Thursday, February 22, 2001

I'm so in touch with something up there. The aftereffects of going to Heaven I haven't quite shaken off (but then again, I'm not trying very hard, what a rush!) I'm having a slightly harder time discerning reality from fantasy, but that's not too heavy a burden to bear. That's just a natural accompaniment, no doubt, to being the one single person upon whom all the ends of the worlds have devolved. When you're the center of all things, the one indispensable person amongst a mass of soon-to-be-proven dispensable pawns in the onrush and onslaught of the apocalyptic avalanche, I guess you just tend to stand out! Yes, dear self, you are the Great Speckled Bird, separate from the rest (but pecked by the squad).

I had a very hurtful e-mail from some person. Who he is, I've already dismissed his name. But his hurtful comment weighs in my thoughts. Right now I forgive him, proving once again that I'm bigger and better than the enemy! I really hurt (not so much for myself) but for him. He will soon see the ends of the world devolve upon him as well, albeit in a negative sense. He will be among those calling out for the rocks to fall upon him, lest he be smitten (as he certainly will be). Then his hurtful comment to me will come back to haunt him. He will gnaw his tongue in terror. He will watch with horror as his skin melts from his face and limbs. He will look down at his chest, as his heart beats furiously, as he realizes the burning, the corruption eating him from the inside out. Yes, even though his comment was hurtful and meanspirited, I will not hold a grudge, for then I shall be no better than he!

It's kind of funny that I should single out one person like that and take his comment to heart. When you think of the waves of persecution I have faced for my bold "2001 That's It" message. But it's like they say: one bad apple don't spoil the whole bunch... Anyway, get this guy out of your mind.

I had a strange thought today. That if I would take three biscuits and move them around real fast (like I was playing three card monte), then pick one up that'd I'd get a message. What a strange thought! Because here I am... engaged in this mighty revelation, picked, chosen to be the center of all things, etc., etc. Me....the very guy who went to Heaven and unleashed that virtual Valhalla hallway of demons upon the earth. Me....the very guy who cut off the generative organ of the largest devil! Honey, I've been to the Cosmic Motor. I've been to the Throne! And now -- mystery of mysteries -- the thought comes to me to move around three biscuits like Three Card Monte that I might discern or receive a message!

Of course I immediately tuned in to the thought. Like Tully, if it's absurd there must be something to it! This could be a test! I must obey the test! Upon reflection, then, I went to the store and bought a cheap tube of biscuits, the store brand. The store clerk seemed nice enough as he scanned it. I'm so discerning I was thinking this could be like Abraham telling me I've already passed the test simply by buying the biscuits, then he would pass me the message. I kept watching for various signs that something like that would happen, but it didn't.

Anyway, I took the biscuits home. (I'm trying to cut down on unnecessary details here.) I popped them open, buttered the pan, put them in the pan, put them in the oven, heated the oven, and cooked them. When they were done cooking I removed them from the pan and let them cool a few minutes. I put some butter on them. I had eight biscuits and I only needed three, so I looked for a biscuit in amongst the group that seemed especially unprophetic and insignificant, that I might eat it. I noticed one that could not possibly be the biscuit of prophecy. It was kind of a runt. It was kind of misshapen, and at the edge it had received a little more heat than the others. I was buttering it and was just about to eat it, when the story of King David's anointing occurred to me. Have you any more sons? Samuel asked. One, but he's tending the sheep, said Jesse. Go fetch him, for we shall not eat till he come! Shall not eat! I saw right then and there, this was the biscuit of prophecy! Then through a similar holy process I chose out the other two biscuits. I set aside the others, that they might be a great cloud of witnesses to the working out of this truth.

Now it was time for moving them about. I had the three sacred biscuits in front of me, on the table. I started moving them about, with my hands going very fast. Then I'd pull my hands up, stop for a second, then start moving again. I was hoping my hands wouldn't go so fast they'd turn into butter, like Sambo's tigers, but the comforting thought came to me that even if they did, it's hard to get too much butter on biscuits! (That's a joke). Faster, faster. I was thinking: I haven't moved my hands this fast since the days we used to call radio trivia contests before we had speed dial! I won tickets to a Frankie Avalon concert that way once, so don't knock it!

Faster and faster I went! Then when I felt that I had moved the biscuits fast enough, long enough, I picked up one real fast. It was the runt! The thought came to me that I should place it on my head and balance it there. I did so. The thought came to me that I should devour the two remaining biscuits, without mercy. I said, Not so! But the awareness of the Word was heavy: What I have told you to devour, you must devour. I kept the runt biscuit, now become the chief biscuit balanced on my head, and stuffed the two remaining biscuits in my mouth with force. I chewed them without savoring. Then I swallowed them into my stomach, which now felt like Heartburn City! Finally, I spat the crumbs out, and they fell who-knows-where.

I suddenly realized the message: The prophet is in the world, moving amongst his brothers. He is considered the least, and they chase him without mercy. But when the time is right, he is spared and the others are consumed. He is not only spared, he is exalted! The cloud of witnesses see his vindication. He is safe and secure in the head, a crown of sorts, while the others go into the pit. Even their memory is removed.

What an encouragement this turned out to be! How awesome! And it's something I would have missed had I spurned the thought of buying biscuits! What if I'd have said "That's too trivial"?!!!! Now I'm just wondering how long I have to keep this biscuit on my head.

Friday, February 23, 2001

Am looking forward to my school visit next week. Still need to make photocopies of the worksheet. I hope their eager little minds are ready to absorb the facts of the matter. If so, frankly, I'll be surprised, since I know their minds are already absorbed (rotted away really) with cable TV and rebellion. This younger generation is doomed. Still, it'll be nice to get together with them and at least give one good effort, however in vain it will doubtlessly be.

No word from Leon or Walter. I expect Walter's the kind of guy who thinks it's sissy to write a letter. And of course it is, I'll give him that much. You've got the little girly stationery, the frilly little designs on the envelope, you buy it at the card shop, etc. Why not just do what a real man does...show up at the coffee shop if there's something on your mind... Leon does everything e-mail, so he's probably never received a letter before. But I did it, the deed is done, and I'm still wearing men's clothing, if anybody has their doubts.

This is a very unexpansive day. I am like compressed. Like someone feeding on his own insides. I think I may be on the verge of getting an ulcer. I'm taking the persecution to heart a little too much. The enemy's fiery darts are flying, and some of them are hitting their mark. It's amazing, the persecution. Some of it's coming from my family. It's like they're jealous when they see my name in the paper, leading another leaflet pass-out or calling on the legislature to name me the State Prophet. They say it's not jealousy but concern. I would say self-concern. I get these "concerned" calls from them, like 'how are you? are you taking your medicine?' all that fake kind of concern. No, I threw out the medicine! It was dulling my senses, taking away my sight...my true sight.

I saw one of my uncles coming out of the lawyer's office the other day, and that's kind of suspicious. Suspicious, how? The guy's never in trouble, why would he need a lawyer?! I've got to watch my rear...because nobody else is going to do it. I'm not in the darkness that that day should overtake me! I'm wise to the wiles! I need to keep on with my efforts, and if my family doesn't like it...who knows, maybe I'll have to board up my house and hunker down! You know the end is near when a man isn't safe in his own home. I know they're looking in my windows. I can feel their hot, jealous breath breathing down my neck. Yes, it's weighing on me, but I must be strong!

What will they try? They might try anything. They're dangerous. They're schemers every one. Always looking for an angle to make my life miserable. If I were to guess, they're scheming to cut me out of Grandpa's money. That's been one of the source of our problems all these years. Grandpa's money, this. Grandpa's money, that. He never believed in banks, so he kept money at home in his mattress. And he barely bought anything. But when he did, he'd take some out of the mattress and stuff it in a small pillow and we'd go to town. Grandpa, if you were here to see the scheming! But I'm not alive for money, that's not my thing. I'm alive for Truth. It's me upon whom the ends of the world have devolved! Money or not!

Must hunker down. Must stay alive till the bitter end. Must endure all things. Must watch my back. Who goes there?! State your name and business. Must overcome evil. Must quit shivvering. Must set my face like flint. Must go to school and give kids good assembly. They're lucky I wasn't already booked...

Saturday, February 24, 2001

I've got a great idea for getting the word out. I'm going to paint up a few signs and put them in my yard. Then the factory guys at the plant will get the word when they're driving by. Which might require some lights for the night shift, I'll have to think about that.

Needed: some big chunks of plywood, spray paint, some smaller stakes. I have nails already. I'll have to get that stuff today at the lumber yard. Then decide if I'm going to stencil or just paint freehand. Stenciling will take a long time, longer anyway.

Slogan ideas: "2001 That's It," of course. "2001 The World Ends!"... pretty clear. "Get Right in 2001!" ... kind of vague. "Honk If You're Ready!" ... get a little audience participation. "Keep Looking Up - 2001!" ... a good invitation message.

Sunday, February 25, 2001

Got the signs painted, and a few of them are out in the yard. They don't look half bad! I skipped the stencil idea and just painted them outright. Now I feel like I'm making progress in getting the word out. I have my website, the leaflets, signs in the yard, and the school talk coming up. People are starting to pay attention. But it seems like only the non-supportive ones choose to write. It wouldn't hurt to have a little encouragement. But I resolve not to care, must not back down, must not shrink back.

It's going to be a real honor to be able to speak to the kids at school. Well, kind of an honor. It's not like the future holds anything for them, so I'm not going to be overly sentimental about trying to shape their little minds. This year being IT, what are they even bothering with school for? Making big plans for college, etc., but that's something they'll never know.

I need to go over the worksheet again, make sure it's simple enough that no one really has to strain his brain to get the right answers. The questions all sound pretty easy. If tests were this easy when I was a kid, that would have been nice! I want it to be super-easy so nobody will be able to say I made it too hard, therefore his eternal destiny was sealed because of a hard test. When they get to the great beyond, their blood is going to be on their own heads!

I think I'll just vegetate today. All my senses are dull. Usually I'm the brightest, smartest guy in the world. Today I don't feel so smart. It could be this is just the natural way for Nature to shut down. Even the brightest and smartest ones start shutting down because "what's the use?" It's kind of a weird coincidence that we got Bush for President, since the man is obviously a dunce. Or maybe he just "shut down" earlier because he's spiritually ahead of the rest of us. The way he was elected, with the election being an obvious sham, makes you wonder Who's hand might have been involved! Gore had him dead-to-rights, but then like a miracle from the blue, Bush is President. And now his being a dumb guy might have something to do with the prophetic picture. "Unless the days be shortened..." The days aren't getting any shorter, timewise, as far as I know...it's been a long time since I've stayed up all night... But they maybe seem shorter because of our general mental stuptitude. They said on TV that Bush had been President five weeks already! And it seems like he was just put in! So, five weeks seems more like one week, because we're all being dumbed down as a divine favor! And with Bush being a dumb guy, that's no doubt meant as a divine favor, because the rest of us will more naturally accept our increasing stupidity without fighting it, seeing the leader is ahead of us in dumbness.

I might just key in on this, because it's something people don't know. I might share that with the kids tomorrow, that being a dumb guy isn't all bad. It's Nature's way of protecting us from the impending disaster and destruction. The dumber you are the better.

Well, that kind of perked up my senses a bit. I'm really my biggest fan, to tell the truth. When I start waxing wise I just want to give myself a big fat hug. I think I might go to the store today and get a pretty carnation and wear it on my shirt, just as a reward for being so cool. They're only a buck and a half apiece! Can't hardly grow one for that! By the time you bought the seeds, bought the dirt, bought a pot to grow it in, you've spent eight or ten bucks. Then you have to wait and wait. And who knows if carnations actually grow outside a green house! You might be waiting six months, and then nothing. But if you buy one, you've got it in hand right now. So that's what I might do. Even with my senses dull (and getting dull again), I'm still sharper than most people. And a little reward like a carnation would be very fitting indeed!

Monday, February 26, 2001

[7:00 a.m.] I like to put the year everytime like that, because...well, a couple reasons: 1) It adds gravitas to my task, that it has to be timestamped; 2) It keeps it before me that this is the world's final year, that is, the world as we have known it. I'm sure it will be at least a cinder of its former self for a few years anyway, until it is totally obliterated.

Well, this is a big day for the "2001 That's It" effort. I haven't been in front of a class for quite a while. And it'll be great to get back to teaching. Even though they're not college students, it's still teaching. Actually, I have very little regard for college students, after all the trouble, etc., etc. But that's years ago. Leave it alone. These days college students are so messed up with cable TV, various remedial classes, etc. Move on!

So this is a big day for the effort. And it'll be something to be up there. I asked the teacher to arrange it, to get the fourth and sixth grade classes together...in a room that's not too big and not too crowded. I gave explicit instructions that under no circumstances should fifth graders be allowed in! And I think I emphasized it in such a way that there'll be no problems. The material is just too intense for them, and, I'm sorry, but that's where I come down.

OK, time to doublecheck everything. Got the worksheets. I guess that's about it. Oh, wait, the globe. Must take the globe, so no one will have any reason to complain they don't know where the North Pole is. Need to call Leon and make sure he's there.

[1:30 p.m.] Well, the trip to school was a great success! Leon showed up, met me in the school parking lot. He wanted a run-down of what we were going to do, and what his part was. I told him basically I wanted him to just be there for moral support, and help if the kids had any troubles with the worksheets, or questions.

The teachers – a Mr. something and some other guy – met with us before the assembly began. One was pretty blunt in his assessment of the students, he being the teacher of the fourth graders. He said they were happy we were able to come by and fill up an hour, that the kids were such a handful the schoolday was basically a waste of time. Leon and I (at least I) knew exactly what he was talking about, and for a second I felt like we were like the cops on Dragnet, just nodding in agreement. I haven't agreed with anyone so much in my life as I did with this guy, his name escapes me. But his diagnosis of the elementary school situation was right on: these little hellions are as much a reason for the end of the world as any adult! The only thing they know is rebellion, and trouble.

I was trying to think, trying to remind myself why we were there. Part of the effort to get the word out about 2001 being it. That's right. There is a point, however pointless it seemed at the moment. The second teacher, the sixth grade teacher, said they were also glad we were there because it meant they could duck out for an hour and smoke. They said we looked trustworthy, not likely to turn the little monsters loose in the halls, etc., which of course was true.

Then there was a moment that made us all laugh, and it came from Leon's naiveté. Leon goes, "What's that smell?" There was indeed a smell that smelled kind of like a sewer, and the plumber's three weeks late for his appointment to fix it! The sixth grade teacher laughed and said, "Welcome to elementary school!" He assumed either Leon knew what that meant, or that we'd all enjoy a good laugh at his expense. We laughed, because Leon wasn't aware that kids these days have thrown off the restrictions that go with toilet training. I told Leon, "They can't be bothered with using the facilities, if you know what I mean." Then I pointed to my pants so I wouldn't have to verbalize the terrible details. "Oh, you're kidding!" the young man protested, but the evidence was right before his eyes – or should I say, nose!

The teachers both excused themselves, said they needed to get to their smoking so they could have some fresh air. We thanked them for their hospitality. Then I told Leon in private: "If this had been biblical days, they'd have washed our feet."

We took our worksheets and the globe to the desk. I wrote on the chalkboard: "Dr. Armstrong and Leon". Then I motioned to the kids to pipe down and be quiet. Discipline was a problem, as it always is with students this age, and I was afraid I might have to bring in a fire hose to maintain order. They did simmer down, which was a good thing, since there wasn't a fire hose handy. They were curious about the dignified figure before them and his youthful assistant.

OK, I'm not going to sketch out every unnecessary detail. But to make a long story short, I gave a little lecture on the end of the world coming up, how the prophets had foretold these things down to the last detail, etc., and that the time was near, in fact this very year. "2001," I droned, "is it.... What does this mean for your future?" I went into that a little, and emphasized they should look for the signs themselves that the time was very near, even at the doors. I explained a little about my various heavenly journeys. Then I asked Leon to bring me the globe. I said, "Anybody know where the North Pole is on a globe?" Of course nobody knew. A couple kids said something about Santa Claus. I said, "Very good, right." Then I told them that I saw something there at the North Pole, not once or twice but several times, that would curl their hair. I told them about the giant angel! By now they were interested. I said, "Well, that's it for the talk."

Leon went to pass out the worksheets. He seemed especially revolted about the thickening bathroom smells as he passed among them, but managed not to lose his lunch. Everyone had his own little pencil case. And each took out his own pencil and marked up the papers. I saw some drawing pictures on the back, some folding the papers into different shapes, etc., and a few actually answering the questions. I said, "People, we need to have you fill out the worksheets.... Just circle the right answer... There's only one right answer per question... There's no room for negotiation or discussion here, people... Life isn't 'a matter of opinion,' it comes with hard and fast rules... Please fill out the papers..." These are some of the words I said aloud, and some I was muttering, like, "You filled your pants, now try the worksheet..." Leon caught that one and laughed. I also muttered such gems as, "I'm sorry I left my cartoons home" and "I heard you had a five-second attention span; how about proving it?"

When everyone had the worksheets filled out, we collected them, and I brought them home with me. We might use them for research, but nothing's definite there.

After the session, I thanked them for their attention, and encouraged them to keep watching for the signs. I gave them the website URL and my own post office box where they could send contributions: lunch money, allowance, tooth fairy money, any gift large or small. I also thanked Leon, although he didn't really do much. Any little service is valuable. The teachers weren't back yet, so we dismissed the group, and the last we saw (and heard) they went tearing down the hall, one big blur, one big noise, one big smell. I thought (in jest) of the book of Joel and how the locusts come through and decimate a field, and was thinking that's probably what that hall looks like!

Tuesday, February 27, 2001

I'm still on a massive contact high from yesterday! The sound of those excited kids as they tore through the halls is still ringing in my ears! I know this will do our whole effort a lot of good!

It was inspiring to look out on their eager young faces and see the word really hitting home in each heart. Sure, it was a lot for a child to absorb – the end of the world in the very near future, the end of their hopes and dreams – but these weren't fifth graders; they could take it. I saw the Truth registering with them, and I'm thankful I was there to be the messenger to share it with them. And to see their faces when they realized how to find the North Pole on a globe, no amount of gold could equal that thrill!

I've been reviewing the worksheets today. The ones who took the time to actually answer any of the questions did a great job! I only noticed a few mistakes, and in those cases I assume they meant to circle the correct answer but the pencil just slipped (or something). I had my doubts they could handle our message, but now my doubts are gone. This was a great time.

Plus, I even had a couple phone calls today from parents. (A dad of one child, and a mom of another.) Both were very impressed by the reports their children gave them. The dad even wondered if his child could visit my "organization" (his word) sometime for further instruction. I said that'd be great, with the thought in the back of my head that maybe the kid could stay and help with some of the grunt work. Maybe he could be the first of a brand new scout pack, the Grunt Scouts. No, need a better name than that, though that's what they'd be. Leon and I could be the scoutmasters, and they could earn little pins and badges for learning various things about the end of the world. Or, in lieu of pins and badges, maybe it'd be cheaper to let them earn little things like Milk Duds or Sweethearts. Say they passed out leaflets all day on a busy street corner, they could earn a regular-sized box of Milk Duds. We could call them the Speckled Squad. That's a pretty great name! Since I'm the Great Speckled Bird, pecked by the squad (of heathen), what better than to start a squad of other speckled people. I kind of visualize my Speckled Squad as a faceless horde, shoulder to shoulder, marching in endless procession through a world of persecution, each squad member essentially melted into one another, rising up as one united force for Victory! (Of course, his being a fourth grader could be a problem, since fifth grade is soon to follow... We might have to work with that, such as persuading his dad that under the circumstances there's no real reason to continue on in school. His schooling will be with the Speckled Squad!)

Wednesday, February 28, 2001

With that the Great Speckled Squad is conceived! With a couple of great goals: 1) To be the Great Speckled Squad surrounding the Great Speckled Bird, to counteract the pecking squad of the world; we're going to match 'em squad for squad; 2) To do the important day to day work of the "2001 That's It" effort, earning awards along the way. Each boy (and I can't see any sense of having a girl squad at this juncture) will sign up for a tour of duty lasting the rest of this year. Each boy will receive a spiritual name and initiation in accordance with the leaders' intuition.

We will call it the Great Speckled Squad, with "Great" on there. I like that! And we'll have a slogan that I'll adapt out of Isaiah, the place about "mounting up as eagles." We'll have bird grades: When a boy is first with the G.S.S., he'll be a Hummingbird. Then he can work his way up to a Wren, a Canary, a Red Winged Blackbird, a Crow, etc., etc. Eagle would probably be the highest grade, unless I can conceive of a few more grades beyond that. Hmmm, what bird is bigger and badder than an Eagle? How about a Pterodactyl?! Just as the wren of nature by persistence and good fortune eventually becomes the mighty pterodactyl, so my young wren fledglings will become a mighty squad of prehistoric winged creatures! Where the carcass is, there shall gather the pterodactyls! This is going to be great. And we'll have to do something with the "speckled" aspect of this. For the craft projects, no matter what they build, they'll have to daub some light colored speckles on it. Of course I can't see why we'd be building anything, but if we do... Maybe they could build little stands, like lemonade stands, where the boys would hand out leaflets of our mighty movement. Oh, the thoughts are coming strong now!

I've got an idea that'll bring in a lot of support for the effort! I will conceive of a line of anointed prayer cloths, blessed especially by The Great Speckled Squad! We will sell them on the internet, reaching our supporters in every nation around the world! The G.S.S. will be in charge of cutting the cloths, wrapping them in plastic wrap, and mailing them. This is just the kind of grunt work I can get Leon on! He will love it! In fact, I might make him an automatic Pterodactyl and give the boys something to work towards. Oh, there's so much to do...this calls for a new leaflet at the very least. Oh, I hope this kid's dad sees the value in the G.S.S. I must conceive of my line of cloths! This I must do!

And the boys are going to be learning so much under my blessed tutelage. I feel I'm really on my way now! I hope I can get Walter in on this, but if not, we'll cut him loose. And one thing I'm going to insist on is toilet training. No one under high school age can stand these kids' nasty habits! This rebellion won't be allowed to stand! We will break them like horses! Or they'll be stuck at Hummingbird status, and eventually we'll boot 'em out of the G.S.S. all together!

What a beautiful thought I was thinking,
Concerning the great Speckled Bird;
Remember her name is recorded,
On the pages of God's Holy Word.

All the other birds flocking around her,
And She is despised by the squad;
And the great Speckled Bird in the Bible,
Represents you the great Church of God.

In the presence of all her despisers,
With song never uttered before;
She'll arise and be gone in a moment,
'Til the great tribulations are o'er. – Rev. Guy Smith

We'll probably need to change that "She" to a "He," since it's hard the imagine the guys liking that.

Jeremiah 12:9 – Mine heritage is unto me as a speckled bird, the birds round about are against her; come ye, assemble all the beasts of the field, come to devour.

Thursday, March 1, 2001

Hey, another month has passed. And the end still isn't here. Well, with two down that means only 10 more possible. I really have the feeling that time is short. A thought is just now passing through my mind: The year has lost two months off the top end...Subtract two months off the bottom end...At the end of the next stretch of eight months, the end will come. Whoa! If that passing thought has any validity (and I'll bet it does) then the end must come right at the end of October or the beginning of November! Yes! I won't be suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous persecutors through November and especially in December!

Once again, however, this makes moot my whole watch for the end between now and then. The only justification I can think of is that the passing thought may have been a test of some sort, or, less likely, a false passing thought. I've had lots of passing thoughts in days past, but not every one of them pertains to some actual event that happens. And yet most of them do! While I can't really cite any credible examples of this phenomenon, it seems like it's happened on occasion. I remember that time I had the passing thought that chili made in a crockpot would be too thick. And sure enough, when I went to stir it, it was a lot thicker than I like it.

OK, I feel vitally refreshed now that I've had this fresh impression of the end. And yet I see the world all around me not knowing, not caring that its demise is just another eight months away. I must keep up my efforts. I must step up my efforts to warn as many as I can. And I must keep this secret journal going. It will exist 1) as evidence of my superb efforts on behalf of the world; 2) as a guidebook of sorts to those poor souls who don't make it. All the time, always I have my thoughts focused on these folks. Always I'm writing with one eye out for my vast readership in that day. Call it ego, or whatever, I really get a kick out of thinking about it! Heh heh, the world does little note and does not long remember what I say on a day-to-day basis, but when that day gets here, these words will be its most precious food for thought. And I fully plan not to hold a grudge, or keep a chip on my shoulder. My way will be to shrink back in beautiful humility. (In the first place I won't actually be here.) But what I plan I will do, if it is physically/spiritually possible: I will appear somehow in the clouds. I will be like a superimposed picture in the clouds, giving everyone an understanding nod. In this little fantasy I'm assuming I won't be able to speak, which will give it a great effect if you think about it! There I am, my head superimposed on a cloud; it's sort of fading in and out in an eerie yet beautiful way; you can see me, yet you can see through me; my head is gigantic up there; I'm totally silent; I look down and give that understanding nod; then perhaps I work up a tear in one of my eyes; I allow my tear to be seen just momentarily, then I quickly turn as if I'm trying to hide that tear; then I put up a hand as if to say, "Do not look upon my tear"; I'm slightly embarrassed by it, because I do not want to bring grief to those in turmoil; then I give one more nod and vanish! Gives me goosebumps just thinking about it!

And here's another beautiful thought. Let's just say we go ahead with that idea for the Great Speckled Squad. And that some of my squad are really chosen to be with my in glory. This takes a little imagination, but I can't believe I'm imagining it if it's not possible, even likely for that day! OK, there are these figures in old artwork, like Victorian artwork. Children's heads, nothing but children's heads and a couple little angel wings coming from the neck region. No bodies whatsoever. No torso, thigh, legs, feet. Just heads and wings! (Plus I think I saw these at Hallmark once.) Anyway, and this is just a fantasy, what if.... when my face appears in the clouds for my understanding nod .... what if some of my squad encircles me? Not their whole bodies, but just their heads and a couple wings apiece!? I think that'd be pretty, I really do. They'll be high-grade boys, Pterodactyls! But not with literal Pterodactyl wings, but with beautiful little wings not so much made for flying as for heavenly looks.

Friday, March 2, 2001

Well, I heard Walter went to Dallas to a big prophecy conference! Kind of too bad I didn't know about it; maybe I could have gone along; maybe they would've wanted a lecture out of me. Afterall, I'm fit for more than lecturing to a roomful of rebellious kids. I've got training. I've got experience. All Walter is is a junkman. But then he's not lecturing. No doubt he's going booth to booth picking up literature for the latest book, the latest video. No doubt gathering more "nuggets," at least one from everything he looks at! I've never been to a prophecy conference, and I understand this is a big one. Maybe this year I can sponsor a prophecy conference and bring in a few of the so-called know-it-alls. Then maybe I'll put 'em in their place with my superior understanding. Yes, I'm sure that's what I will do!

Maybe I'll get my junkman buddy and we'll bring in many speakers! Maybe by then I'll have the Great Speckled Squad going strong. And maybe I'll have them build a few podiums, or podia, for the occasion. How hard can it be to build a podium? Four sides, and the back is empty. Put a little slant on it for the speaker's notes. Get a slide projector, one of those overhead projectors and a pointer stick and I'm set.

Worked on a little bumper sticker for the G.S.S. today.

 

Saturday, March 3, 2001

I woke up today thinking "what am I doing here?" Meaning I was questioning some of my attitudes lately, about my recent superiority complex. Maybe I'm coming back down from that. I think it had something to do with going to heaven. Which must be why people who have near death experiences always come back with such a big head. Everyone I've ever known who's had a near death experience comes back going "la de dah, look at me, I'm so pretty, I'm so bad." And it makes you sick. All this time I've thought they were just fearless now that they've glimpsed their reward. Turns out there's something about going to heaven that bloats your ego up like a blimp. (And if I'm not mistaken, this flies in the face of what the ancient mystics said about being more humble with this blessing....)

Anyway, when Walter gets back I'll be very interested to hear what he learned. Those "nuggets" of his will probably be pretty good. But I'll be interested if anyone at the conference was speaking about the prophecies of the "2001 That's It" effort. It could be they have independent verification of the accuracy of these prophecies from someone else's friend's cousin. That would be good, in a way. It would help remove whatever lingering doubts I have... (Not that I have any.) The downside is it detracts from this prophecy being an exclusive with me. Of course, Ben could've told lots of people. I'm not exactly the fountainhead here. What I have I have from him.

Sunday, March 4, 2001

I think it'll be this week sometime, for Mr. B____ to bring his son over to see our organization. And I feel just like you feel when you're interviewing for a new job. I want to impress him and Junior. We need to put together a little something to make it look like we have an organization. It would really help if I could get a few boxes of books in here, some of Walter's books. And I might get some big sheets of paper from Wal-Mart and sketch out a chart about the endtimes. Just anything to make it look like the organization has life. As it is now, I have about 50 globes in the back room and a few dozen combs that may or may not be pink. I have a little notebook that has a few of my favorite verses in it, this secret journal, and that's about it. If Mr. B____ sees us for what we are, there's no way we're going to get the G.S.S. underway, unless we happen to find an orphanage run by a crook or one going out of business.

But, you know, look at the prophets of old. They didn't have big offices full of office equipment, coffee pots, bulletin boards, overhead projectors, etc. They basically walked around with their robe and scratched when they itched. Look at Elijah. What'd Elijah have? Nothing. The poor guy was down by a brook and had a few ravens to bring him food. And what kind of food would ravens bring? Something they picked off a dead carcass. So he had the equivalent of road kill and a little bit of water. Then when the brook dried up he went to the widow's place. And there was a boy, who might have been the prophetic equivalent of the G.S.S. for that time except he keeled over and died.

So what I haven't got a big set-up. This is going to be one of those cases where it's not what you have, it's what you do with what you have. When Mr. B____ gets here this won't be my house, it'll be my international headquarters. This room with the computer won't be my room, it'll be the nerve-center of our operation, etc. Once I get the endtimes chart set up and set the globes around the place, it'll look like something. There'll be no man in his right mind who wouldn't want his son to be a part of such an operation!

Plus, if I get Leon over, and arrange for Walter to call a few times, Leon on the phone will make it look like this is a real nerve-center. Afterall, Walter's a talkative guy. He'll talk your leg off. He'd take an hour to explain a hangnail, so that'll keep Leon occupied to good effect.

I know what I just said about the prophets of old not having it all that good, but still it seems like if you're the one upon whom the ends of the world have devolved, things could be a little more impressive. I have to just keep reminding myself this is all to test me, to keep me humble.

Monday, March 5, 2001

Got the international headquarters looking pretty good. Having globes all over the place speaks of our international focus in ways that words couldn't. The only thing that seems a little congruous are the various colored combs strewn about. But with our logo carefully placed UP each time, the incongruity is only really noticeable when you stop and give it half a thought.

I had a real brainchild today, not an infrequent happening but today particularly inspired. I had this big world map, a wall map, from the National Geographic. Then I went and found a string of red lights amongst my Christmas decorations, the kind that flash. OK, I cleared a big space on the wall, and affixed the string of lights to the wall, in kind of a random zig-zaggy swirling way. Then I set the map over the string of lights and cut holes where the lights happened to be. (This took a little longer than it sounds because a light did not happen to be where Israel was, so I had to reshift it all just a bit to get one there.) Now with the lights sticking out of the holes it makes quite an impressive display. I made a really nice label to go along with it that reads "World Hotspots in Prophecy." The flashing effect is a great effect as it lends a real sense of urgency for the casual viewer. (One might wonder why there appear to be so many hotspots in the great oceans, but even that can be explained with a smattering of prophetic knowledge and a creative imagination.)

So, almost everything is in readiness that we might get the G.S.S. underway!

Tuesday, March 6, 2001

I felt last night that I've become too much of a "surface dweller" or what I sometimes call an "earth man." This is the secret pejorative name I give to folks. It means someone without insight, without prophetic moxy. It means the vast wasteland of folks out there watching "The Price is Right," playing Bingo, and filling in Word Search books.

I caught myself yesterday thinking I needed a nice painting that matched my couch.

The antidote is to redouble, retriple my efforts at defragmenting the harddrive I call a brain. I always liked comedians who stared straight out, put their finger by their mouth, and pretended their head was a calculating machine. Little clicks, dings, various calculator noises, then pretend they're spitting out a paper with the solution to a problem! That takes you beyond earth men and surface dwellers, for sure!

Anyway, this demanded (in my opinion) to cut conventionality off at the knees. What if a person went to bed at 10:00 p.m., set the alarm for 11:00 p.m., then was forced to hit the snooze button all night long till 7:00 a.m.? What would happen if you had to wake up every six minutes for eight hours?! Interesting question, I know. So that's exactly what I did!

And now I'm thinking remarkably unconventionally. I might throw my coffee pot across the room at any time! And it's one of those Bunn machines that has a full load of hot water! I woke up every six minutes through the night. And I'm wide awake. But sometimes I drift away, but never for long. It's neat when I look at the hotspots map blinking on the wall, that's kind of exciting. I noticed the red LED numbers of the alarm clock repeatedly last night, so the map with those red lights induces a weird alternating between comfort and despair.

I plan to do the same thing tonight, so when Mr. B____ comes tomorrow with his son, I'll be at the top of my game.

Wednesday, March 7, 2001

8:00 a.m. – Of course I've been awake off and on all night. Tonight was a little different. I set my alarm clock a ways from the bed, so I had to physically get out of bed every six minutes all night long to turn it off! About 4 a.m. I was tempted to turn it completely off, but then remembered my high principles. "Must-maintain-discipline," I said to myself.

9:00 a.m. – Called Leon. The kind of buzz I had from sleep deprivation/interruption made the call seem like a dream. I think he said he was bringing a friend. If he did say that, that's good, good for appearances.

10:15 a.m. – Mr. B____ will be here at precisely 1:00 o'clock. Timeline needed dusting with feather-duster. Saw several frightening demons playing with my globes, so I had to chase them away.

Noon – Leon and a friend, Henry, arrived. I explained the situation. Henry seemed especially studious, taking notes. I thought I saw Leon taking notes too. But I might have been dreaming. The demons were at the back door, kicking leaves and making noise.

1:10 p.m. – Mr. B____ and son still not here. I thought it'd be precisely 1:00 o'clock. I cannot stand any lack of punctuality. I go ballistic when I'm kept waiting. I've dribbled a little foam on my shirt, but wiped it off, and fortunately I'm wearing a dark flannel shirt today.

3:30 p.m. – Mr. B____ and his son finally arrived about 1:30. I was keyed up but seemed real enthusiastic. We toured the operation. The boy's name was Van. I explained the timeline, the high points of Israel's history, all that stuff. Mr. B____ seemed impressed. We looked at the globes, the combs, the Hotspots of the World map, etc. I even showed them a few of the e-mails we've received, which for the most part have not been complimentary. Walter didn't call, so Leon and Henry were not on the phone. I kept hoping the phone would ring, even if it was MCI. I stepped out on faith and gave Mr. B____ my prototype bumper sticker about the G.S.S. He said it would be Van's decision if he wanted to join. He asked how many other boys were already in the group, and I said we didn't have exact figures at this time, but it was under 100.

Thursday, March 8, 2001

I spent some time this morning with Leon and Henry. It's kind of nice to have two grunt workers now instead of just one. And if Leon has more friends, I'll have more! I'm glad they were taking notes yesterday because some of it is just a muddled memory to me now, thanks to my little alarm clock experiment.

One thing that was kind of nice about that is my confidence level was way up there. I didn't have any of the fits of despair and doubt that are common to prophecy types. Most prophecy teachers periodically submit to an intense combination of hynotism and shock therapy to blank out memories when their utterances fail to happen. The ones who've written books have a standing order at the courthouse periodically to have their names legally changed; this along with the hypnotism/shock therapy keeps them fairly sane. Of course they're at a mental loss as to their past mistakes so they tend to repeat them, but that's another matter. For me, though, this alarm clock thing took away every mental fault.

According to the notes, then, Mr. B____ was very impressed! And Van was, too! The thing that really fascinated Van was the Hotspots Map of the World! He was amazed we were able to monitor so many places around the world like that. The notes fill in some of the stuff here that I can't recall. It appears I told him we were monitoring these places with our own "2001 That's It" satellite which the G.S.S. occasionally has to go into space to service and reprogram! If I actually said this, I have no idea where I got it...but it's not bad! (And I guess we were just darned lucky he didn't notice the thing was nothing but Christmas lights and packing tape!)

Now Leon and Henry tell me Van will be back very soon, that he looked forward to space travel and whatever other crafts we might do! Apparently I also pumped him up with the great desire to recruit as many of his friends as he could! And I guess Mr. B____ was all for it, as I guess Van has been living a kind of aimless, meaningless, problematic life since the B____'s divorce. The notes say one thing really sets him off: disappointment. He hates to be disappointed. They say when Van gets his hopes up about something, no matter how trivial it is, if anything happens to frustrate his hopes, even if it's unavoidable, understandable, and entirely reasonable, he just goes off. And the way it sounds, he's been a problem child at school, a very violent child. In 2nd grade one day the teacher promised the kids chocolate milk after recess. Well, as it happened the refrigerator with the chocolate milk was out of service because of a storm the previous night. And nobody knew about it till they went to get the milk. So naturally the teacher had to serve white milk, which disappointed Van greatly. They say Van went home "sick," then returned to school with a chainsaw and held the teacher hostage for three hours, with the chainsaw running about a quarter-inch from her throat. It was only by the pleading of the boy's grandmother, mother, older sister, minister, and psychiatrist, and the fact that eventually a chainsaw will run out of gas, that the teacher's life was spared and young Van was disarmed. So we're going to have to come up with some really good crafts to make him forget we promised him space travel.

Friday, March 9, 2001

Young Van was true to his word about friends! And a better bunch of boys I could've never imagined. The end has to be here, to have such a crew! And true to my principles we're only taking fourth and sixth graders, no fifth graders. I feel fifth graders are just so easily traumatized they'd be no good if the going got tough. Their sensitivity, their awkwardness in virtually every facet of life threatens us all, so they must be left out.

Mr. B____ came around and said he'd talked to the boys' parents, the ones who could be located. He explained to them about the Great Speckled Squad, etc., etc. Apparently it's OK with them to have a total stranger, a self-appointed end-times prophet, someone who's virtually a social pariah lead their kids in a club that has no history and no known standards. That shows the kind of faith I can admire!

The boys came 'round to the international headquarters. I explained about the Hotspots map, our various expeditions to outer space to fix the satellite, the globes, the giant angel at the North Pole, etc. I introduced Leon as the man they would come to love as a father. He will be the one, I said, who will watch their every move, who will monitor their comings and goings, their activities. He is to be obeyed without question, never mind you don't know him from Adam.

I explained about the points system. It's in the works. But somewhere along the way we'll be earning points toward advancing in the grades of speckled birds. They seemed satisfied for the moment to be Hummingbirds. But I felt encouraged that they each one would advance quickly. There might be a point for showing up, a point for good work habits, a point for putting themselves in harm's way for the cause, a point for good hygiene, a point for building something, a point for not talking back, a point for not asking too many questions, a point for recruiting other members, a point or more for giving money to the cause, etc.

"This will be your home away from home," I said. "A great speckled bird must give up friends, family, school, the very world itself."

I dismissed them all but told them I expected them back tomorrow morning at 8:00 a.m., and instructed them in a stern voice: "And whatever you do, go to the bathroom before you come, and I mean Number 2. We'll not have any rebellion in this camp!"

Saturday, March 10, 2001

I spent the better part of last night writing a speech, a very important talk for the boys. Then when they showed up this morning I told them I wanted them each to find a chair, to sit and be quiet. It was time for a very important speech. Then I went to the front of the room and faced them.

What a great looking crew, I thought as I prepared to speak. I glanced down at my note cards one time, raised my index finger into the air, looked out over the group, and began:

"Boys, life as you've known it will very soon cease to be..."

I began my talk with those pregnant words. Then I paused, as much to regain my composure as for dramatic effect. I felt for a moment that anything I said beyond those words would be anticlimactic, a fairly sour feeling for any speaker working up to his second sentence! I glanced around the room. A feeling of some disappointment came upon me as I realized several things: no one was crying, two boys in the back were pinching each other, and one kid right up front was yawning. With a sentence like that as my opener, it would have been justified, I originally thought, that someone should have a blank slab of marble, a railroad spike and a mallet to make the transcription. I myself fought back a tear and decided to proceed with whatever utterances might suggest themselves. Afterall, one glimpses afar with mountaintop experiences, but one also hopes for yet higher vistas to conquer. No sight however majestic, we always believe, is the final sight. No thrilling symphony however sweet will be the last notes our momentarily-sated ears will hear. And Thanksgiving comes to mind, with its blessed smells and tastes. Oh, it's so much, and ooo, it's so good! But then we eat the next day, however satisfied we were with the heavy laden table of Grandma's goodies the day before. This is what the yogis might term the Ascent of Life: eating, incorporating, unifying, coming to a plateau of experience (creature satisfaction), then the process (in truth never ending) begins again (ultimately with the eater being the eaten!)

One of the Great Speckled Squad (G.S.S.) boys cleared his throat. I looked eagerly in his direction, imagining that this related in some way to my high-flying words, some belated but still welcome recognition in his spirit that what I said was resonating in his spirit. Perhaps some end-times infusion of divine consciousness was stirring the hitherto unstirred pot of soul stuff within his being. And now he would seek to fill this time of silence with a response that would go beyond his mere mortal capacities. This would rise in his spirit, as in the saying "And a child shall lead them." It would enchant, then beckon each of us to further heights until then undreamed of. We might skip like some very romantic animal that does a lot of skipping over those selfsame heights. The boy cleared his throat again, then brought me down with a thud when he pulled out a pack of throat lozenges and popped one in that hole in his face that every dullard has one of.

And so it seemed my elegance would be left to my own private reverie. I glanced over, and Leon in the corner seemed more intent on filling in the attendance sheet, with faithful attendance being one of the criteria the boys would meet if they ever were to advance past Hummingbird status on their journey toward being mighty Pterodactyls. Van was sitting there, obviously daydreaming. For just a moment I thought of what his daydreams must be: probably drifting in outer space, worrying a wrench on one of the G.S.S. satellite's bolts, clunking a solar panel with a hammer, using a chainsaw to slice in half the airhose of one of his fellows who had made the fatal mistake of disappointing him. He was kind of clenching his fists and breathing hard, as though there was a strong sense of identification between him and this other fellow struggling for breath in the dead of space. Anyway, I knew Van wasn't my amen corner. It might be unkind to say it, but seriously I don't know if Van has two pieces of brain to rub together.

It suddenly occurred to me that promotion in the G.S.S. would most likely not be according to merit. There wasn't one fourth or sixth grader in front of me who looked like he'd enjoy the prophecies of Ezekiel 38-39 more than a Game Boy. How different youth are these days since my own youth, I thought, when a spirited debate on the identity of Gog and Magog never failed to occupy us when the teachers thought we were outside only playing. But then we also knew how to use a toilet without someone prompting us. We cared about hygiene. If somebody "just went" back then, he didn't do it twice. Even if we were out camping we'd make a mad dash a quarter of a mile to the facilities before we'd squat and pollute the campgrounds for our neighbors. And, think about it, we could've gotten away with it, too. By the time the odor would've wafted over to someone's tent or through an electric fan in one of the electric parking spots, one could've had one's pants hitched up and been long gone. But, as it happened, we had conscience, social concern, self-respect. We weren't like this nasty lot, like the elementary kids of today, for whom "self-respect" is something to be had at your neighbor's expense. Mister, don't call that self-respect! That's nothing but a hideous counterfeit of the real thing! Just thinking about it raises the hair on my neck and up goes my dander.

Even then as I stood there, thinking of a second sentence, words that might be adequate in the light of my beginning words, I thought I noticed just the faint first fingers of some odor that could soon have a stranglehold on my senses. Where it was coming from, I did not entirely want to know. I felt my speech might break down. The beauty of my comment might soon be completely lost if I acted on brute impulse, the impulse to demand who is the perpetrator of this forbidden offense. I felt the first flush of warmth on my forehead as my ire arose. I wanted to scan the room for signs of guilt, or worse, pride. And I knew if I should scan the room that my strong ability to determine guilt would yield results. But then to what end? I thought. It would destroy the moment. This was perhaps the first truly beautiful moment of these young saps' lives. Their sad animal existence of cable TV, video games, ungovernable bowels, and rebellion at school hadn't given them anything worth having. But when they looked up at me, and heard those words issue forth from my mouth as they just had, then and only then was something redeemed in them. I knew my influence, and I knew my responsibility. At that moment, to my credit, I knew I had to restrain myself in the face of this offense. Later, I told myself, later I will break this vile perpetrator like an horse. He would be relieved, in a manner of speaking, of this vile habit, heaven being my help.

I glanced back and saw Leon appear to finish the attendance report. Now it seemed he'd been listening to me all along and had taken my sweet words to heart. That gave me a warmth just the opposite of this other warmth: this new warmth was a good warmth, arising from the awareness that my words had hit home with someone. The benefit for the others was still only subconscious; like long-needed rains on a dry, hard field, over time my words would eventually soak through and bring forth fruit. But as for Leon, he was already benefiting. Perhaps I had not given sufficient credit to Leon and other college students. Sure, their schedules are chockful of remedial coursework But that necessarily implies a prior foundation upon which to build anew.

I suddenly felt a little regret that Henry wasn't there. From the first time we met, it seemed like Henry was taking notes. I don't know if he has a bad memory or, like Walter, is looking for every "nugget" he can find. But I thought, if Henry were here, he'd've written my comment down word-for-word. Then there'd be three copies of it: 1) on my notecard; 2) in this secret journal; 3) in Henry's notebook. You know, I mused to myself, Lincoln wrote a few copies of his Gettysburg Address as souvenirs for people. And those folks really had something. Of course they had the general text like the rest of us, in the papers, in almanacs, in history books. But to have an actual handwritten copy from Lincoln himself! That'd be worth something for sure on eBay (assuming he also gave out a Certificate of Authenticity.)

And I really haven't been in touch with him, basically since that first time we met, but the thought of Walter passed through my mind as well. It's ironic: Walter talks and talks and talks. Pull his string and he babbles on. Leave his string alone and he babbles on. In short, he babbles on. He'll talk your leg off. Yak, yak, yak. But I stand here and say one little sentence, and really not all that fast; my pacing was just right; my tone was serious and grave; I wasn't looking to cram as many words as I could into 30 seconds, like one of those "Save like you've never saved before" furniture commercials on the radio. In a steady, authoritative tone; with crispness and conciseness; not too loud for the front row, not too soft for the back row, I said what I said. Then I paused to collect my thoughts before going on. This is something Walter should have heard! Not only for form and as an example of elocution, but for the content. Like Walter, I said a lot; unlike Walter, it only took a few words to say it!

Next I noticed some uneasy shifting in chairs. Had I paused too long? Really, it was only a few seconds. The record of it here makes it sound like quite a while, but the actual truth is I'm just a fast thinker. I glanced over at a couple of boys who were shifting uneasy, wondering if perhaps they were sitting on a little something that really wasn't all that comfortable. Could they be the ones? Or was one of them the one and the other was simply expressing discomfort for sitting next to him? Or, could it be they weren't that interested in what I was saying? Or, did the slight pause do something to their attention span? I know I've heard it enough that kids these days don't have a very long attention span. They can't focus on anything for more than four seconds, I think it is. And that has to do with TV, which flickers and changes all the time.

Perhaps the pause went on a little longer. It was at least long enough for me to notice the buzz of a fly that went from one side of the room to another. It flew right by the podium, and I probably could've hit it if I'd had a fly swatter and was in the mood to strike. (But of course I was fairly well occupied!) It's funny, though, how loud a fly's buzz can be in a room like that, even with a number of people. It just so happened no one was clearing his throat at that particular second, there was no shifting, no creaking of chairs, Leon wasn't scratching on his attendance pad, etc. This was one loud buzz, and the funny thought occurred to me that if a person was really small and was strapped to the fly's underside like Odysseus on the belly of a sheep, that'd be quite a noise to suffer, not to mention the trip across the room! You'd be like: this is not going to be good. But at least you know a fly can fly; they don't call 'em a crash! It's just that extra weight dragging the darned down that just might make it dangerous to anyone thusly attached!

I brought my thoughts back to my note cards. Speaking of dead weight, everything past the first sentence on the first card now seemed like so much excess baggage. This was one of those cases where more was simply more! To elaborate when the case is made would have been grandstanding, showing off. And I seek not the glory of the world. Of course I want to shape and mold young minds insofar as I am capable (and insofar as it is necessary), but time is short. Even in ordinary years 'time waits for no man.' Well, in a year like this, 2001 being it, time not only doesn't wait, it doesn't even show up in the first place! The sands of time are flowing from the top of the hourglass, then when someone goes to turn it over there won't be anymore! Under those circumstances, why be overly concerned if young minds are shaped and molded? In that case, the knowledge I gave them at its best would be in vain, kind of like a bowling trophy: fun to win but entirely pointless.

It made me wonder for a second whether Walter had heard any talks like this one at the prophecy conference. Probably not. The fee he had to pay, the expense of traveling to Dallas, etc., the great expectations of "nugget" after "nugget," would make short speeches unfeasible. If a prophetic expert rose, walked to the podium with a handful of cards, then spoke one sentence and let it go at that, he'd probably be stoned by irate delegates! The way I see it, people who are into prophecy want more-more-more. But when you really think about it, there is no more-more-more. There's only one basic course of events in time. And if it's true, that's the only timeline, the only story they need. When they're constantly filling in the details and elaborating on it endlessly, those may be interesting "nuggets," and pleasing to the itching ear of man, but they're unnecessary. This is not to mention the scandal that comes when they're wrong, as they inevitably are. It's tragic really, the money that's wasted by prophetic types changing their names every few years, plus the no-doubt exorbitant fees hypnotists and shock therapists are able to command.

As my thoughts wandered momentarily I looked over and saw Van, kind of nodding a bit. I thought that must be some daydream. And I really couldn't blame the kid. He's lost. And he's going to stay lost. I know the type: the drone/worker bee, the lowest caste, the guy who shovels the coal in the lowest reaches. Basically fit for grunt work. I'll bet his dad drinks beer. If you keep him busy till his muscles give out, you've gotten the use out of him that was of any use. Sure, he needs his little fantasies, his little appetites. That whole chocolate milk episode, what was that? but a carnal appetite. White milk is better for you. This whole space travel thing...if truth be told, he has no interest in furthering our great cause. All he wants is what he can get out of it personally. Little creep. But we need him, for the time being. Van is a kid who's a stepping stone to a greater glory, a glory he will never know and never share. He brought in the other kids. And while there's grunt work to be done he'll be here to do it. Actually I don't see many Pterodactyls in this group. Many lowly Hummingbirds (to be generous!) And yet I bet they'd squawk like Crows if they heard me say that, assuming they comprehended the insult! So...let him doze. Even when fully awake his life is a kind of dozing anyway.

Now it's about time to either continue the speech or end it. I've probably paused a few more seconds than I should have. This pause was kind of like the 70th week of Daniel, no discernible end! But they can't accuse me of not being thoughtful! I put my best into this speech. And heaven knows these little cretins don't deserve it. Even Leon isn't good enough for this material. This isn't your standard lecture in remedial reading. These aren't your problems for remedial arithmetic. This isn't your count of one-two one-two for remedial P.E. I looked back down at the note cards and thought something about this was inspired. And honestly I'd just sketched the speech out with the barest of outlines and then simply wrote it. No rough draft, no final draft. The rough draft was the final draft! It was that good! But maybe it was too good. And that's why I haven't gone on with it. You ever get those times when you just can't do something? It's legal, that's not the problem. It's ethical, no questions there. It's the normal practice. I've never heard of a time when someone stopped a well-written speech after the first sentence! People make demands, you know, that things be normal. And if you're not normal (by their definition), you get all the questions, like "Are you taking your medicine?" I hate that question, and I hate it with a purple passion. Whether I'm taking my medicine or not is nobody's business but my own! I was born free from medicine, and I'll live free from medicine or I'll die!

In a sense I'd be proud to continue this speech, I thought. There's nothing in these note cards that I'm ashamed of. The boys are gathered. And it's not like it'd be a great challenge to overwhelm them with knowledge. As far as they're concerned I could launch into a recipe for rhubarb pie and they'd think that was a great speech. Not a single one of them has a notepad like Henry'd have. They're not going to remember what was said. It's no wonder the little pipsqueaks never got anywhere in school. It's no wonder that rebellion is all they're known for. Come on, people, I thought, you need to have a little get-up-and-go! You can't just sit there like bumps on a log. You can't just take up space in a chair. Those wooden chairs your worthless hindends sit upon came from great living trees. Those great trees started as little seeds, just like you. But where they differed from you is that they grew and fulfilled their natural purpose. They didn't rebel from the rest of the forest, go off to some arcade somewhere, smoke, drink, and cuss, then to top it off fill their pants just for the dad-blamed cussedness of it all! If they'd done that they'd've withered away to nothing and you wouldn't have a place today to park your scrawny little carcasses!

But what do we care at this point? I asked myself. This is 2001, the last year for life as we've known it. It's too late to rescue them. But we'll have this little club for them, and let them perhaps accomplish some little bit of good for a cause greater than themselves. They'll advance in the ranks as best they can, and we'll give them a boost with extra points and busy work. That'll keep them interested. I might even spend some money and get some gold stars and some of those cheap ribbons that say "Participant" or "Special Merit." If I can find enough varied colors, that'll keep their interest up long enough.

So what should I say? Shall I just end the speech abruptly? What can I say at this point? Maybe it was really a mistake to start so strongly. But in a way I said it all! These thoughts were coming one after the other! And now, I thought, there's nothing left to say that I feel would do the beginning justice. So here's what I said, "My friends, I'm going to leave it at that, that one sentence. That will be enough for you to think about today. And if you do think about it a real lot – and we're going on the honor system here – I'll see to it that everyone gets one point. Each of you will get one point. And you'll all be that much farther along than you are now... So how about it? One point for just a little bit of thinking? OK? Do you promise you'll think about it? ... If you promise you'll think about it, and if you want credit for it, your one point, please line up right now next to Leon, and he'll mark it down for us."

They definitely wanted that point! Kind of reminded me of that old dog food commercial with Lorne Greene, when the dogs eagerly congregated around him for their food. Says Lorne with a laugh, "Look at 'em!"

Later when the meeting was breaking up I told the guys to come around tomorrow about 1:00.