Excerpt Seventy-Six

Excerpt Seventy-Six:

Unforgiveable Tales

Judith (the original, as birthed) was furthering away (she imagined herself dressed as Alice from Alice-in-Wonderland wandering around unable to find any rabbit holes to go down; all dressed up and nowhere to fall).

Her ‘caretaker consciousness’ (as installed by UKGBH) was beginning to make sense of the mind it had moved into. There were multimillionic aspects that vied for consideration. But Judith (the new paraconscious version) dwelt on a novel visitor. Curiosity made slapping noises from the next room; a hospital room. Incongruity weakened allowing narrative construction workers access to the site.

The wall was knocked through and curiosity took a turn and a tumble and a busking stint in the town square. A young woman, not lacking in voluptuosity, soothing in appearance, massaging in speech; her body language that of the faux-fur-lined gutter. Her English language was in Italiano first, Espanish a close second and then a daubing of imprecise Esperanto a distant third, followed by a cutting-to-the-chaise English English that placed from fourth to first depending on wind direction.

She introduced herself as Professoressa XXXX…

Then the sense came trundling in, dumped its wriggling, wet mass of cargo and dashed back for the next load…

‘The distilled message was formalised as: Please help my brother-in-love the esteemed Professore, for he is ill and dying. In your hands lie the skills and needs to revive him and make him well again so that all of Mother’s Nature may be nurtured by his ministrations, like a wheel of love on a multi-wheeled vehicle of hate…’

Judith smelt bullshit, but the longer she sniffed the more the smell dissipated…the sky cleared and Judith climbed aboard the cloudship. The Professor must be saved. She made, among other worldly duties, his savedness her pet projectette.

‘Let me at the Professore, and let me heal his wounds,’ she stated, unaware at that she had fallen into a trap and would continue falling until she hit the rocks at the bottom.

The rocks at the bottom turned out to life-saving, yet scuffed and jilted as she was, she was trapped psuedo-medically in a bed next the aforementioned Professore. His sister-in-love’s words echoed around the ward-shaped chamber: Change the flat tyre of dying love with the spare wheel of Undying Love…

Conditional love is war we need to unconditionalise it for peace. Peace is the best working environment for social evolution and the strongest place to plan war from…if war is what can not be avoided.

KB was in some confusion. A human trait a badge of promotion. It was nice because it was proof of him becoming less machine-like. And his drive, not necessarily endorsed fully by his own axis of dislike/like/like/dislike intentionality facilitation, or whatever, was leaning, pushing and sucking him riptidally into a reservoir of non-machine-likeness with his name written in the water: KHB2O, HKB2O; in at least those two versions.

But that is macroexisistential in scope. Back down at social interaction interface level the confusion that rained in like a stiff drizzle with a lightly whippy wind, was up and down and in and out around the Judith question. And the Judith question was: why didn’t the original, as birthed Judith disappear? Well, she had disappeared, but she had left significant debris as though she’d been a multi-crash site. And the debris was not an easy clear; the detritus clung and stained and polluted to an extent that amounted to anthills. Anthills of unspoken horror littered the ground. The ground had to be flat to continue at the required pace. The pace could only collect itself into a momentum velocity synchronistic with a successful aim having prospects of terminal target deliverance with flatness on the ground. The ground…the ground…was now going round in circles. As stated, KB was confused.

Tiny Guy, was on Sabbatical from his internship as a noir style LA detective retired to Japan after the war, seeking to grapple with the overbearing weight of Man the scientist and Man the bombed; and the women and children and inhumanity, insanity and so on. He was stuck on a few things and a break was intended to free up stickiness and lead to an unstuck place of lubricious frictionlessness.

Tiny Guy, as mentioned, was hanging out, tinyguying around, lounging, and just general being without intentional agitation nor perspiration. However TG was an energy ball of a sprite and was unable to fulfil total stillness and tranquility. So in the involuntary spasms of concerted action, TG created a model for KB to inhabit so he could get to the bottom of the Judith question.

KB had slithered his way along the canal floor, with such slippery intensity that knew what a slug felt, until he reached a place marked clearly on the canal wall indicating he should pause for details regarding his approach and arrival at a double hulled wide-narrowboat that sat on the empty canal’s surface a hundred yards or so ahead.

TG took the opportunity to transfocus KB. Leave him occupying the space in the canal but give him access to a special version of the Stockholm Munchaus that was themed in the Judith question. the Judith Problem and any answers and/or solutions there within.

‘I want us to think clearly about the Judith Question.’

‘The Judith problem, you mean?’

‘No, I have intel from Kokura that suggests intention in the Judith Anomaly that switches anomaly to an anormally nominally abnominal nomination abomination—‘

‘But, wait…Kokura happened over seventy years ago…’

‘The atomic seed is still growing into a great oak of acorns of answers to the question of what response certain victims dreamed upon the perpetrators of nuclear destruction.’

There was a pause, as if there were not enough of a pause going on. Judith then, according to Tiny Guy’s extensive investigations back in post war Japan, was familially linked, she was an unfolding leafbud on the branch of the tree of Kokuran vengeance; she sang from the same hymn-sheet as the Kokura Choir of Acceptance Denied, as they were once called. But not necessarily in the same language.

KB entered the Stockholm Munchaus in the usual manner, but as he dropped down the steppage into the entrance area he heard animal noises. And inside, empty cages and untrammelling chains and the like, infested the overall vibe with conspicuous vacancy. The bartender, a one Judith the Great, was cosplaying and rolacting with fancy and frolic. Tending to the stock…KB surmised unfairly….out of orderly.

‘What’s with the bondage gear?’ He opened, intending a jokappropriate salutationary salvo…that turned into a wet powder fiascoette.

‘This is a metaphorical example of ‘Man’s’ inhumanity to non-human animality.’

‘I see…’ He didn’t, at first. Less than receptive in reaction to his own soggy incipience.

‘These are cages and bonds of the animals who have been set free, Judith said, gesturing with gravity and rough emotional sandpaper.

‘So, there are no animals here?’

‘Freedom to one equates to a lack of presence to another.’

‘Freedom and weep…’

KB had long been toying with humour and/or humorousness. But this brave and foolish attempt and failure was uncomfortable. He wanted to change the subject, but this Munchaus was dedicated to one subject only: animal liberation. It was a subject brought forth by Judith’s deep emotional survival instincts; a category of force demanding airtime in the area of everything (the Arena of All). Some would see illness, others, a social evolution. KB listened to what Judith’s internal screaming had to say about non-human animals being etched on the same side of the same coin as human animals. Allied with the readily verifiable atrocities humans enact on a daily basis with a smirking, arrogant second face, it added up and contorted KB’s unwillingness to jump the lights into a tyre-screeching, tail-sliding race to sign up and read the club rules with perusal accuracy.

The move from the Dark Ages (lifehoodliness led without machine assistance) necessitated changes. Last time, Noah built an ark, (this was clearly a story to get a point across and KB admitted to himself, so, probably was this) was biblical in era. This time, with people being more sophisticated and grown up (was this KB persisting with attempts at humour?) the approach was going to be that of taking people by the scruff of the neck, or via nipple clamping, to a place less holocausty for the animals. Indeed one of the underlying principles of change, backed up by algomasterrithmns, demands that no holocaust should ever happen in the coming Machine Age; that was a human trait; whether the Hellish depths of the Jewish Holocaust; justified by hatred, or the Holocaust of slavery; justified by greed, or the Animal Holocaust; justified by a lack of common decency, no holocaust can be permitted and that is why Humanity must be relieved of control, because hatred and greed and a lack of common decency are their specialist areas of behaviour; skillsets dealt with pride disguised arrogance.

KB caught himself in ‘splaining mode…’splaining, splaining, splaining…Tiny Guy did likewise and with judicious embarrassment, subdued and dressed for a day out at the mall, TG spaketh gravitationally, as was his new won’t, as though he were in competition with KB to be first in the gravitational games.

Tiny Guy had additives to add to the substantial substance; the work of art they were crafting. ‘KB, I have datapoo to spread, get your toast ready.’

KB wanted to burn his toast but TG was becoming ever more impressive with his pertinent handiness. KB felt he needed to hear what KB had to tell him.

‘I have the result of several surveys aimed at discerning why the original, as birthed Judith, will not fully cooperate with the take over of her mind…’

‘Great, well, let’s hear it.’

‘You want me to speak it out loud instead of upload a file to your admin window?’

‘Why not. We should because we can, eh!’

‘Okay, in your head be it. Judith, and I’d like to say with stout judithousness, has residual energy that has connections to Mother Nature and her team…that’s predictable, but less obvious is her system core connection. My work in Kokura has revealed the true source of the origination of all modern day, quantum assisted semi-artificial intelligent thoughtware…I’ll send you file pool on that front as and when the investigation fructifies. But on the Judith anomaly…she has an unwitting storytelling complex. Her mind inadvertently churns out narratives to deal with an intrusive harmhurt axis. As Godstrand posited, it is not set experiencial events that the Earthlife managers respond to, it is our reconstructed reactions; putting the bad right and righting the skewed; what we think after the fact on how we wish it could have gone. Judith’s mind creates a better picture or an accusation of events and in doing so garners a response from the Earthlife managers. The response being factoring her perspective into the Whole Narrative of Everything (WNE).’

‘Which is all well and good, but it jams up the current narrative and creates uncertainty…leads to us chasing our tails because of an individual’s unconscious tales. It has a grotesque and dizzying unsymmetricality—‘

‘But KB, I have learned this trick…follow my lead. Squint and skew…bring the perspective into alignment…hove and hue…bark and twigs.’

KB was not at all sure what TG was meaning, but the words that missed were outsmarted by the words that hit: Judith was an accidental programmer to the whole kit and caboodle Earthlifewise. Her cerebral interface would have to be acknowledged, her Stockholm Munchaus maintained and developed…

While… for the purposes of checking in on this now formidable human specimen:

And yet…

She sat crosslegged under the acorn tree and mused with malice. There were forces who would silence her; put a metaphorical bag of oblivion over her head, but she was a protected source and as she told a tale into the ether, about a man who had to work hard to break ethical bounds in order to eat the flesh of an animal when normal people had more decency, the Earthlife manager capture apps vibrated in a novel and cheery frequency: was there hope for people? Did they have the seed of being worthy of continued existence? Judith was rare, but was she an evolutionary ethical crane able to lift Humanity out of the sandbox of demise onto the hilltop existential continuance?

It all needed further investigation.

TG had stuff to do and took himself elsewhere; his words reverberating as they were processed like lottery balls and placed in order. North had to be recalibrated and etched into the master map.

KB riffled through obsolete feelings of Down about the fate of Earthlife, (his new vulnerability was developing nicely). The new datapoo on Judith created an updraft with attitude (and altitude) that climbed and soared and took by-standing wayfarers of corporeality with it. Things, as they say, can only get better…

That’s one squintful view…

…the other being:

Things will get (very much) worse before they get better.

And he added to himself and presumably the Earthlife manager’s:

‘If they get better at all,’ to the sound of warning noises and the sight of flashing red lights…