinner around, and he would in fact tell his sister about what he had felt. She, first had listened, because he didn't know exactly how powerful is voice was. Then she then spoke: “ I never knew just how angry he was, we have to do something about this, I agree. What do you have in mind.”

He got annoyed, he had been waiting for an answer from her, not the question that he had asked. And he showed his annoyance replied:

“If I knew I would have already been. I was open that you would have an answer. Do you?”

Actually she did. But biting her lip was second nature.

“I think I do, argue with willing to listen?”

Of course he was, in fact he was annoyed that she would ask, rather than starting in on the plan. Then he realized, in recent months, that she was beaten polite.

“Of course I'm willing...”

“Well then, Peter would only rest his anger if he could see that we're angry, too.”

“Yes, but how do we do that?”

“Reasoning will not work, nor will a temper tantrum.”

“I agree with that, but what will work, that's the thing that I want to know.”
“Get him to realize, himself, how angry he is. That will be the turning point, if he realized he's so angry, then he will moderate himself. But until he does, there won't be any point in talking.”

“Get him to realize that this angry? Is that it?”

“It won't be as easy as you think, will have to play a trick on him.”

“Do you have an idea? Or this this a question for us both to answer?"

“I think I have an idea, if you would like to hear it.”

He nodded, trying very hard not to get in the way.

“We have let him talk, and talk, and then will, all on his own, realize that he is angry, just as you realized it by listening to him.”

He nodded. It was very clear that he was so desperately angry. Desperately so.


 And that was the beginning of a plan.

Thursday, June 26, 2014

thanks to some people

 I would like to thank naked capitalism,  Ian  Welsh,  and Corrent  for lifting this out of obscurity.  I don't like to make too much of thing,  I have disabilities,  but it's getting better.

On Monday there will be another post.

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

In The Begin

The  was not born in milky way.  First overall we're are this cousins?  If  that is the case,  the should be looking at several pieces and see which ones have right capacity  for  producing the right kinds of metal (in astronomical sense of any other than Helium and Hydrogen)  that will produce stars of right kind.

Monday, June 23, 2014

The Dusk of a New Night: American under the Obama Nation

It is the dusk of a new night, brawled over by a brimming orgy of ugliness, where a generation of would be thinkers signed their own intellectual death warrants, and proved, beyond a doubt that their only complaints with George W. Bush, were his manifest incompetence, and their inability to sell their work to his followers. The liberal case against Obama is right now confined mainly to the quiet corners of discourse, because writing is driven by eyeballs or donations, and donations come from people with money. Just as the Bush Republicans screamed in triumph in 2004, needing to believe that their war in Iraq was an inevitably victorious holy crusade, despite evidence that it was already turn towards defeat, so too do the hoards that need Obama to be a celebrity, want endless assurance. The market for confirmation, is larger than the market for information.

The case against Obama is simple:

Politically, a President that successfully creates a lasting coalition wins everything in sight, his re-election was, like Bush's, a narrow affair. He made almost no progress in the House of Representatives, which, being a parliamentary body, can now block virtually all legislation for another 2 years, and stamp every budget, so long as conservatives can cobble together 51 votes in the Senate under reconciliation.

Policy, he is an empty suit, filled with declarations which do not stand up to scrutiny. This includes supposedly his two major legislative accomplishments: the ACA and Dodd-Frank, and his conduct of foreign policy.

Socially, his coalition is already dying, because it rests on the re-assertion of fundamentally untruths, most pointed "Republican Obstructionism" is the reason for the failure of his economic policies to produce  progress, because the Republicans were in no position to block them for the first two years – Obama controlled congress. FDR had a more hostile supreme court, which could, and did, effectively block many, but not all, of his policies.

Ethically, he has engaged in what may be called "unforced evil," squandering moral and ethical capital on policies of marginal utility, or which the hopes that his election would end. This ethical case will be repeated often, both because it is personally galling to individuals who want no traffic with the Republicans, and because it reduces to zingers. It is easy to mudslide a conversation about how the ACA establishes a racially discriminatory two tier system with pictures of the white children saved, it is more difficult to deny the unforced evil of bombing weddings.

As a movement, Obama relies on celebrity, and three Big Lies, of the classic sort: grading on the curve, the empty suit and revisionist history.

Political Failure

Here, stated in its full masochistic form, is the very essence of 'lesser evilism.' If it were a doctrine, instead of a reflex or a dogma, it would be a doctrine without limits. Try rephrasing it. 'We have already made the decision that they can do this to us and get away with it, We have made this decison known in advance. Ergo the can and will get away with it.'

Christopher Hitchens
"Against Lesser Evilism" Dissent, Fall 1996
Quotable Hitchens, Windsor Mann and Martin Amis

Here is where his supports must open with The First Big Lie of Obama Nation. That lie is that wheezing over the finish line, and having an opponent that is worse, is a proof of greatness. Romney may look as if he is at the short end of a 330-206 electoral vote loss, but he fell less than 300,000 votes short of the Presidency because that would have given him the three states he needed. This is somewhat more than Kerry fell short of unseating Bush in 2004, but not by a great deal. Meanwhile his apologists are saying "It wasn't even close." Not even close, to not even close. This is what not even close looks like. Or this. Or this. Or this. Or this. Or this. Instead, Obama, like Bush, asutely assembled a collection of special interests that was slightly larger than the other party's collection of central interests, and with it a magnified electoral vote count. Yes Obama finished ahead of Romney, and deserved to, yes Obama won, and deserved to, but that is only because his competition was Mitt Romney, and does not speak to the magnitude of his victory, which was a mudslide, not a landslide, nor to his ranking against other political actors.

Winning a second term by a slender margin is not a great political accomplishment because most Presidents who have run for a second term, have won by increased margins, and often by real landslides. It must be emphasized that this does not indict policy by itself: Presidents with a slender margin have left behind a permanent legacy, most obviously, Woodrow Wilson, whose 1916 re-election was the weakest of any modern President. Thus policy and politics are, while related, separate issues. A President with a sweeping political victory can pass more of his policies, but policy is not measured just on its ease of passage, but on its effect, and on the difficulty of repeal. Bush did not have a strong mandate, but his tax cuts lasted all the way to their bitter end. His wars lasted. His security state lasted.

The other part of the equation is working control of Congress. Best, of course, is to have the party of the President in control of both houses, but in many cases, working control or a d'entente as Reagan had with the Democratic house. Obama has neither, he cannot overcome a filibuster, and he is far from control of the House of Representatives. The drubbing he took in 2010 was entirely of his own making: he focused on a tax cuts based stimulus, which was as weak as the other 6 rounds of tax cut based stimulus, and allowing his health care bill to drag out for two long years. Again, he lost ground and did not make it back.

It should be remembered that even winning the White House once requires no mean politician, and twice requires some peculiar insight into the American political spirit. Bush, for all his other failures, was the Paganini of the dog whistle: saying something that meant completely different things to different audiences. The most obvious example, was "a humble" foreign policy, which meant, to bicoastal elites, that he would not take up too much space, the way a voice at a seminar in college is muted and collegial. But to an evangelical, humble means to be an instrument of God. Obama's peculiar insight was a complete contempt for the activists of his own party, knowing precisely how little they would sell out for. He knew that as long as he gave universal unlimited issue to the largely white middle class, they would back him because it was an issue of their life and death. Several prominent liberal writers were moved by their personal stake to at the forefront of Opologism, in the same way that GE used NBC to push a war that would profit the parent company.

The breadth of this sell out can only be seen in the details, however, of the deals that were made, which must come later. The bottom line is that Obama won, at great expense, a slender re-election for himself, and held a difficult Senate class. The second is actually a more impressive, though not impressive, accomplishment.

Incontrovertibly, Obama is a better politician than Willard Mitt Romney, and incontrovertibly, elections are decided by the competition. Politics grades partially on the curve, and the closeness of the election shows, that unlike, for example 1972, the election was there to be won by the challenger, who came up short. Romney let chances slip through his fingers. The irony is that the difference between the Rehnquist court, and the Roberts court, is that Roberts is a conservative, and less a partisan. Many of his changes make it harder for the Republican Party, while favoring conservative politics in general. By issuing Citizens United, it made raising money essential to the bitter end – in all some 6 Billion was spent in line with my prediction that each American election would cost twice as much as the one before – and this was Romney's source of Ryan as VP, and the infamously stupid "47%" remark. Romney blew his chances, because he had to keep blowing his donors and his extreme base.

But only half of politics is graded on the curve, Obama, and his followers have proclaimed his greatness. This means to measure a man by not the failures of his contemporaries, but by the success of history. On this scale, Obama is a failure, he spent mandate, he did not gain it. He did not leave a coalition that could govern, because an for his party to win a third term, requires that he run a third time, and the Mitt Romney, or someone as poor a candidate, run. It is possible that the Republican primary system will do this, but this would not be of Obama's doing.

Thus while Obama outclassed Romney, when compared against the Great Politicians past, separate from policy, he compares to William McKinley, who won slightly more of the vote, the more of the electoral vote, than his first run against the same opponent, and somewhat ahead of George W. Bush. But being mentioned in the same breath, as a politician, with Bush and McKinley, and Wilson – who while he was re-elected narrowly, went from being the beneficiary of a split in the Republican Party, to winning outright a two man race. Wilson won almost a third more votes –  9,126,868 to 6,296,284, and 8% more of the tally – is no great ranking in the scale of electoral masters.

The bottom line is that his party lost ground. 2012 was almost strictly a personal victory for Obama in holding on to a coalition handed to him when the economy walked off the cliff in September of 2008.

Policy Failure

"The argument for a lesser evil, then, has one sure effect. It guarantees that the choice will be between greater evils next time around."

Christopher Hitchens
"Minority Report," Nation, August 22, 1994
Quotable Hitchens, Windsor Mann and Martin Amis

The second big lie of Obamism is to use titles in place of substance: the ACA for example, or the Stimulus Bill. When analyzed these turn out to be check boxes that have far less effect than claimed.

The Republican Party for a generations has been the party of two ideas: run a paper for oil economy by borrowing forward and cutting taxes, and bribing enough middle of the country states by offering a respite from the social progress of the late 20th century. Both of these have broken down, but Republicans of the elite stripe should not fear: they have successfully boarded and taken over the Democratic Party, now as committed to Wall Street as they are. It was Clinton, not Bush, the passed the "financial reforms" that allowed the mortgage meltdown, and one of the most reliable engines of liberalizing banking laws, has been the senior Senator from New York, since he was a member of the House of Representatives. WTO and NAFTA were under Clinton, as was "Welfare Reform," another brick in the reduction of the disproportionately non-white underclass.

To measure policy, it is not enough to be better than the opposition, but equal to the circumstances, and here Obama's nature as an empty suit is abundantly obvious.

The first example is the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act, which was, mostly, a vehicle for his promised "Middle Class Tax Cut". While by this point there is ample evidence that high end tax cuts do not spur growth, for the obvious reason that asset inflation results, with more dollars chasing fewer investment returns, the data indicates that lower income tax cuts do not work: while both Bush and Obama cut tax rates for lower income payers by a percentage of income, poverty rates remain high, and in fact have grown. This echoed the famous 1989 conclusion from two very conservative economists. This is because people at the low income line do not have pricing power, they cannot raise wages, they cannot bargain for goods. Thus employers, who know exactly how much more employees are getting can simply hold pay raises down.

The concept here is that the poor don't have income, they have through put. The attacks from the right on the ACA were hobbled and inaccurate, to no small extent because the ACA is their plan, proposed by Heritage, and then signed into law by a Republican governor, with a Medicare waiver signed by George W. Bush. But this is the grading on the curve defense again. The question is whether

This is compounded by rising health insurance rates, which leads us to the far more damning ACA, or Affordable Care Act, which creates a two tier system of health care: one based on Medicaid, the other on private insurance. The first is where the poor and disporportionately non-white will be shunted, the second subsidizes white older payers, who get universal issue, that is no exclusions, and unlimited caps, that is no cost caps, by forcing younger people to pay higher rates. Thus, the famous subsidies are another case not of income, but of through put: the younger workers pays higher costs, which are, in turn, used to subsidize older, often more affluent, workers.

The real problem is that the US spend much more of its GDP on health care, and for rather mediocre outcomes. Measuring Obama against a fictive alternative is the grading on the curve lie, instead, the potentially lost output is the question, how much of the money that is overspent is redirected to better purposes? The answer is very little, the ACA's measures for controlling costs are almost all hand waving. There are small, but noticeable, effects from the luxury tax on expensive plans, and from Medicaid expansion, which, with an *, takes people out of wasteful private insurance.

That asterix is, of course, one of the most damning indictments of the movement around Obama, and that is their slavish acceptance of paying the affluent first, and of the Roberts decision in allowing states to cut Medicaid expansion. Obama is only tangentially to blame, since Roberts rawly political move was, on legal grounds, questioned by ... Roberts himself, both in the dissent he wrote, and in his questions. Obama can legitimately claim to have been blind sided by Roberts' willingness to double back, but this only goes back to the mediocre nature of Obama as a politician.

However, Obama's movement is not immunized, because first four so-called liberals were willing to trade the poor, disproportionate non-white, for the affluent, disproportionately white, by the medicaid opt out, second, because liberals and democrats embraced it fully, even calling it a "boon" to minorities. Except to the quarter or so of those that it is not. If a Republican had passed an act that so clearly had discriminatory impact, Democrats would have been the first to attack.

The deeper failure is Obama's running of the executive itself. Again, grading on the curve one can see how Obama has been more adept than Bush in running federal agencies, for example, his ability to be the face of policy in the wake of Sandy, versus the miserable failure moment of Katrina. But George W. Bush was the worst two full term President, and one of the worst. Being better than the worst is not great. One does not get honors for being better than the bottom 10% of the class, even in the softest of gut course.

An example of this failure broke in the last month of the campaign: the meningitis outbreak caused by a company manufacturing doses of a steroid, and shipping them across state lines. It mirrors the Elixir sulfanilamide mass poisoning, where 100 people died from S. E. Massengill Company's mixing of a toxic solvent into the medication. This broke the impasse over the passage of what came to be known as the Food, Drug & Cosmetics Act of 1938, still the basis for the FDA, and regulation of the introduction of medical goods into interstate commerce.

In the present, no action has been taken to expand the FDA's powers, even though 400 cases have been identified, and two dozen deaths. Again, measured by greatness, the Obama administration has exposed the public to risk of stroke, illness, and death, and done not much more than clean up the disaster.

Social Failure

Faced with the fact of a narrow victory, the pundits whose task it is have already begun a middle course, praising ideals, and blaming the office. However the measure of a first rate politician, is not what opportunistic hangers on say, hoping to gain a piece of the action, but what larger forces say, some men, are too big to judge by ones own interest. While Obama's defenders extravagantly assert a new Progressive era. If by a new Progressive era you mean Progressives as lap dogs for war, privatization, cutting Social Security and Medicare, then yes, that is a new era. The reality continues to be that the Democratic Party refuses to live up to its ideals, while the Republican Party will live down to theirs.

The Second Big Lie of Obamaism, is revisionist history. To explain how Obama did so little or fell so far short, it is necessary to invent a Republican victory in the Congressional elections of 2008:

Barack Obama can no longer preach the bright 2008 certitudes of "Hope and Change." He has a record to defend this time around. And, considering the lousy hand he was dealt by George W. Bush and an obstructionist Congress, his record of achievement, from universal health care to equal pay for women, is astonishingly solid.
This is the careful parsing lie version which is elided away. There was no obstructionist Congress in 2008, the Democrats won a second consecutive victory in Congressional elections. Like Bush's careful placement of Iraq and 9/11, having the loiter under the same broken street lamp, but not explicitly connecting them – it does not exactly say that the obstructionist Congress came from Bush, but it allows the confusion to sit. Lying by excision. The reality is that the obstructionist Congress was not the result of "Citizens United" which came later, but of Obama's own failures in policy and politics. He burned through two years on the ACA to get what he had already agreed to with power players behind the scenes, and then was forced to use reconciliation to patch it, after saying he would not, and lying to the public about a "Public Option" when he had already bargained it away – which is why Professor Hacker went from being a star to a footnote, since he had pushed it – rather than passing a bill and getting on with a program to fix the structural problems of the economy.

Instead, this same article comes out and tells the truth:

Viewed through the lens of history, Obama represents a new type of 21st-century politician: the Progressive Firewall. Obama, simply put, is the curator-in-chief of the New Deal, the Fair Deal, the New Frontier and the Great Society.
Or in otherwords, a conservative. This is the root of the failure of progressives under Obama, they are not liberal, or progressive liberals, but, at best, progressive conservatives: comfort the comfortable and inflict discipline on the afflicted. That Obama and his followers are conservatives, and his enemies to his right are reactionaries is the fundamental intellectual fallacy of discourse.

More over, by 2008, it came as news to no one that the Republican Party was one of obstructionism. After a "Government Shutdown," a long "Hunting of the President" culminating with an impeachment over an affair, and their own often quoted promise to make Obama a "one term President." George McGovern and Alan Simpson had both lamented the turn in events. For Obama to ignore what was, by the time he took office, a 12 year long pattern, means that Republican Obstructionism, even to the extent it existed in the Congress, and which Democrats had to participate in once all the members had been seated, is a failure, again, of Obama the politician. Since the Republicans and obstructed the seating of Senator Al Franken, the hand was tipped in advance.

By offering endless excuses for failures that were both foreseeable, and to some extent avoidable, Obama shows his lack of greatness, and his movement their lack of principle. Without irony they attack dissenter for wanting power without responsibility, but they take no responsibility themselves.

The social failure of Obama's movement also is found in how it rests on the same mean spirited ugliness that Bush, Rove, and their cadre, used to wrap America in failure. The ugliness includes attacks against Mitt Romney's religion, and overblow trash talking of the sort that fans of a second rate American football franchise engage in after narrowly defeating a doormat team. It indicates that Obamacracy will be run by intellectual third raters whose job it is to concoct excuses, and say "Fuck You." Over and over again. Would these same people accept being damned for the Christianity, or Atheism, or the totems of Buddhism? Of course not, one might as well criticize a candidate for his baseball cap. By return attacks on creed to the front of their attack on Romney – and I write this as a bitter opponent of a church which lies about history, lies about itself, and interferes with basic social rights – is to fail in that most fundamental of American assertions, that people are accountable for acts, not religion opinion. As the famous Danbury letter of Thomas Jefferson says:

Believing with you that religion is a matter which lies solely between Man & his God, that he owes account to none other for his faith or his worship, that the legitimate powers of government reach actions only, & not opinions, I contemplate with sovereign reverence that act of the whole American people which declared that their legislature should "make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof," thus building a wall of separation between Church & State. Adhering to this expression of the supreme will of the nation in behalf of the rights of conscience, I shall see with sincere satisfaction the progress of those sentiments which tend to restore to man all his natural rights, convinced he has no natural right in opposition to his social duties.
Thus attacking the totems of Romney's faith is to descend into religious intolerance, and shows that Obamacrats abhor a primordial belief of humanism and liberalism: religious freedom. Romney may well hold beliefs from Mormonism that he would express as policy that would disqualify him, such as as being an apologist for the Church's racist stance until less than a generation ago, or its even more recent interventionism against equal marriage. It is entirely appropriate to ask Romney whether he approve of the Church engaging in politics to back Proposition 8 in California, and to conclude that it is not safe to trust to the chief magistrate of American pursuit of happiness, someone who believes in theocratic denial of it. In fact, Romney has at times condemned theocracy when convenient, but his  ability to be on all sides of every issue makes these denials, likewise, a legitimate subject for question. But underwear? No.

Make no mistake: Mitt Romney was the worst non-sacrificial lamb candidate in the media age. However, the mistakes were all out there, waiting to be made, and Romney time and again proved himself unfit for the Presidency on every level: he could neither muster ceremony, nor sense of policy. He was duplicitous, and disingenuous, he pandered to the myths of his base, even those which are transparently false, such as his "apology tour" attack. His plans were murky, if not non-existent, and his choice of Ryan, while arguably necessary to mollify his base, indicated that he represented a wallow in the tea party's worst impulses.

Each party represents and elite core which funds the party, and two bases: their populist base which sees movement toward some larger goal, and the moderate base which expects protection of a current way of life, and particularly the benefits of it. Romney represents his party's elite core. However he has a problem, where as Reagan and Bush used America's image of church goers as the people that Americans would like to be: thrifty, pious, moral, wholesome, the Tea Party shows them to be violent gun toting old coots. The populist base of the Republican Party is kept in line because they are right wing socialists: without farm bills, road subsidies, retirees, and the military budget, their way of life would be hobbled. Without the ability to externalize the cost of carbon, it would be over.

It is also a social reality that theocracy is part and parcel of the Republican coalition, and part of the social bribes it pays its adherents. The Republican coalition can barely hide its desire for theocratic laws, and to reward those who attack others on the basis of race, creed, sexuality, or gender. The Republican coalition is driven by "God, guns, and gays," which is "theocratic patriarchy" for those of a monosyllabic vocabulary. The reaction against it is understandable, but shows the feet of clay of the so-called left, a rootless anger waiting for a leader.

The fall from liberal humanism that Obama Nation represents is seen as well by their intolerance of dissent. A case in point is an essay written by a friend of mine, Matt Stoller, namely his short essay on why Obama had failed by the measure of Progressivism. It raised nearly unhinged personal attacks, precisely because it was so moderate. Obama claims to protect the middle class, but in fact protects the financial system first: he noted that home prices have been flat, while bonds and stocks have out-performed.

The same party that elevated dissent out of power, condemns it in power.

But this is all grading on the curve, this essay carries no brief for Romney, nor his movement, if one could be located, nor his party. The question is not whether American made the better choice in the general election, but whether the triumphalism which attends a weak President with a weak victory is accorded by the facts, or whether Americans should find a means to hold the movement that backed him to account.

If Obama's movement were content with claiming that he was a good man who did the best he could, or the best that could have been chosen in these times, they would have a strong case that a nation whose politics and socio-economic inequality are as they are, might not have been able to elect a President any farther to the left than Obama.  However, they claim greatness. Measured against Social Security, the ACA is closer the the Americans With Disabilities Act, a privilege mostly for the privileged, a good conservative brick propping up those who are otherwise members in good standing of the establishment, measured against the FDIC, Dodd-Frank is an almost non-existent filing of a few loose ends, the sort of act that FDR's administration would tuck into regulations.

In summary, Obama is what his re-election says he is: a divisive President with a weak mandate, who let chances slip through his fingers because of his poor judgment and ideological rigidity, whose great claim is that he is better than the worst two term President in American history, and better than a candidate whose contempt for the truth will be near legendary. As the Republicans pointed to the Taliban, the Democrats point to the Tea Party.

Technocratic, Obamacaratic, and Boomercratic, Not Democratic, Liberal, or Progressive

One of the essential problems of American political discourse is that "liberal" and "conservative" have become essentially meaningless conventional descriptions of clusters of political opinion. Just as the terms "left" and "right" do not really describe American political Parties until what political scientists call the "fifth party system," the present division does not fall into progressive, liberal, or conservative camps.


Saturday, June 21, 2014

Marne 1

I
The Beginning of War, and the End of Peace

1
2 Aug 1914,
5th Baden Mounted Jäger Regiment,
Just south of the Alps

It was half past four, and it was quiet. The cocks already growing in the distance, and people whose job was to busy the day, were going about their business: eggs were being moved, and everything was just getting started,  all sorts is was being laid out in a old market  area. It was just inside the border of France, and the deep Rhine country side, most of the people were just scratching their heads, and breaking for a new day.  A day that was unlike any other day, though they wouldn't know it, because in the distance, there wore gray uniforms, that were not a part of the countryside, and did not belong. They were German. Actually, there were several of  kinds of German,  for they had not been really a language for this. Different houses, different aspects, in every detail, they were not German so much as this and different nationalities who we would not recognize, because in our time they were German, but in our time is not their time.

Their time, there was disarray, and Germany wasn't really a word, but it was an idea that they were for. It was gnawing in the boots, it was thought of the brain, and it had so much to do that people didn't know that it was there. Language, even English, was different. It was ornate, clean, and fresh. We don't speak the same language, even if we think we do, even if we wish.

The other situation was that the Germans, because while the older Germans were really sort of have German, but the younger ones were true Germans, were cold and heartless, and engulfed as set against “libertéégalité, fraternité”, the order of 1789 in France. The order that would rule the world would be a step, at lease most people thought it would, in one flash,  and roaring of feet. It would be either French system of values, or the German system of values, and grip there they would.

But there was a difference, France had decided that it would be a part of the the system, where as Germany would rule the world, alone, or with an ally, Austria, who was half German, and half other things. That would be the difference, because England was both German and French, and it had decided, by whatever means it would do so. It had decided for cold incalculable reasons, that France would be the better partner, not German. Realize, France was both culturally old, and politically old, where as Germany was culturally old, but politically it rested on a framework which was 100 years old, and had grouped itself around the time of 1871, when it finally cleared itself “Germany”, as opposed to the myriad of states,  which were referred to as Germany only in the reactive tense that people admitted they didn't really know what they were talking about. It is this point in time, you could refer Germany has “große Deutch”, which was large and vague, or as “petite Deutch” which was stronger and feral, but obviously smaller. It was not clear which one would when, but was pettie which had the upper hand at the moment. It grew in stages, from Prussia, which was the largest back, but only the largest pack, who under one man, the indomitable Bismarck would take center stage, to a run state finally named Germany.

At the same time, Italian group from a large selection of states, to be an empire, though not as great, a flare which said that they could be something, but they would rather just be happy instead, and the thought of as great, only they were really so. These pairs of empires were bridges, to the east, which was different area entirely. What is important, was that Germany and Italy said that they were aligned, but Italy had called feet, that would be corrected, but that is not part of this tale.

What is part of this tale is how Wilheilm II schemed, and plotted, to rule the world, and sweep up gathering morsels in her mouth. He had decided to pick the same group of people, younger than their forefathers, do what could not be done: defeat France and plunder a second time. First time, it had been done, and they thought it would be easier to do so again. They were wrong, in a twist of fate, what they did not understand was that America was going to be the difference, not once again, but twice. But this too, would not be known, if it was just an dream, and France would hold the key, in world war one, thing they call the great war, that saved the day. None of this was known of, neither the terror, or the grief , nor of the  vision of a little corporal which would become the second world war. Everyone thought that this would be like the Franco-Prussian war, a little war, design toIs just last a day or a seasoned, they had forgotten what a real war was like. They didn't see that this would be a Napoleonic war, as they had not imagined it to be. Everyone thought it would be swift, but they wouldn't imagine that the Germans, for was Germans who said it in the motion and held on, with design it for the length and breath, and turn it into a clash that had not been seen. They did not understand that it was only Bismarck which had rendered the big war into a smaller one, and he was not around to tell that the clatter and the clamor would be renewed. The war was coming, though no one even notices. And while peace was enjoyed, and enraptured, strange things were coming. Most of all in the timing offices of state, it is really their where it started, that dream which was several generations old, and each time it had been renewed, seeping and seizing group of people, which at this point they did not understand what was going to happen.

Remember, they thought it would be over and done with. That's what everybody thought, after after they thought that their was going to be a war, at all. Except a few people, who were planning on, and they thought it would be a short little war, we have notes to prove it.

So rather than start with the deal, we showed start with just a little before the beginning, and plot with who knew from the beginning, even those who know that it was not going to be a short little war. Germans and the French. The few new early, sometimes as much as 25 years, the many new almost. So if you want to know what happens to the few, you have to go back 20 years, or more. To the many, you have to go back for only a few weeks. To the horde, even after the outbreak is not enough. But breakpoint is when the action starts, when they are is motion. And not is not very much more different, but it is not to go on. Only Joffrey Joffre on the French side new what was going to happen, and botched it all. Not quite, but almost. So we will begin general Joseph Joffrey, before he realized that he is reaching a war of defense, when he still thinks he is running for of offense.

It was just pretty picture,  this mountain top of the Alp, just as clearly it was on the French side,  not German side, and certainly not the Swiss side, or the Italian side. Indeed you tell inside was not  truly the position, there were to many  mountain and hills in the way. No, this was definitely the branch side, as only someone who was German would know,  driven side rolling up,  and the French side rolling down. And he was German, though you would defend to the last as is needed. It was odd, he knew, he was German, but he also knew that German was not his nationality, Baden was. However, they youger are were truly German to the core, head, and in other places which would not be mentioned. The ones not German with their feet, but whole heartedly. Only thought not only though “German”, they invented and breathed to. He watched them hold over for, and realized that they had combined German as a culture with German as a nationality, which he only partially subscribed to. But that was future, no Future, in all of its nominative tents way of being. The cobwebs were not there, in his, though he was trying, their work, cobwebs that is.

There were seven of them, himself included, and there was not yet war on, but it was only just. He knew, and the French new, that this would be an encounter, or just missing the date of border of the encounter. If the hand is friends were going to be the first, let it be glorious, and the same way, if he and his folk were the killing edge, that it be that way, and taste the blood of French folk. They would have to first shots, of course, because they were on the French side, but only the first shots, than they would get swiped in in return. And since last, by this he meant his German army which was being born as we spoke, he had better rifles then did the French. But not better artillery, but that would, be hoped, not be needed, just firearms as of the sort that infantry men possessed.

77s, a terrible thing, were in the hands of the Frenchman, and he knew that they were going to be on the field, but not yet.   and were artillery,  best the,  or anyone,  saw in either  Army. He pulled up, and scanned through the eye class, and thought he saw something. He wanted to be sure, but that was a luxury that he did have. He was dead before the second glance shot, and only was able to say victory. he took the life, and then taken in return. And the rest of his body was dead as for doornail, lying as a cross might lie. One of his cadets grabbed him up on the snow, not much and it was really snow but just a dusting, but it was enough. And then Cpl. cleared away, leaving only the handsome, recently dead, face.

It was actually very clear with only a few clouds scattering in the sunlight, the French and the Germans, both, were retreating away. Because they were not war, yet. The trees were coniferous, and in that golden field of mourning, they were sparkling. French were running down the court, without rhyme or reason to it, while the Germans, two down in their number,  were more punctilious in their motions. It was, as noted, just before the war. It was calm, their were no season of guns, it was almost as if nothing happened, or again the played, one team arriving a little bit before another. Down below the French side seizing the advantage, and then it was gone. Each leader knew that he had made a mistake, and each one had died, in that way living up to the creed. Though he did not know it, the French captain was also dead,  shot in the same wave as he was.

It was over, and it would be to marked as a skirmish between French and German forces, which was not part and parcel of the war, the war was going to be about Luxenberg, everything after that was considered the war, and everything before that was considered a skirmish, not part of the actual war itself. This was a little skirmish, nothing more. When the totals were headed up, these few were argued about. Were they, or won't they, part of the honored dead. Where they are, or weren't they, consigned to burial with the others. That the the horror peeled of and over them, and the decision was not made by the higher ups, but by a corporal, who didn't think anything of it. To him, they were war dead, and that was that. And nothing more was to be done about it, until much after the fact. When French and German speakers were quibbling over which dead belonged in which field.

There's only one thing this: Albert Mayer was not dead. He did know how long he had been abandoned, and his head was still woozy.Sliding up, and then down. But the corporal who had pushed him long, decided that this was not going well, and pushed him off so as to gain a firmer footing, after all what difference did it make? The checked the heartbeat, and their was nothing to suggest that his heartbeat would come back after two hours. He dumped him alongside of the road, and strode upwards, this little kernel dump him just decide the road, and caught up with his other friends. But he wasn't, in fact, dead. Though there was very little snow, he got up a dreadful number of hours later, and saw nothing. He was a long way from where he started, and he swore, because it was obvious, to him in any rate, that he'd been dumped on the roadside. First, he checked arms and legs, he knew that his right lower leg was never going To limited strength, indeed he had torn a ligament, maybe two. Their work cuts and bruises as well, but they would matter. He searched down the ligament, and saw that it was not broken. For one moment, he thought he would just crawl back, that was the logical thing to do. But he stood there, and realized while Prussians may have wanted to do things, he didn't want to. Baden was different, he realized he'd done his duty, and it was other people do theirs.

And at that moment, he stopped being Lieut. Albert Mayor, and just started being Bert Mayor, who had some dealings with best. Who knows what Bertie was, he knew that he was not going to go. Albert was done, and ready had returned, he just needed some clothes, and would be ready for anything. He realized up was where the Germans were, and down was where the French were, so either left or right would be better for him. And from his direction right with the wrong direction to take, because that way was to Belgium, and the entire might of two terrible armies, and beleaguered armies that wanted nothing to do with them were hovering around each other. He knew, from experience, if nothing else, that it would be futile to go that way. So he turned left instead, and hoped that he would be one of hundred, even 1000, going back his business, because after all, it was going to be a short war in a way.

Or so they thought.

He did things as any low ranking German officer did things, checked the pockets, both for what was there and what was not, he had tobacco, and schnapps. This was a good thing, but it was bad because that was the only two things he had. Not even a glass, he would have to drink it from the bottle. Then he realized, his corporal wanted to make sure that he would be missing, and presumed dead. Which was all right with him, he was not going to want to do anything anyway. He realized that the Prussians were orderly, matter of fact, and a damn pain neck, where has his Baden, wall very strict up to a certain point, were looser after they had some schnapps, and were bit more expensive. And anyway if he needed to, he could join up again. Though he would see how this would go on, December maybe, maybe cleaning up to February. Then he could get home and explain that he was damaged, healed up, and maybe even started a new life, if he chose. But that was a long way, fervor in fact.

No, first of all to get other clothes, civilian clothes, and dress him self up. Then he could get some clothes from somewhere else but around here, and so on until he looked quite different.  Than he would blend in for a few months. But the first few hours on 3rd were the tightest ones, they would make or break this plan. But even that wasn't so bad, because how damaging can be? The was very far from the action, and he knew it. So try your best, and if you don't succeed, then you don't, and he tried nonetheless.

Damn, his had felt like the rush in his head was not bottom out the way it should, he was going to check it out, but not for now. For right now, he would have woke a good long distance so as not to be known about. He waited for along time, until it was truly dark, really truly dark. And then followed the footsteps of cows and sheep, until even he could not tell human from bovine, or ovine, steps. Human was a different story, is the were covered with boots that were unmistakably different from the ones that were civilian, they were military, and anyone could recognize them on site. For nightfall, they would have be ditched, and new ones found.

He shifted left, because movements ahead were not civilian in nature, and while French or German, it was all the same to him. He brushed down and squatted, and looked into the distance, and saw that they were French, probably looking for strugglers. They were careful, and they were green, so green in fact that they marched home around in and couldn't see his face even as they were looking at it, 20 bases so best. Then they marched away, upwards, because the knew somewhere off in the distance, there was a group that was going to buzz down them and slaughter themselves. This was, of course, his group, and others just like him.  So he stood, and stared again just to be sure, it was 1 o'clock, and then he lit off in to countryside, off at tangential angle, and hoped against hope that there was nothing left. Then he turned right, more towards the French side then the German, and would see what their was to be seen.

He hoped it would be nothing out the ordinary, and truly peaceful morning and afternoon in front of him.

2
2 Aug 1914,
Paris, France


Morning glorious morning, day different from every previous day. People were making up to the realization that this day would be different. There was a war on, those most people did not expect it to be very long. There was buzzing, dim growling feeling, in every nook and cranny, in the kitchen, and in the garages, and everything else that you can think of, people buzzing about it. Until there was clamoring noise. This was not the buzzing of later generation, where each family was left to their own devices, no this was upstairs downstairs, and clamoring of many clans. It was a noise that many people would not understand, because they had grown up in little boxes and all were just the same. Instead, there was the chief family, and many subsidiary families, clinging on them, attached by hook or by crook to the chief.

Everyone was decidedly shoddy, in slightly different ways. You have to know, the windows were 14 feet deep on this house, the same way all of the others were in this section of town. They were run down, and badly shoddy for a half of a mile. It had been 1740 or so, give or take 15, when last it was repainted. Back then it was very posh, with merchants and other déclassé but interesting people in the trade class, but gradually they were on the cusp of nothing. This was the city, not in the countryside, it was a very different thing. It was learned three story building, not of red brick, but of cream gray which is not like brick, but of mortar and plaster, the kind that is a shining white that speaks of a gleaming star.

One of these families, in the 22nd arroundisse, was getting up. It was a mother, father who was in Africa, two adorable children - a boy and a girl, who were both the same age – une pettite enfante, that is a baby girl, and a corona of an aunt, who was related to an uncle who had recently died, and who was completely nasty vicious sort of person, who we will get to later. So naturally the mother, and aunt, were full talking away, and not minding who was saying what, they were just talking to themselves, and were minding what the other person was saying. Their were also three people who were not related to in any way, an older men who was outside doing things such as lumber, and other assorted chores, of an outside nature.  Then there was little age woman, who is between, and someone younger woman who did the dishes, and baked scrumptious cakes. The youngish girl, was in and out, catching only a glimpse before going back to the background, she caught only every second or third phrase, though she was interested in the conversation, though she didn't understand half of it.
In reality, they were poor, and huddled together, but they had means to survive. Remember, most people in the present day lived on income, but people in the past were not people who had income, but people who had income coming and going out, not people who had money or didn't. And all those people who didn't, obviously these people were on first class, not the second class, there who people who have a grasp which will pay money to live, and there were people who did not have money, not a scrap which is different from not having money but do have a scrap of income left. If you don't believe there is such a difference, it's because you haven't been part of the line which doesn't have income, but can fake it now and again. But the rules were different.

As such most of the food when to young ones bellies, and almost none went to the older people. Not to put too much of a point of things, they were as thin as a rail. Boning was correct word for them, but for all of that, there was a gentility among, the were wasting away,  but slowly. The aunt was with away the fastest, she would not hear for very long, a few years at most. Even the children were not very well off, but better than to be expected. Realize there was an abundance of most food from top to bottom, there were however patches of famine which lingered over the land. This family, for example, should really have been down the ladder, and if had been less of a tenacious , every single one of them, the would have been been. But they were tenacious, and were he can have an existence, without a father, so that the children would be well.

For all but the youngest, there was something about them that said they were going to make it, no matter what the cost was. On adults it would be true grit, but on children it is different, kind of fairy tale life expression, that could only be described in other terms. Ogres and other things surrounded them. They could not tell the adults, they could only tell three or four friends which they shared the same worldview, kind of play seriousness that can only described by someone who has shared the experience. It was a new kind of play, every one who will not understand. It was not pleasant, but an eerie dark experience. People who were changed, in some way, would not talk about it, and people who didn't recognize it would think that it is poppycock. They wouldn't allow it to take hold of them, and think are different, and remember nothing in the past. In other words, they don't recognize the change, because it happened before their time. And they don't want to question difference. And moreover, they don't recognize the change has occurred differently, most decidedly not in other people. They want to rub out the differences, even though they clearly exist. For a boy and girl, not only were the changes existing for them, they realized that changes were not there for all of the rest of adults, with possible exception of the grandfather, whose presence they did not know of.

They only talked about it with their friends, and not often with many of those. The only talked about it in abstract, and in cues that only people who had been through would know. Thus while the war was the top most attention for other people, for them it was different. They knew about what would happen as being an abstract, which was different, though a new enough of what they spoke. Their parents saw nothing amiss, and wrote it off to things that were inner mind, rather than things being outer the mind. That he is the difference between outer and inner living people.

Inner living people do not want to share, though some outer living people grasp, in their own way, what is going on. But they think that inner living people live only in the present, which is not true, they know that this magic, if match is the correct word, lives in between these moments, and does not touch the world, the outer living world. So they have a secret, which the outer living people think will be destroyed. It won't be, because it's different in kind, and shape. And they were not telling anyone, and the few who knew couldn't convince many that there was a difference, which is way the few who knew wanted. In other words the inner living people just had to make it so outer living people who knew something was gang up on.  Since most people didn't know there was anything wrong, just that they were different, is would take them along themselves known what exactly was the difference.

Think of it as the way homosexuals think about themselves, they knew they were different, but it is only after great distance, and only then in a tangential way, that they know something that other people cannot see, and indeed something that they don't want to know. Us there are a few people who flaunt it, but most not, and most people only know the surface. Really, it's hidden, even to themselves. But it is to those people who are outer living, and aware of it, which is, a very tiny fraction of those people who are outer living and not aware of it, it buzzes, and annoys them, even if they don't know why. But I do, and you should, though you won't, in all probability

But people don't know this, the characters in the novel. This, remember isn't 1914, it in my time is 2014, and the characters won't know anything of premise day, though in one case that I will get to, they have knowledge of a knowledge present day, a rather he will have knowledge, which is different from our own. We are the present day, and getting closer to careening, even more so as we speak of it, ahead of them. And getting more so with every second. Every second more time passes between World War I, and this are present time because, your time of reading this, is not my time of writing this. And it's important, because the characters and I are not in the same timeframe either. But that's another tale which we have spoken of all ready, and I won't speak of it in this little chapter.

Let us call the boy F, and the girl J, for those are not are not the adult names that people call them by, the childless names they call each other. They found them in a book that they had read. It wasn't a very good name, to truth be told, but they had warmed up to it, in every part was different after they had touched it. Until in their hands, it was rye and intense, searches only two people who have lived a book can make it so. So different was it, that adults plotted to be their own handiwork, but they knew better. What is more important, to small puppet presided over the three of them, and told them what to say, as if he were a real character, and maybe he was. What was his name? Call him Peternote, and you won't be far wrong, is not exactly right, but nothing is.

“I want you to tell me a story, if you would. And make it one about the Prince and Princess. But it has to be a new story, nothing old, and I will be to if it is, even just a little bit.” he was very grave as the said this, and you very much mended. J stood and applauded, she also wanted here a story, and very desperately wanted to be about Prince and Princess. Because she knew that the Prince and Princess were half attached to this world, and have way attached to another world. So she knew that this would begin a story that would spin out in into darkness.

“Well” said Peternote, “that will that will have two main it's fresh and new, or its a small deal from the past.”

“Oh, it will have to be new, because when parents an weekend that there is nothing going on with this world, though we all know that not to be true, and we will have two pretend that nothing is wrong. We would have to pretend that nothing is amiss, even though it is a amiss.” J said this matter-of-factly, with most wretchedly dry sense of humor, that people could not understand unless they were small.

“More than fresh, it has to be new. Because this is a new moment, with you ideas, is it possible to layout the new framework, and new ideas? After all, dead implies a lot of things, so does undead. We have to have something extraordinary, which is neither undead, nor the dead. It has to be scary, but scary in a different way. If you know what I mean.”

“All I know what you mean. We have two embark on something completely different, in every respect, from the way glistens, to every little detail of its life from before, to what is going on right now, the way it grips its flesh, not death, nor in fact life, but something in between which will be described as it goes.” With this not he spoke, are puppet with no strings attached. The was haunted in his own way, thoroughly real to his own to characters, but nothing more than a puppet to anyone else.

And they believed in him, absolutely, with out a shred of doubt in their minds. They imagined what they were missing, and were going to find a way to make it so.
So they sat waiting for the tale, and the puppet laid out a number of things, almost as if they were ground rules, though he didn't say anything. It was contact, not verbal that he spoke with, but it was very real none the less. Than he drew cards, and arrange them just so, as if to say that these cards were not important, only in the abstract. They were the gateway to lands unknown and on reachable to the real world.

So Peternote began, after clearing his throat, “ in the beginning, and there was a beginning...” So he began at the beginning, or rather what they knew of the beginning, with strands both forwards and backwards which were, as yet, unresolved.
Then the mama and the aunt came up stairs, and began to dress them. And it would be one more day before they had a chance to play on their own terms, and in their home way.

3
In Burgundy,
North of small village
3 Aug 1914

It was cold, though not rainy, and he saw no one about. This was odd, he didn't expect so fast and exit. Down square, which he was in, was desolate and forlorn. In yet not sign of people was in place. The tried the down square, he tried the lonely little town building, which held all of the means for conducting government. Then he checked the pubs, which were only three decades old, built by followers of Paster. He remembered that French drunk wine as much as beer, so he decided to look in the places which served wine, and slabs of what could be called cheese. In none of these places was a single person found. Now it was more than odd, it was Perplexing, as if people had never been here at all. Their was no sign of them.
More than that, there were no cats or dogs. One would have thought there to be one, or two, at the very least. But there was no sign at all, not one. As I said, it was more than just odd, it was perplexing, in the extreme. He still stood for a while, and thought what could be the meaning for all of this. He saw no white linens, or other things, that people have even been in town quite recently. This to was beyond our, in fact beyond perplexing, he didn't know what it was, he drew into himself and thought what it could be, an effect known.

It was as if the town wasn't deserted, but barren and desolate, something strange. No animals, not a cat or dog, let alone a cow, or horse. No goat, or anything else that was hoof, then he looked to the skies, and their was no wind beat either. That again was more than perplexing, he didn't know what it was, crossed the town repeatedly, and saw no sign, not one, of fish or fowl, in addition to hooves or in the little thing, such as a mouse. There is wise more than perplexing, more than an anomaly.

The one thing that drove home on his memory, there were no hoofs prints on floor of any of the places where there would have been had this been once lively town, not one. This meant something was going on, and he would have no what was. Then he realized there were no German armies moving through, which would had happened by now. The clock struck 12, with its ornate goings-on on the bell tower. Obviously someone had designed it from West of the in the land of what was once France, though it was Germany, now. Though many sections of France would have it back if they had their way. He had remembered when and American film musical went through, and he saw things that he had never seen. Their was an orchestra of six pieces to accompany it, and each piece was different. He saw one picture which was totally different, even different than other pieces. While most pieces were vaudeville in nature, very slapstick in nature, this piece was surreal, and with twists and turns. He had seen the French cinematographer, base terribly on bits and piece of the French surrealist, but this was different, even though it was surrealist in nature, it was different because it was firmer, where as the French were imagine things.

What was on odd about it was it was filmed outdoors, where both French and German were filmed inside. The gave the film a huge expands that was truly breathtaking. He remembered one detail, against all the others, the in damsel was holding on to, for dear life in fact, a clock which was not going around, but every which way. Running up the side this, the hero was on foot and trying to catch the damsel in distress only the was holding a [], but a knotted plant of some kind. Then he took the potted plant and swung it in to the ground, and with this movement dangled up.

Then he stood and made a large decision, would be, on the one hand, continue to search for signs of people, or would borough in to France, and get away from the bustling, crunching, noisy monster of Army which was coming down on him. For the new that it was. It was obvious to him that all that was to be locked up, and you he knew anything about destruction, the French army would not exist in a short period of time.

When he put it that way, it was obvious, to him, that getting out of the way of German Army,  was if not crucial to all of friends, then at least it was crucial to him. So he dropped down to the floor of this little copss had gone up, and went down on floor, winding his way back to the resident flora and if not exactly fauna, through remains of such. He was away from the town and into the brush and what could be called foothills of town, where it was one part orchard, and one part wild. But it was in no cases, civilized, containing even so much as a shack to go between. The was then on his way, passing between fields of branches containing   fruits, and not so branches in such which were compressed into fields. These fields were wild and open, and then when it was changed from farmer to farmer it once again was civilized, even if not seem to be such. You see, in the center of his domain, he placed the best part of his fruits, and in a lesser parts of his field he place gourds, and other such routing vegetables, this was to be his family, while the fruits were feed other people. Only occasionally did the engage in the substance of the land for his people, it was a very mighty festival indeed. Most of the time, the family a the roots, and spread out the bounty for others of nourishing grapes from his table. This was different from [outsized] or [though Lane] , which lavished every day, fine wines for itself to eat. This land was barren, unlike the land just to the north.

It was in short a barren country, for the very bounty which was just achingly close, one could in fact tasted, or one could hope to taste it, even if it was an illusion.
Gradually he stopped wondering which part of France he was in, and drove on, meeting his part of destiny. He saw no people, and this was disturbing, but he got used to it, and wondered only fragments of time. Not that he saw people, or at least he thought he did. He saw them around every corner, but only by a glance, when he looked at them, he saw nothing. This became so normal, that he didn't even notice it anymore. But the longer he walked, the more it burned him nonetheless. But gradually it became an ache, so distant from himself that he would recognize.
He saw the opening glory which was burgundy, and all riches that it contained. The saw grapes as large as any that he had ever seen, no strike that larger than the head ever seen. He saw more large gourds then ever, and realized he was walking in a paradise. He saw apples, and other kinds of fruit that he had only dreamed of. He didn't know how far he had gone, but it was at least several kilometers of distance, and then saw something which shook him to his core.

It was a female, slider than a woman, but growing in one, maybe 17 or so, maybe 15. she was paler than any woman he'd ever seen, and that was saying something, because he had seen the Nordic women which were pale as pale was. Or so he thought, until he compared this with anything. He knew right then that she was a ghost, then he shook him self, and thought better of it. But she was truly pale in life of his eyes, and he ran up to her and spoke. Or at least the try to, but no sound came from his mouth at first, just a breathless wind. She moved last little distance and shushed, me thought she was going to kiss him, but no motion came to that. She nuzzled and produced a bird which disappeared from her grasp. She then spoke to him.

“This world is not the one think it is, and you have to make a choice, as to where you want to go. Will you listen to what I have to say, or will you go along your merry way, and stumble in to one of the few who will protect you? There are also many dangers, which reside in this land, which do not occur in the other lands. It is your choice of course, but if I were you, I would at lease listen, before talking.” she was petite, and slender, and she had wild roses in her hair.

He nodded, he still could not speak to her.

“I can see that your not able to speak, that will return, I think. I haven't had the pleasure of speaking to anyone from your part of the world since last I was in the land of living. So if will be the first time I have spoken as one of the undead. Don't worry your not one of my kind, you are still hard of the living, just not part of living as you understand it to be. Nor are going to go back to that living world, instant half to choose what your new life will be from, if you choose to you can become like me, but I wouldn't advise it, there is a transformation which is unpleasant, and it is death. As I said, I wouldn't advise it slightest.”

In this pitter patter of speaking, she was bouncing, and a bit on toward, as she talked about herself. It was different when she spoke of worlds, and so on, where she was cold, and distant. Though he could not speak, he could laugh, and laugh the did. He for the first time that day, was amused at something different about this person, which he knew was more than being undead.

That he was not of this world, he understood, he had not seen one living thing since we got here, but the transformation was not what he had expected. He felt that he was undead himself, but he could see that the differences between them were striking. His skin was glowing, and rich, where as her skin was forboding, and dark, even while it was distinctly white on the inside, there was something about it that was dark, even if he could not see why. 

So he smiled, and then grinned, the widest grin he had seen in a long time, though that grin was so wide as to be a record or anything. That was for other things, though it was getting there. Every mile in fact, it got there, so as to be bursting at the seams. Until finally he admitted this was one of the happiest days of his life. Grin became a laugh, and he left at how little he understood of this world, and how little what he used to dream of mattered. He looked over at the woman, the girl, all the same time. Because each moment he looked at her she was both a woman and girl, both. He realized that she was a friend, but not a lover, she was to small, but she was growing at him. After all, he was only 19, not that much older, in fact at a distance, they would not be so noticeable. But at the moment, 15 and 19 were as substantial as it comes. Think about your own life, and who you married, and think about when they were a baby and you were totally grown up, or the reverse, you were a toddler, and they were quite grown up. And yet you bloomed together at just the right time for both of you. He realized he was just a little bit old for, right now, and he was going to get older, where as he suspected she was not going to age at all. She was after all, a ghost, and he, will he know what he was, but it was some kind of living.

He also realized that men, particularly Prussian men, were going to self to rape women in abundance, the were just boys and did not know any better. They would rape women in abundance and cut off breast if they were soiled in some way. He didn't know what kind of soil was involved because he was still a virgin, and he didn't know what kind of soil it was. But it was bad, in you that at least. He realized that he had pondered this while walking, though he had submerged this meditation. It was a dark reminder of how awful his thoughts were, and he could not noticeably subscribed them from is thoughts. Even now they would pop up, even though he tried to suppress them. He ponder on this, and he was going to find a girl, and woo her. He promised them self this, and then he suppressed it, burrowing thoughts down into his deep , deep subconscious.

“Can you talk yet. Your French is exceeding well even though you don't get, you listen very well.” indeed he did this to French, as she said exceedingly well. His mother was reason for this.

“I love you as a big brother would.”

She blushed, and made her words simple, so he would recognize them.
“Thank you, big brother, you have made my day.”

“You can talk, and I can listen, and I can understand even if I can't actually the language as well as you can, it's well enough.”

This time it was her turn to nod, and said nothing.

“You want me to say something don't you.”

“Well yes, now that you mention it. I want here your voice. I haven't heard any voice at all yet and yours is the first one that I will recognize. And soon I will not hear any voices at all, at least I suspect that I won't. I don't actually know, of course, by suspect that it will blissfully unaware for me.”

“You have to tell me watching know about life, death, and things in between. How do you know that stuff. Where are other people. I thought their were other people, but when I looked closely at them the worth gone. As if in a dream.”

“ I can tell you what I know, which was what an older male friend who was twice my age, and add one thing to do, and then he was gone. He said you have to take care of things, an most people do, and than are gone. Some hope us, like me for example, have could great deal to do, before we the decamp. So we go around doing it. But when there is a war on, many more people have so much left to do. That's wear you come in, you're not dead, but alive, and you have many more things to do.”

“ I don't understand, why am I alive, while you are dead?”

“When it is peacetime, most people get things done and go, if they didn't catch up on there things do, so be at, there was plenty time. Only a few people like myself didn't have the time, were mostly younger people. But in wartime, it's different, many people put side their tasks and go war, or our summoned and, well, slaughtered in the orgy of death that is the harbinger that surrounds them. Wartime is that way. Suddenly across the fields they come. Thousands in thousands of them. There really has in one since American, and a bit in in Europe, but not long.”

“ 1856 was the last big war, we tried to limit, that was the idea that Bismarck had, lots little wars, that added up to a big accomplishment.”

“And it could be that way again, but some of the older people, from the Napoleonic wars make a dark prediction, which you can see on faces of living, because even if they don't lesson to the dead, they do in fact listen to them, even if its only dreams that they talk to them.”

“You listen to our war leaders and the face tells them its going to be a bloody massacre, while there words under something in completely different. It depends than on what you listen to, the words which are bold and stirring, or the faces, which tell a different story entirely.”
“We see the faces much more carefully, so that is what we go by, faces are to deceive more then they enlighten us. Remember most people, out here, saw the face that was going to deceive them. And we remember that, almost with crystal clearness.”

He nod, again, this time he could talk, but did not want to. There was something said about this conversation, that elided into words, but was spoken on there faces instead, each one of them seeing the others face and recognizing it as their own. It was loss, which each one felt, and also recognized in the other.

Then the spoke: “ How did you get here? You have said you are different, because you left during peacetime, where as I am a casualty of war. And why are you dead, and I'm not?”
“ that's easy, I'm dead because I want to see all of countries of world, when most of my people were just living in the moment, what they saw was what they saw, and that was it. I wanted to see everything that could be imagined, China, Japan, America, and everything else besides. I even wanted to see South America, if you can believe it. But went I actually died, there was one place that was special.”

“Which was?”

“I will tell you, because are journey is the same for a little while.”

“But you will tell me, yes?”

“I will tell you, but promised me not laugh."

“I and German, and do not laugh.” he spoke in a great way, would with merriment which said that he did in fact laugh. But he was going to laugh at where she would and up.

“I think you will, that's good, because promises like that one should be kept, don't you think?”

“Yes, I do think so.”

They skipped away, almost hand in hand, they had decided, without making and actual position, that Paris would be there next stop.

4
Paris, France,
South of the river

In that exact moment in Paris, there was a commotion. Young men wanted to line up, while elderly people, and mothers of that exact age where they were above infancy, were wanting up to get out of Paris, everyone knew that it could be long war, though they were not saying so out loud. Foreigners were getting out, as out as good the gotten. Bread was also very expensive, left alone fish and poultry, and don't get me started on beef, which was skyrocket in price even as we spoke. The lines were changing day by day, minute by minute, until you did not know what price was going be, until you rested your arms on the table. Since children were out of school, though some children were attending summer school, there was a good deal of commotion on the streets, and in other places where children might have played. They were rioting, in a good nature way, because war had not been seen, Paris had not seen were, not in 1871, not in 1815, not since the time of the Directory, way back in 1788. no one really worried except a few people who thought about what it would be like if slaughter occurred, even people who believe in long war, not believe in slaughter in Paris.
Meanwhile in the 22nd at arroundise, upstairs in the the nursery room, it was just dawn because they knew that they were going to be taken outside, almost at first instance, which would not do. F was looking around the crib, and signing.

He was signed because of one thing, Peternote and J were talking very slowly and quietly. Generally this meant he was going to be the odd man out, and that to would not do, he would  rather be with J against Peternote, though he and Peternote against J wasn't really bad either. But this was wretched in the extreme, the two of them against him. So after some thought, he pushed his truck, obviously horse drawn truck, and more obviously wood simulated horse drawn truck, around the floor. This morning he decided that the truck was going to be flying,  as well as running along. Some days he would just stare to distance, and think about all things could've been doing, what was not. This is what you get on this day, forgetting all of his troubles, finally he lost himself. But it was not to be, because round the bend came J, and of course Peternote, playing a little pantomime as they went, and raising a ruckus. Out of his dream team for rush, then there was J's smiling face, with a nasty grin on its face.
“My dear darling F, could you do something, for me?” there was a bashful look on her face, one that countered extreme forwardness that she could not hide. He knew, and she knew he you, that this was the question which was really on her mind, not in the slightest. He knew three or four moves, but that was not good enough, there was a catch, which eluded his brain power, but he knew that it was out there.

“Don't play with, what is his what is that you want? Then I will say no if you want yes, and yes if you want no, and don't try and tangle everything up, because I will sniff it out, and then will be back to yes no game again.”

“Now what I want to do that? When all of the permutations will sidetrack it?” even though the were four, and a half, they were very clever, clever by thrice again what the average for their ages would tell you. They used large words, though not entirely precisely. However, between the two of them they were matched, and that means that they could be evenly matched. It is that even part that gets you in trouble, because anything that she could do he could do, and the reverse. So they stared at each other, trying to make a better move that he or she wouldn't have come to. But it was plane, this was not going to work. For all your soliloquies, plane little words, though French has a few twists and turns built-in to some lovely, ornate language, which everyone learns so as to make a mess of all language for anyone.
Then Peternote came in to view, and he cleared his throat, and with aplomb announced:
“I have something important to say, as much as I love watching you stare each other down, there is someone who wants to play our game, two someone's in fact. And what's more they don't know that they want to play the game, which is all that much more fun. ”

At first, the younger people want to to cheer, then, you could hear a pin drop on the floor. It was not Peternote, it was the aunt, the aunt who did not recognize Peternote at all, who was watching, and tapping her foot, repeatedly. “You have to come downstairs, now, there are some things to do.” By which she meant family things, where Peternote was not real, and should not be recognized as real. The aunt collected, the boy, and the girl, with girl looking back at Peternote, making sure that he was all right, with girl resigned to her fate. But it was all right at the end, because Peternote wink at her, telling her it would be all right, soon enough. It was cold, absolute, and as rapid as it came. One minute there were three of them, the boy the girl and P, and then the next minute there were the aunt, and two children. Not quite two, not quite three. But Peternote had told J that it would be all right, he would be waiting for them, even if after long time.

As Poincare declared in July of this year France was getting the war that it wanted. Realize in 1914, people didn't think were was going, to happen when actually the war was put in motion. When the war at the top level was going, and people were getting about it as if it may not happen, when in fact it already happened just signing on documents was yet to be done. There is often a disconnect, people at the top know when war is going to start, and people at the bottom no when war is going to end. It was this way this time, the people at the top were maneuvering for position, which is strange because position doesn't matter in a great long war. What matters for short war is getting a grip on the enemy, and what matters long more is how do you avoid defeat. In July, 1866, it was quick and brutal, but enemies with in two of each other, and you could survey most of the damage from one part of land. In August, 1914, there was no such position called, an bodies were rapidly causing alarm, the German position was the fact, bad. But they kept piling up anyway. In for trials trials, to add then two by Germany, which was Prussia and allies for the first two thirds, and to buy France, though they didn't know about last one which was in 1940. and they didn't exactly know how 1914 was going to turn out. But they did know how the Napoleonic came out, and they knew how Bismarck came out. And remember Germany was down one in 1940, and shows truth anyway.

So in 1914, Germany thought it had the advantage, and pressed for another repeat of a decided lopsided 1866, when they had defeated Napoleon the third. It was an annihilation. France on the other hand looked at it differently. They sought as [elane], it was not logical, it was c'est [logic], if that makes any sense. It did some Frenchmen, most importantly Joffre, who was the greatest master of the form. He, and only he could, discern what was to be the answer.

Some things would wait until with stars aligned with each other, and Peternote would be with them again, even if as I said it would be a long time. That will be part of the story which comes after, I promise you, but part of the second pass to come first, and then the third part, with Peternote, will come afterwards, I promise, I deeply promise, it will.
But there are other things to do. And those need to come first.

II
A, not the, Zeppelin

1
5 Aug 1914
Near midnight


There had been a break in the overcast, which revealed stars. On board the zeppelin were six men who were going to bomb along the route, and ending up in Belgium, at Limoges. Hard faced captain was unknown to most people, but within the group, he was known as the best, he had survived, and that was rare. In fact, quite rare. There was only a few streaks of light which emerge from the gloom, and he would read them and then determine the results in darkness until he could read when they passed over floodlights. It good only be read as an intense time, to the captain, and most of the crew. What he was asked to do was bomb this place, and get out if possible, there is no sense in saying that was likely.

He broke his first pencil, and rapidly securing and dark manage to find new one, more by feel then anything else. The generals were being exact, which was no way to run this ship. It was more by feel them by exactly calculations, but no general would believe that. They wanted order, and discipline, order discipline were the gods of their little realm. But they weren't because of this world upstairs and beyond the reach of guns and loaded rifles. They were very like in her design, and wisp of life floating in an unholy, but none the less discernible place.

He looked down to where the dirigible mainlines were being severed, realizing that once they were free, he would never see them again. And in fact that was good, he could stand people who stood firmly on the ground, give him men of the aire every single time, he would understand them, and they would understand him, and that was better.

Almost by the he, he felt the weaving back and forwards of zeppelin, flowing in the air, as much as boats float along water. He knew this would be a good flight, better than almost any of them. Must dirigible pilot's wanted to do safe things, attacking nothing and observe everything. But this captain wanted to get in the fray, and he selected men beneath that were the same way. They were heard headed, but like, where as the troops on the ground were heavy handed, and at that point did not understand what the air was for. The looked up, and rather than see trails through shadow that we see, they would see trails that were, to them, ethereal and without cause. And they didn't like them, not one bit. They, in about muttering what tell you that there is no good to be caused by this bombing run, a should instead build machines such as artillery. People in the year new better, only they could see how to get the ground people to realize that this was the future.

Even during war, their were wars between states, and their were other wars which recruited people but were in fact different, and people killed them selves who were otherwise friends. For example, there were people in the air war, which were friends in flight, and then were enemies of the state. This is why everything ,and nothing, are alike.

He guides the ship, not really taking advantage of the many things that he can do, because thou masters of the ship think that it is necessary, it really is. What he needs to do is get a hold of the ship, and rather than force her to do his work, guide the ship so as she and he are one. This is the main point: rather than guide something that is not him to do work, he must merge the ship to be part of the process. Thus his flicking between left and the right, is as much for his knowledge has it is for the ship. He is at peace, when he and the ship are one. Gradually there is no difference, and the the buoys, which control the ship, are in fact one between the them both. Their is rhythm, he checks one thing and another down his list of 35 or so things. Whether the winch is loose, whether it's taught, all things that he wouldn't even recognize as things he has to do, he just does them, and they in turn, as if magic, do themselves, under his guidance.

Then they are truly aloft, with all of the noise below them, and only stars love above them. He said is eye on one of them, a bright star named Antares which settled in to the left, and though not entirely, it was the main sail in his quest for further stars. Beneath them were stars of different kind, man made, but the same stuff in its own way. Stars above, and stars below.

He heard a call from forward in the vessel, it was the third in command, telling him that he was to high in the vessel, and he should shoot for lower if he could. He nodded, to himself if anyone, and corrected his course right thumb pushing up and left hand pushing down. And in less than a minute the third officer cleared him and told him that that was all right, though no words which you or I could understand had been passed between us, just marks as in the old day when Mark Twain passed in two dimensions. Then it was peaceful, with only touching the knobs to adjust. Then he stood very still, and know motion was called for by below or above.

He saw that clouds were moving adrift, and he could see more and more light from below, rather than darkness, it was clearing, and very rapidly so. This meant he would have to be redoubled in his efforts, because men from the ground could easily spot him now that there was little air between them. He would have two be wary, and on guard. This would be the most dangerous part of the flight, and he rattled left and right just to play with them. Remember it is dark where the ship is, and their isn't light that can pierce upwards into darkness.

Then he directed the ship to the point of attack, it was brighter than usual star, only it was on the ground and it shown with lights that were man made, I know I've been saying this repeatedly, but it is important. It was clear, though getting cloudier in darkness ahead. He knew he would have one chance and one chance only to deliver the bombs, and get out of the way. Surprise was the key element of their attack, their were no combat air patrols, it was truly peaceful sky, with all of the bric-a-brac not present. No, not a air patrols, no civilian, no  military. He drifted the ship downwards along certain path that had selected in advance. Every minute count, because every minute was one less that people could get away from the bomb blast. Yes, he was evil, not just going through the motions.

But no one from the ground had seen them yet, and that was better than expected.

“Right rudder, and hurry about it.”

The command was abrupt, because if it had failed their would be no turning back. But the right rudder was normalized, though just barely so. He had signed, that was a close one, though only he and the second in command knew it. The other parties on the ship were oblivious to it, and that is the way he wanted it. Somehow that made his responsibility, even though he didn't know what would be killed next, but even so it was still his responsibility. Perhaps because only he knew, if anyone did, when it eventually killed over.

Thus it was with a glee which was warm on the inside, that he traced the crosshairs to a single point, and with that point crossed the two pin theirs together, and walloped them. There was a warm feeling, down to his feet, not unlike fish that had been warmed up, and even fresh and whole. He pondered whether this was part of the death that he felt when ever it had betrayed him. But he decided he would not think about this, there was too much work to be done, too much betrayal to meet out. The killing urge had struck him, and he could not help but listen. Then he gritted his teeth and said blast bombs in two the fury. They are was only minimal damage from a couple of guns which had only glanced, there was no question they had not been hit. In only a few minutes he had expended all of the bombs, and as he did so he was emasculated, totally drained. He was a shell of his former self, getting by without without any compunction, there was no will at all. His ship turned around, so he didn't remember giving the order. And with that there was nothing left to do, but slip away into the darkness. But the darkness was no friend of theirs, it would be cruel them until they got down to the surface.
The build up was long, and torturous, and then there was a short duration of darkness, and then along and weary road back after having done the damage. He knew from the way that absolutely nothing, that each person felt the same way. He raised the rudder, and slipped away, ghostly in to the night. Every one of them fell trained, pencils drooped down from his arm, having done its work. There was no time to waste, the had to get the ship turned around,   a course which was designed to cover their tracks, because the immediate bearing was not the correct one, it had been north of the true course.

So it went on to the true course about 20 minutes later, and looked away into the darkness as if nothing had happened. The captain made sure that his course was correct, and they were back in the flow. He hid the ship under the clouds, and disappear into the darkness.
The there was one of wrote pattern, which was almost like noise, but quiet noise. They were swimming through was a shambling mess. He could not see any of the features, or size of that  he recognized, every thing was a blur, the clouds were thick, and he could only see details, details that didn't add up. He scratched numbers, though you really could not see them very well. He guessed and flew into blackness, but with holes which resembled something like the ground that he was looking for. He moved the right hand backwards and left hand forwards, hoping against hope that this was the right option, but he didn't know this, but again no one else knew.

He gradually gritted his teeth, and more to him self, so no one else here it. There was ringing in his ears, almost, but not quite, beyond words. It was a high of sound, which only he could help, but inside his head it was interminably allowed, so loud in fact he could barely hear himself otherwise. He then cited pinpoint on the ground, and he knew that this was the place he had to land. Of all the places on ground, he knew that once one. It would be some accomplishment to describe things he did, but basically he was a rider , in a peculiar kind of way. He nuzzled him self and called to the crew to be ready, knowing that they too would do similar kinds of emotions in their particular way to set the course of dirigible, in a few minutes it would be over, and done.

Than back down the ship he screamed was heard, and the captain knew that someone had moved something inexactly, the end if they didn't quash whatever was there, all things would be consumed, and each one would, in his own way, perish, not together, but alone, died alone. Then he knew they were dying, each one of them, he heard distinctly the second officers crying, third officers moaning and weeping, he heard the gunman, deep in the back cursing to himself, over what it knew, it was something which had nothing to do with this. Then it was his turn, to fire back on the back of his leg, right leg has turned out, and burned all the way through and ate at his skin, gnawing and crawling, both above and below, down to his leg, and up to his waist, it was slow because this did mean he was going to die, quite yet. There were things that he wished for, and he knew that among the many people, he was the captain for good reasons. A kaleidoscope of colors, each one picture, or thought, Reminded him that everything would be dark soon, but not yet. Time had stood still, every second lasting a minute, and he timed every second as if it were his last. Then this world was free of him, he realized that he had not seen with his eyes, but imagined the picture instead. Then suddenly he was free, and some very interesting things were occurring, none of them were expected at all. At least by him.

At first he didn't know he was dead, he felt the same way as here lies would have, just lighter and more resonant than before. Then you realized he was looking upwards at the zeppelin crash and burning and him self as falling upwards. He twisted and contorted, he had no control. Then he straightened himself outwards, falling downwards and there was heat on his back, though it didn't quite feel like he bought burning sensation.

It wasn't fair he felt, he had so much to do. And then he realized, he was departing this world quite yet, because he had so much to do, so much to do, and so little time to do it.
But instead of feeling very and degraded, the felt as light as a feather, and as giddy as someone who was five or six, with all things that that entails, the light headedness, which seemed to go on for ever. He was giggling, truly giggling, as if nothing else mattered. He did not know what to make of it, is was as if he were in a trance, and then he saw something which alarmed him: the zeppelin was going down, beneath his feet. He wasn't just feeling has light as a feather, he was a flight as a feather, free to do what he wanted to do, if he only knew what that was. Then he drifted back down, more likely than he thought he could, and drifted, drifted until he was stuck half way up to the ground.

It was an odd feeling, as if you just stood out from their first door, and felt loose across his face. It was as if had dirt pulling over the body, pouring In to every crevice in his body. It seemed crass to him, every poor wanting to be oiled, but instead creased and cramped. Than he felt as if he were climbing with ants, and even felt so, though he found none. But the feeling would wash over him two or three more times, subsiding as it the thing at all had to defined it. Then he stood, with all of his might not devoted to scratching, and looked around getting his bearings. He was on the dirigible, and it was dark, so that he was blinded not from darkness, but from light.

Thus he stood almost motionless, watching the dirigible plummet in two the ground face forward, with everything else distant memory. There were plumes, parading their way up, until they vanished, to be replaced by another set equally and the same though different. There was an ebb and flow to them, they would glance up words, and then tamp down to only rise again. It was almost as if things were in slow motion, and perhaps they were, because he did not know if there was any kind of magic in the way that the preceded perceived things, and that was no minor feat before people had thought of it quite the same way as we do in the 20th century.

Than in the center of the zeppelin, he saw transfigured ways, first of light then of darkness, they were transferred to everything that they touched, and they listened as nothing else did. This was strange and magical, nothing like he, or almost anyone else, could imagine. His eyes were luminescent as he saw the creeping's of light and dark, and the spaces in between fluorescing as if they came in and out of darkness in to light.

There were no stars, though he knew they were out there, someplace. Then the brittle metal shattered and pulsed into the ground, he was almost stopped in his tracks, waiting to see what would happen next. Then piece of the shimmering was aimed straight for him, and he knew that this would be it, though in one part of his brain he realized that it might not be it, because he was not corporate, but many other sections of his brain did not believe it. Then he was consumed, consumed as if nothing could matter, and he was in blackness. As black as night. He thought that would be it, and in the last second set of prayer to God for is many, for he knew he was evil, sins. He prayed to the Virgin Mary, for his little girl, who was pure of all of this, into his wife which new his wickedness and loved him all the same, because she had had in inside of her, laughing as she did so. He glanced at her hair, on the inside, stroking its blonde tenuous structure, Golden in that way which he imagined it to be, though he knew that that was a lie. Then he saw, though this too was lie, that shimmering head of hair which was his wife was fate.

But he gave sleep, and instead he was formed into many threats, on was part of the mountain,  one was beside the shore, another one, still another one, was on playing fields, where the dirigibles slept, waiting there turn to be used. He saw the broken up pieces of the ship that had carried him and his crew, and almost all the way back again. But it was almost, and shoots off of him were testament to what could happen. Like he could not do was focus, it seems as if there were a dozen offshoots all vying for his attention. Each one of them was interesting in its own right, each one clamoring for attention, each one breathless in its nature.  
It was almost as if the consciousness was rebounded, and no thought could finish before the next thought gave way, gave way to that other place that he was now staring into, but did not know.

Then he caught a group on things, he wanted to know if there were any others of his group, and where they were. This started as a gnawing in is brain, if he had a brain to speak of, and became a consuming obsession. Has he did so, the forms gave way to one, and only one, conscious thought. Gone were the fields, and the mountains, in every other place which was here he was again standing, though not in the same place as before. He realized that he could disassemble his consciousness, and re-assembly, if he knew how he had done it, just now.

But now he was solid, and enraptured in a human form, cloaked in some semblance of his former uniform, though he could tell that it was just a form and not really garments per se. the same thing was true of his boots, they were not really there but just a fashion of themselves. He glanced at all of these things and then girded himself, and took a stride and then another. Soon he w, as walking, grimly and determined, as if he was going to go someplace, and find out which, if any, of his crew were like him, though he doesn't know what to call himself. Clearly he was not human, but he didn't know what he was, phantasm, a ghost, whatever he was he was not dead but not alive yet either.

A grimace was appearing on is face, he was determined to find out what was going on. Through the heather and weight, over taking clover. Their was more than just site, there were feelings, and sound, and even smells that he remembered from his childhood, but all different and yet all the same. He trod towards the wreckage now being put out by human numbers of the tribe. He felt pity upon them, so he could explain why, after all he was dead, or rather half dead, and they were so living, but he could see how they were stressing and straining, clawing for every bit of ground. They were pitiful because each moment the plotting along, 1 foot in front of the other, each moment as before. He wondered why he had never heard this,  this place caught in neither the living, or maybe had and just dismissed these fantasies as the ravings of a mad lunatic, or what people talk of when they don't make any more sense. Only he was dropped in this world, and he liked it, adored it, because there were many things he could now do, if only he had the will to do them, because new that there had to be some way for him to affect the living.

The next thing he noticed, was he did not have to look around, he didn't just see with his eyes, but which ever part he looked with, from the bottom of his feet, to wisps of his hair, it was always the same. It was almost as if every part of his body was aware. So thoroughly aware in fact, that it was painful. And that was interesting because he had not experienced pain in this form at all. This was not the pain that he knew from before, it was removed and distant, as a lark calling in the distance. Its sigh, as if it was reaching out to him, but did not think it was anything other than pain, searing pain in fact. It was as if it was another life, conjoined wit h his own, but yet separate from him.

He had to get focused, focused on what he was doing. While the delights and pains were real, and terrorising, he had to get focused on where the crew were, and if would see them at all, because there was no guarantee of that.

So he moved, effortlessly, though haunted by something that was there on the ground, and he could feel it. It was as if it were a shadow, mimicking his movements, copying them, on the ground. He stopped and gestured with his hand, and saw on the ground the same movements, but they were not his in the same way his hand was. It was as if he had a double, doing what he did, only on the ground. A simulacrum, if you will, a double, moving as he moved. Standing where he stood. But he knew that this feeling would not stop, and there were things, now, that had to be attentive to, or he would lose his crew. And he didn't want that, not in the least, and his crew would follow him, to the ends of your if need be. But not if they knew that they were attached to him even beyond the grave. He would push until he had the obedience from them which he required. And then push some more, and then more, and still finally more, until he got what he wanted.

Then he moved effortlessly, and amissed all of the swirling motion induced that some of the swirling motion was through his leg, but bit of it went long his leg, as it was supposed to. Just,  mind you, but he could feel this, or he thought he could. So tried to see if this was a reaction, or if it was something out of a dream. He couldn't tell, most of it was hazy. But if it was so, that tiny bit of friction and that he was there, not a dream, then could be solid if only for a moment. This would mean that, even if vaguely, some amount of his presence was corporeal.  He really hoped that would be the case. And if it was, that little bit was at least enough to tell him, how ever tenuously pause, that he could have found effects, if only tangentially. Because it would also mean that the being outside could, even if not knowing, could detect his existence.He became still, and decided to test this assertion, right here, right now. But how to do so, because he had no claim, or other such entity, which would allow. So he just had to improvise, and see whether or not it really did join, or not. He stopped, and knelt down as if to get his arms dirty, and that he realized, that that was not going to make a difference, standing or seated, because the wind was going to care, and was going to care. Of blowing of the wind was seamless and imaginaliss, be he standing or sitting up. He was gripped by indecision what to do, and for a moment, he did not know what to do. Then he got a hold of himself, and took him self to task, and got on his original project to find the men of his crew and put them to work, which was going to be a project in itself. Then, and only then, would he pursue more distance projects, including this one, which were further down the line.

So eagerly he stood up, and trod to where the embers of the dirigible were still burning in the night. He noticed that he could see again from any direction, including backwards, and he noticed that there was no difference at all between the viewing, up or down, left, right, up above, or down below, it was all the same to him, even as he was walking. This he caught used to. While in a manner of speaking, he got used to it but there was a nervous tic about it that welled up, so he tried to calm this. Remember, every time he felt something, it was corporeal even though he was. He thought there were two pattern, which never came. It was indeed odd, but he would get used to it, even if it was the last thing he did. There would be order, and he said him self to doing just that, order, order, order, order. He would maintain order, and resolved not to fill in the gaps.

Order, order, order, order, order.

Each motion became synonymous with order, and discipline, and each motion was the same, not close to, the same.

If it was the last thing he did on this world, he would have order and discipline in his motions.

Feet to the front, arms had rested, crisp in order to his legs, stretching as if each step was the first and last. Each them a small step forward, gazing in to the blackness.

Order and discipline.

Until, at last, he became what he had been in life: machine of duty, order, and discipline. Then and only then, would he surround himself with the variety of senses, taking in the view which did not have to necessarily have the vision in his feet. You do not understand how much his vision depended on his eyes, it was unnerving, but he had mastered it.

But couldn't establish the view anywhere but outside the body, however much he tried to do so. He couldn't have order in his feet, and expensiveness in his feet, no matter how much he tried. And he did try all the way up to where stood. At this point other things directed his vision.

He made his body to stop running, and posed a moment to survey this new territory in his new form, because it was after all different. He could see shapes that he knew were not visible to the corporeal eye, and he knew that other shapes which were resonant, to not appear so to him. He guessed that the light that he saw was redder, lacking that crisp clear view of violet which made things as if they were fuzzy, rounded, as if a halo surrounded everything, it was if everything was illuminated.

Ghostly, in fact.

With this did for the scenery was it gave glory where the air around everything a crackle, where the air around it all was surging and ebbing away. Once again the halo effect. He realized this was going to be a feature, at least in lower light. He also felt that the light was piercing him, as much as he was piercing like. As if it stared at him, just as much as he stared at it. He was just beyond the pale, glow that was shimmering just beyond the boundaries of himself. Then he decided to walk in to it. He noticed that even bright light was even to his eyes. This was different, different from how he was use to in a living state, where soot and blackness would crest over his eyes and lead to darkness.


Then he was fading in to blackness, reliving the sprawling that said to him that he was slipping apart. Fade. Blackout. Cut. Words that just had new meaning from cinematography.