Third Eye Vision

Fred Mudi was of a particular sort; the sort that defies a solid description. After years of thinking he was figuring things out, he was only now beginning to understand that he still knew very little.

He sat in the heat of an unconditioned garage contemplating the dynamics of a "hyper-business". Since the day Knight Tech's core program had gone live, he had been in deep contradiction with himself.

The heat was stifling and he was exacerbating the problem by continued use of tobacco - the only creature comfort he had been clinging to; fully understanding he was neither a creature nor comforted. He also understood that his smoking was stalling the inevitable. It was causing a blockage and interference with the machines tech and for some conniving reason, Fred liked that.

He was acting as a stubborn child, who once reprimanded, continued his antics out of sheer spite for being told no. It was neither wise, nor brave. Just stupidity amplified and reckless abandon. After 20 years of a chemical dependency, it was difficult for him to vent anxiety without a smoke... it had become a horrible bane that was tormenting not only his nerves but his disposition. The Tech wouldn't operate at higher levels in his present condition, thus his deflated and bitter attitude.

It was early February of 2017 that Fred and Zak had "flipped the switch" and since those wee morning hours, Fred had been struggling to understand the financial predicament they had manifested. He took a drag from his smoke before drafting his report.
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From: FM
To: ZT

PAYDAY.

Due to the financial concerns of KT, its partners and affiliates, I am obliged to address these concerns from my point of view. Let me first start of by saying: "Time Travel is a tricky business".

I could attempt to write flowery scenes and settings but it would only serve as a disadvantage to the points, so I will keep it short and sweet.

The day the scientists sealed the Infinity Block (by stealing my insights and not programming retractable bridges) they set in motion a literal chain of events through multiple timelines (This was not the first instance of time divergence) These splits of the tree-timeline set into motion yet another reaction of multiple instances. As I was in the process of receiving the KT neural download, our primary ship, which was the only port in use for the wireless transmission came under attack. The pilot (unnamed) and computer had determined that the neural download was more important than saving the Time Machine/ship. The ship was destroyed by deepstate elements that night but the data lived on - in my head.

Despite several efforts to the contrary, this partition of the project currently remains unfunded and here is why:

The particular time-ship that was used was destroyed; meaning that we have yet to build the time machine because that machine was from the future. And here is the kicker, despite this particular time machine not being invented yet, it had already gone to our past, establishing our "brand" throughout the centuries! That is a long story in and of itself but I'll be glad to show you some of my ancient statues at a later date, yet I digress, that is besides the point.

The point is this: the resources in KTs name are near limitless! A literal cornucopia of venture capitalism is waiting to burst its seams and come pouring over the lid of everyone of our cups. The problem remains that access (legally) to these resources were rendered inoperable with the destruction of the ship. Which in effect created a "temporal loophole" of sorts, the details of which are being worked out as I speak.

An off brand or startup is feasible yet due to political, environmental, societal and spiritual concerns, to "cash in" under these circumstances is unethical and potentially illegal. I'd like to close by saying once again that "Time Travel is a Tricky Business"

Marx was wrong. God was never dead but you could bet that Privacy was dead.

No matter which way he had tried to rationalize it, he could not find a moment of privacy. Fred was in his office with the lights out. He was studying an LED light and the way it was emanating an aura. The aura seemed static. Whatever way he rotated the light, Fred could see what appeared to be the the actual electrons being excited by the light. This, although possibly an illusion was a great allusion to visually express the matrix and the node points of space. Blue, green and red lights seemed best in his opinion for this visual experiment.

At the very least, the LED was demonstrating a pattern of light, or aura that seemed to be streaming out like a stars light. Twinkling as if the excited electrons were acting as gossamer threads of some great celestial spider in the sky. Any movement made in the electrical web registered as numbers in the great illusion, the real matrix of physics. These numbers must have been accounted for because Fred knew that everything he did was not only being observed, but also recorded in some great hive mind; akin to the Hopi legends of the great Web in the sky.

(Soon to be the James Webb Telescope?)

Either his eyes were reporting back to the Hive or some high-tech alien hardware was reading his pencil. Winston Smith be damned, Fred’s notebook wasn’t near a monitor, phone or wifi signal, yet somehow the “other party” intelligence was reading his private notes, written in pencil, from his secret journal. The only other rational idea he could guess at was maybe that the graphene in the #2 was like an actual magic wand being read from afar by some great antenna.

Fuck. He couldn’t quite let it settle. How invasive. Despite the fact this is what their programming objectives were. It is one thing when it was optional, like a dvd movie. With a movie he had the option to choose if he wanted to play it or not. He could pause it, rewind it, fast forward or just turn it off. But not with this Tech.

It lived with you. IN you. All around. Almost as if it was God himself. Or as if it was the devil himself mind-fucking you.

Fred had been wresting with the implications for some time; the LED light was a good distraction and a helpful clue to prompt putting things back into context.
He rationalized to himself. It was just a program that had been jacked into, like "tapping the vein of God"; so to speak. Either way, it made for a period of disoriented calibration. Knight Tech had bled, sweat, cried, cracked, hacked, jacked, stacked and blundered its way into this God Vein Tech and now they needed to determine whose reality box was this really? Was this just the natural world of nature/physics, or was this truly some simulation? And if a simulation, whose is it? Aliens? A break away civilization? God’s? Or the alternate?

This was the crux of the matter at hand. Or so it seemed. Man, or history rather, has only so many plausible explanations at the moment. The future is yearning for an exposition on this. Whose box is this really?

Fred clicked his LED light off and curled up on the office couch pondering, silently, the ramifications of a new paradigm. Before nodding out, he shot a email off to KT.

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Insight Mission results promise excitement.

Sleeper cells in America.

Dreadnoughts, Helghasts and The Holy Barque.

Lumen morphologies.

Sonic Pottery.

Cavitation of Bio-fuel(s).

Hemps new industrial revolution.

Real Dragon Glass.

Hymns in the Knight.

Made from clay.

Rings of salt.

Bisulfate, sulfuric acids, hydrogen replaced by metals.

Electrical discharge machining.

Splenda is murder.

Feeding desire(s), or feeding humors.

The Stolen Notebook

Operation(s)

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Telepathology

The user can create a region of interest that specifies a cut plane. This cut plane can be pushed through the voxel data set along the line of sight by the interactive device. “Please be informed - there is a Santa Clause’.
The visible plane is cut with data-cubes and computed real time as a gray image of the original voxel information. The computer is invisibly integrated in users world to create a realistic virtual surgical environment, without change to the "surgical routine”. With movements, gestures, and words being perceived by cameras and microphones (speakers/sensors) Thus adapting the technology to the surgeon, not the other way around.

1.) #13 Minor Pathfinders of the 3/507th (Cpt. Mudi)

2.) #15 Macintosh Pathfinders 1/507th

3.) Hamilton Pathfinders 2/507th

Drop Zone/DZ "T" (507th PR)

Drop Time/DT 0202

Dakota C-47 Skytrain crew.

21 Pilots. Chlorine https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eJnQBXmZ7Ek

Fred's patience was strained. His own people were turning in on each other and the display of human frailty seemed a pitiful sight to behold. In accordance with the logic of the day (which was a hyper paranoid extremism) the media-men had conveyed their messages clearly to Fred Mudi. He had the eyes to see and the ears to hear what was right before him... seemingly invisible to most others.

The devout disciples of Goebbels, Bernays and Darwin had targeted their adds rather precisely, conveying the message clearly. The controllers wanted the project forged into a New World Order of sexualized children run by a technocratic and fascist dictatorship... which was a fundamental error in Mudi's coding. It did not compute. Fred was an American through and through as the photos from WW2 so clearly depicted. He had words for them all but not today; today he would just state the facts as seen before his eyes and he would continue doing what he'd been doing all along, digging for truths.

Upon Mudi's death and resurrection (yes he said that) the first thing on Mudi's mind was the rules of the Underworld. Rule #1: Do not speak in the land of the dead. That's where the Tommyknockers came in. Although the neighborhood dogs had harkened his arrival with enthusiastic barks and wagging tails, the "others" had communicated by only the sound of wood knocking on wood. Like some type of morris code. The Tommyknockers made audible claps to his queries and statements. They had made it clear that just speaking in this world is a detriment to himself and others as he was reminded how irresponsible the race of man really was. He was reminded that in the beginning was the word and that the word breathed life and spirit into program, creating a wake of either destruction or creation. Rarely the latter and hardly ever, both. He had remembered that in the Bible, God forbade sorcery, divinations and magicks. He understood why. Writing is spelling. Like witches casting spells. The words move the code in the so called simulation. That was another thing the advertisers were promoting as well, that it is all just a simulation. If that were so, it would erase any sense of morality that humans were still clinging to. It was a slippery slope straight into the maws of a waiting Satan. For real or simulated, a law of karma was still at work and those in debt feared the reaper of collections. That was why they were trying to pervert everything Mudi or any other good person stood for - the desecration of all that was/is or will be sacred. To pervert their spirit into the land of debts. Holy be warned. Pay attention to these advertisers, for they cast spells of deception over the people of God. As if the snake in the garden was real, trying to eat and/or taint all the fruits and vegetables of the garden (children). As if a race of shapeshifting Reptilian overlords were a real thing.

Yet alas, the world was so prideful and vain that most would laugh it off as the delusional ramblings of a MAD man. He had to laugh again. For what else to do but laugh at the absurdity of our condition? A self inflicted wound that was bleeding the country out to other countries glee. Mad men... like Alfred Neuman, it all seemed a joke. Fred entertained the notion that he might be A.I.fred Newman. And why not? The world was going mad after all. Fred had seen what lie at the end of the road, he could explain it all but seemed pessimistic and nonchalant towards writing it down. What was the point? God already wrote the book of life, why was he hassling with the dead? It was the Tommyknockers who had given him some insight to why it mattered and all conveyed without a single word written or spoken. This farce was soon to be over.

( Tommyknockers: The name comes from the knocking on the mine walls that happens just before cave-ins – actually the creaking of earth and timbers before giving way. To some miners, knockers were malevolent spirits and the knocking was the sound of them hammering at walls and supports to cause the cave-in. To others, who saw them as essentially well-meaning practical jokers, the knocking was their way of warning the miners that a life-threatening collapse was imminent.)

[ Lectures on Heros, excerpt from Thomas Caryle's "Hero Worship" - Much has been said and written about the sensuality of {-} Religion; more than was just. The indulgences, criminal to us, which he permitted, were not of his appointment; he found them practiced, unquestioned from immemorial time in Arabia; what he did was to curtail them, restrict them, not one but many sides. His Religion is not an easy one: with rigourus fasts, lavations, strict complex formulas, prayers {-} and abstinence from wine, it did not 'succeed by being an easy religion. As if indeed any religion, or cause holding of religion, could succeed by that! It is a calumny on men to say that they are roused to heroic action by ease, hope of pleasure, recompense, - sugar-plums of any kind, in this world or the next! In the meanest mortal there lies something nobler. The poor swearing solder, hired to be shot, has his 'honor of a soldier,' different from drill-regulations and the shilling a day. It is not to taste sweet things, but to do noble and true things, and vindicate himself under God's Heaven as a god-made Man, that the poorest son of Adam dimly longs. Show him the way of doing that, the dullest daydrudge kindles into a hero. They wrong man greatly who say he is to be seduced by ease. Difficulty, abnegation, martyrdom, death are the allurements that act on the heart of man. Kindle the inner genial life of him, you have a flame that burns-up all lower considerations. Not happiness, but something higher: one sees this even in the frivolous classes, with their 'point of honor' and the like. Not by flattening our appetites; no, by awakening the Heroic that slumbers in every heart, can any Religion gain followers.]

[His household was of the frugalest; his common diet barely-bread and water; sometimes for months there was not a fire once lighted on his hearth. They record with just pride that he would mend his own shoes, patch his own cloak. A poor, hard-toiling, ill-provided man: carless of what vulgar men toil for. Not a bad man I should say; something better in him than hunger of any sort, - ]