Eternally yours

“The phenomenon of the atmosphere, the mysteries of meteors, the cause and effect of skiey combination, are no longer matter of superstition or panic to the husbandman, the sailor or the shepard.”-Anonymous (c. 1848) 

Old wives tales, ancient adages, and prosaic proverbs had all finally expired. None knew the language of these strange new muttering emulating a dead language. They knew less what they themselves meant when communicating anymore, clarity becoming obsolete, encoding a requisite. Yes, big things, the revolution of the earth, the sun, Time itself always went in the expected direction, until it didn’t. None could have predicted what it meant.

Pro-verbs and add-ages had not been pulled out of the dank archives of paper tombs in well over 100 years, or two centuries in Tech Time, there was no need.  So when some strange ramblings reappeared in an email addressed to WAH (World Atmospheric Headboard), the Big Dogs, they did not know what to make of it-meaning they could not understand the wording (it was not encoded in the ancient script of cursive) and naturally they first assumed the email to be a terrorist threat or possibly, an Alien transmission, also known as ‘Foreign Used Correspondence’(FUC). After passing the message around through the proper channels, past the proper authorities, it was determined to not be a threat, it was labeled ‘Harm-less’ but worth decoding in full -just to be safe (and if questioned in detail, not made to look stupid). 

After thirty days of scouring the surface of the planet and not finding one expert able to translate the cryptic note, the Communications and Image Defense committee had taken a second look at the obvious and identified a single email address contained in the original email that did not seem to belong with the rest. It was unrecognized (having a .sum url), there were no files in any cloud server or wharehouse this account holder-if it was a person or robot or reboot or glitch and so this became their only lead and only hope. 

It was my email address.  

The email was forwarded to me last week by the WAH, CID to PopID:GPSGurl@tepid.sum.

Why me? Good question. I asked that as well, equally confused at first.

The email in question was starred *URGENT* yet the original sent date was 1 year and 3 days ahead in the future. Not a glitch based on the contents, the message itself, was most certainly composed by my decade-long ago deceased grandfather.  Now, I live on his farm, I literally live off his legacy. My entire life has been-and is-a ride on his coat-tails and I could only assume this was something planned by him long ago. I should clarify a couple of details; on this 23-acre farm built by my grandfather, we raised wind, not livestock. Windmills, turbines of all sizes, micro-solar-radio-wave collectors power these and in essence, the lone farm at one time powered the entire state of Texas for three days following an explosive solar storm that scrambled, shorted and shocked the entire electrical grid including everything that was plugged into it. My grandfather used to say, ‘A true man makes his own power and directs it alone’. I used to always say, “A woman always gets her way on any windy day”.

It was no secret that the climate was changing despite all the shouting and pointing and blaming, the climate was always changing. After two decades of Nature rearranging her master plan, it was no wonder the FEMA money stopped, ran dry, and people no longer rebuilt. Despite the sense of false security-apathy, some said, our electric foundations were never solid nor grounded, all things come in packets, such as information.

“Electricity is an enigma wrapped in a mystery verging on magic.”

He was born during a time when the telegraph was turned and the superstitions about moody atmospheres shut down. The concept of predicting anything was mind blowing to him, and transmitting invisible signals was a powerful tool in the hands of mankind if used kindly. He was a mischievous man who enjoyed sending prank faxes well into his 80’s.

Geography offers an advantage for three reasons; location, location, location. Being in the mid-hole of USA allows for some power itself, as a pivot point, a safe center point, the heart of the country. The family farm does not sit in the bottom of a dust bowl, but the wind does swirl around like water in a toilet most days. And that is the growing problem. That is why the governing agencies needed little me, or used him back then, perhaps for his wind wizardry, but more significantly, for all of mankind. Now they needed me to try to figure out what the heck was going on with the lack of sunny days and the overall increase in wind. With years of consecutive of overcast days, an intense increase in microburst rain clouds, zephyrs, swirling siroccos, and too many monsoons to rebuild, the world had changed almost overnight.  The weather was important, temperamental and talked about. Humans started to feel out of control. And with all the frequent solar storms making the scientist's equations not equal, erratic, the sporadic radiation prevented anyone from truly fixing the lines or finding a solution. It seems most technologies were not able to be repaired nor work consistently unless someone could stabilize the environment, and by that, of course, they wanted it ‘under control’ of man. Solar panels were dusty and dead, railroads buried, roads themselves covered in weeds, telephone lines were like cobwebs, piping choked, all were useless except signal towers which people would still use to communicate by hanging things or climbing them. The wind was constant and virtually nothing else was consistent enough to harness consistent and stable power from. Civilization seemed strapped. 

By living on this farm and taking over the wind charts and extensive cosmological and geological records, I was at least immersed and distracted from the apathy in the world. After getting to know his mind better than ever I realized that he had a deep understanding of things he did not communicated-perhaps because he couldn't, but I'd like to think because the thought nobody would understand him. He was considered unstable by most people. They didn't understand him. 

I would not sign the confidentiality papers that the WAH asked me to sign.  ‘Hush money’ has depreciated, information is the most valuable thing and here I am about to reveal everything to you because the more time goes on and the fewer people I see, the less chance there will be…I guess quiet and peace are chapters of History, somehow we never repeat those ones. Nowadays, it seemed quieter with all the wind.

From: Dept. of Public Affairs, (Unit) of Civil Investigation

^CONFIDENTIAL^

Dearest Mistral Gurl,

Our agency has reason to contact you personally regarding the utmost urgent of personal matters that we have determined not only involves you but requires your honorable service to our specialists, your representatives in humanity.  In other words, we are asking for your assistance, in all actuality demanding your cooperation and compliance. We ask if you value your farm for personal or professional reasons-perhaps both?

Now, back to the dark matter at hand:

The following forwarded transcription (email) was received by our agency on a server in a storage unit we have been running by a generator in order to rebuild a MSDOS structure for purposes further which is not necessary to elaborate upon with you considering your limited clearance and familial history with our agency. And as yet we have been unsuccessful in understanding and ultimately implementing its procedures as it instructs us. Thus far we have failed to completely decode its language or full meaning, which is likely not literal, and otherwise, incapable of applying any knowledge inherent therein in order to solve the energy crisis, or weather revolt, whichever side you are on. We are certain you will be of assistance to us since this information was received via Death Switch from your 3^rd generation relation or maternal grandfather. DNA match. C:< (XXX-XX_X)

Run. Death Switch Arch i’ve Spec.*

See. Stop.

*see story made reality, initially inventor IP of David Eagleman, “A Brief History of Death Switches” Futures (c. 2007T).

FW:

Blondie!

I like my blank like I like my blank (complete). Pour me some –sugar.  Good to reach you way out in the FUTURE! I do hope you have made something of yourself or done something worthwhile with all of the gifts I gave you. When I warned you, they would come, things will change-Now, see, the Change? Yes, I thought so. It sounds like i-ching. Like that little timer you once made me with a paperclip and some string. Well, now with all the invisibility, nobody knows how to untangle the thread. Nothing works, werks, wirks, and I wink. Told ya! Aha! Crazy old coot they said, and can’t stop the cooties from spreading. 

Logic puzzles-start there. Philosophy-won’t work in both hemispheres without a compass.

Shall we go back to fractals by code—or chess on a plane…yes.

The red coat lies on the tree up high.

The blue baseball cap worn backward stank on the wall.

The man with a plan began again; the girl with the tools, used them.

The black tail was the sign of bodies around the corner

All of them looked the other way. Walked on. Too busy today.

The bird in black and it is listening, not flying but hanging on to thirteen ways.

Which ones lived in Disarray today and who sat with their back against the tree?

And you wonder why the wind is blowing and if could we make it stop…Don’t be silly little missy.

Yes, yes, yes. I miss you to pieces. Check Mate. Fate finds us-you are HERE.

Now, a little more about the fractalization and crystalized air= use any color but grey.

Signs meant other signs which signaled another sign thus words and wires went away.

Secrecy, brevity, boredom. Poetry is a perfect place to hide energy.

Tap the vane.

Here is the code:

**

Realistically, you know I cannot give the code here-but that was the gist of the forwarded email correspondence.  And now I sat, looking at this hand-delivered email, wondering if I should bother booting up the old think tank honking desktop whirling Peacey and attempt to build the fractal. Should I reply to the agency?

Aside from being typically comical and elusive, the fact that I was now under surveillance was neither.  My every move plotted, every sound I made was graphed. I knew already without messy or metalogic,   I could do something about the wind. I knew I held the power that could possibly clear the skies, that I understood what was happening in the ways they wanted-needed-to know.

So I built the most fabulous fractal instead of responding to the request to decode the punny poem.  I spent 3 days building the fractal, getting it just the way I wanted and watching it grow while eventually coming to the final decision that I must respond to the Agency in some way.  

First, I recommend you top blowing so much hot air. Look at the heat source first. Read some poetry (if you saved any).

Second; take down the neural nets, control the out-flux of satellites (including the nano variety). Not only are people trapped in signals, but the current mesh is blocking all the light and this over time will kill us all. The butterfly effect, which I realize hangs by a thread on a string theory, but professional men and women, it is the plane truth, there is only one bubble in which we all live, and you didn’t blow it-yet.

Third. The bird was the word. The word was migration. Go with the flow. It’s the bees knees. All of the old sayings (Red sky at night, ring around the sun or moon) all are true for all time, time on our tiny scale anyway. My grandfather is encouraging you to abandon the need for such long-term predictions, the observer cannot interfere if predictions are to work as they should. There is too much interference.

And here is where it gets most Logical and technical so grab your experts.

Fourth, extremes are norms. We are always getting there. From one extreme to the next, and yet entropy and chaos are eternally repetitive. This is life. Like breath, like friction, like the heat that arises or the light that explodes, we are the product. And yet we are producing. We are busy. We have time to think. Perhaps this is our greatest blessing and biggest curse.

And just as I hit send on the old clunker computer, knowing my email was one of 10 that would be transmitted from a real human that day, the fractal changed direction on its own, it began collapsing. Then the eeriest thing occurred, there was a moment of complete and total silence. Pressure subsided. The wind had died down completely, there was a warm bright flash and I looked outside, the blue sky turned red…it was sunset.

With every gust of wind
The butterfly changes its place
On the willow.
-Matsuo Basho

*See, “A Brief History of Death Switches” by David Eagleman , Futures

Nature 443, 882 (19 October 2006) | doi:10.1038/443882a; Published online 18 October 2006

(http://www.nature.com/nature/journal/v443/n7113/full/443882a.html)

Image By 岡崎登 (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.