Sunday, March 11, 2001

The guys came over today as I asked. I was in the mood for something different. It seemed kind of a shame to me that the world was ending and I still hadn't had a decent tea party. I remember a time as a child when there was a little set of dishes and we had an elegant time enjoying a pretend tea party. It was a very fancy, exclusive affair! The dishes were arranged on the little table. Then we drank the pretend tea and ate the pretend creampuffs. Very ritzy feeling, but soon over.

Over the years, then, I picked up a definite vibe that tea parties were for other people – you know, girls and guys who didn't care about their reputation. It was like all the other things I never questioned. But somewhere in the back of my mind I kept this thought alive: tea parties are for everybody! It burned in my mind: Why would a tea party be bad? Who is the Grand Poobah who decreed this? Show me his dwelling place! Show me the red carpet leading to his throne!

Then when I was in college, tea was kind of an in-thing. Along with yogurt. But people tended to drink it individually, not socially. Then coffee shops came in, and of course they're a big deal today. You go to a coffee shop today and you pay close to four bucks to drink coffee out of a paper glass. Not quite the same heft or elegance I want, certainly; and the ambience is never quite what you want. They might have a fire going, a shelf of books, a few comfortable chairs. But I can never get it out of my suspicious little mind that all they want is the four bucks; there's no spirit there anywhere.

So today I'm in this mood for something like a tea party. And I knew I would be, since it's been in my mind for a long time.

The guys came over. We let them congregate outside first, so they wouldn't be straggling in a few at a time, pawing at the globes or investigating the Hotspots of the World map. (Leon and I discussed it beforehand that they should stay outside. Even with a little snow they can paw around on the sidewalk, pat their arms to get warm, blow on their fingers, etc. It's bad enough opening the door once for a whole troupe of folks to enter, letting in the cold air, we definitely don't want the door opened a dozen times for the guys to straggle in.) Anyway, the guys were there, apparently fully congregated, so we let them in. Leon unlocked the door and they came in.

The group was added to, actually. There was a couple other guys. I asked them what grade they were in. One said fourth grade, but one said fifth. Here I thought I might lose it, but I counted to 10. I motioned Leon to help the other boys hang up their coats, etc., and asked the new boys to come to my office. I explained to them that one of our rules, perhaps our strictest rule, is that no fifth graders are allowed, and I hoped that they would understand. I said I knew they'd come together today and that they could leave together if they preferred, or the fourth grader could stay. They took the latter option. The fifth grader (with no hard feelings, but clearly not understanding the rule) left the building, and I let out a huge sigh of relief.

Everyone was standing around, so I said, "Guys, today we're going to do something a little different. We're going to have a tea party." There was some nervous shifting about with this announcement. It was like I had said we were going to play with dolls! Then I explained how good tea was and how much fun it'd be to sit around tables and drink it together. Plus, I said, "There'll be one point for each of you!" One point for each, just to have a tea party! That's a pretty good incentive, so Leon went and started the hot water. I got several kinds of tea out, flavored tea as well as plain (and green). We'd already been to the bakery, so we had several kinds of pastries, out of which I selected for myself the creampuffs.

Each child was a perfect gentlemen, as of course were Leon and I. I was impressed how they followed our lead of gracefully sipping our tea, nibbling at the treats, and carefully cleaning the crumbs from our fingers.

What a grand time it turned out to be! I think the guys really enjoyed it. I know I certainly did. We didn't ask for money. We simply enjoyed a splendid tea party for the sake of having a tea party! I had about four cups of tea, and I know some of the guys had more than one cup. And by golly I never noticed a single bathroom-type accident in the pants the whole time! Maybe this is what the world needs more of, tea parties! 1) It brings the generations together; 2) It restores decency, dignity, and elegance to the average day.

Finally it was time to bring the party to a close. Then at the end, Leon got his notebook and marked down one point for each boy. That made a total of two points for each boy, except the new kid has only one point! Slightly lower status for the new kid; I hope the others don't hold it against him too much; I'd hate to see him beat up over his slightly lower status.

Monday, March 12, 2001

Kind of a weird thing happened last night: night never actually came! It was daylight all night long! And on the other side of the world it was dark all day long! There's all kinds of "buzz" about it on the radio and TV, with eminent thinkers, prominent scientists, and preeminent officials very much in a stew. Somehow, in some weird way, it appears the earth has stopped; it's come to a complete standstill; it's not rotating on its axis although it is still orbiting the sun!

A consultant in the space program, a Mr. Harold Hill, has been on all the shows explaining about this phenomenon in the past at the time of Joshua and of Hezekiah. According to his calculation of the past, 24 hours was missing! (This was determined by computer!) Then in Joshua 10:13, he read, "So the sun stood still in the midst of heaven, and hasted not to go down about a whole day." Note that Joshua referred to "about" a whole day. That's when it was determined the remainder of the missing time (20 minutes) was from the experience of Hezekiah (2 Kings 20). Hezekiah asked Isaiah, "Let the shadow [from sunlight] return backward ten degrees," as a sign he would indeed live another 15 years. Ten degrees is exactly 20 minutes!

Now we have the same thing happening, and the thought has arisen in our mind that this could be a sign for this modern day, which we would further presume lends credence to the "2001 That's It" message! This crazy message is true, saints be praised, or something. Finally, we have all the justification we need for our fanaticism! Finally, I have something to crow about in the face of my many tongue-gnashing persecutors! I laugh at all the doubters now. Oh, those who said it'd never happen! "Oh, we can eat, drink, and be merry," they boasted (although not in so many words). All that stiffnecked rebellion, and earrings on men! Now there's confusion and perplexity among the nations, and this is our hour to boast and to crow, and to go perhaps a little wild!

In studying this out, we came across a very skeptical website: http://www.sentex.net/~tcc/joshua.htm

They say:

Well, we don't have all the reports in yet. But reports thus far are mostly reports of human panic, and confusion amongst wildlife. There is no problem with water momentum, no problem with wind devasation, and no problem with kinetic energy, except folks have reported a problem keeping their hair in place. I looked in the mirror and my own hair was standing up like Young Einstein's.

Basically we don't care about our hair. All we care about is our vindication. Laugh at us now, troubled world. Scorn us now, if you will. Mock us for our fanatical words and our tea parties for boys! We'll see who has the last laugh, as we believe (and know) it will be us!

Speaking of tea parties, that was such a nice time yesterday. And the boys seemed so happy about getting their one point. I'm really glad we did it before all this business about the world stopping came up, too. This is where things just might get hairy, as our frantic neighbors go nuts.

Tuesday, March 13, 2001

What a wild day this was. Of course we started off the day with this whole business of the world stopping. Seems like nobody wants to talk about anything else. And I guess it is kind of weird to go to bed at 10:00 p.m. with the sun still up, and then get up at 5:00 a.m. and it doesn't look any different. But it's really all the same to me, since I've always been able to sleep during the day.

The day got very wild when the "2001 That's It" website was featured on a couple of the morning shows. I was glad I had my "GoTo.com" associate box in place and my other money-makers. It wasn't long and the hits started coming in fast and furious. Soon all our servers were swamped. The perplexity this doubtlessly caused the folks out there gave me a secret thrill.

When I had some free time I watched some of the coverage on TV. Nobody knows what's caused the trouble and some scientists were wisely surmising it'll probably get worse before it gets better. I'm sitting here saying to myself, "Yeah, it's going to get a lot worse, baby." (Because I believe 2001 is IT.)

I didn't spend all day watching this stuff, but the coverage was pretty interesting. CNN had a pretty good collage graphic for their coverage: a small Solar System in the upper right corner and the hand of Michelangelo's God reaching across to it, then below that the stacked phrases "A Day Without Night / A Night Without Day". The music that went along with it was kind of grave, kind of like they use with a school shooting. Fox News had a small timer telling how long daylight had persisted, to the last tenth of a second, and you could see it counting up. They also had little bits of trivia in the corners, such as: "The normal day is 24 hours long" and "This is somehow the liberals' fault."

Wednesday, March 14, 2001

I know it's getting to be a bit of old news, but daylight goes on. It's starting to dawn on people that maybe something out of the ordinary is happening. There's a lot of talk now about the end of the world. It's so refreshing to finally get a hearing!

There's one good thing about it beyond pushing people into extreme apocalyptic fervor. That is, burglaries and crime in general are way down, at least on this side of the world. The reports from Russia and the far-flung regions is that burglaries and crime in general are way up. That to us is also good news, because any increase in general instability also adds to the extreme apocalyptic fervor.

I'm imagining myself right now up on a podium which the Great Speckled Squad has built. In my imagination, we have converted the president of a lumber yard to our cause. And with his conversion he has seen the futility of selling lumber. So he has donated all the lumber to the G.S.S. for the construction of podiums and other crafts. The G.S.S. (in my imagination right this minute) are big lumbering men who can swing a hammer and wield a saw like lumber jacks. They build the most enormous podium that's ever been built, bigger and more majestic than a political convention's. This podium soars to the sky. I'm up there like the preacher in Moby Dick. The sun, now 24-7, pulses in the noonday sky. The people in perplexity gaze up into my face but it's very hard to see because of the sun blazing just behind my head. I speak with the roar of seven thunders. I speak with the roar of seven tides. I speak with the roar of seven earthquakes. I say: "Friends, life as you've known it will very soon cease to be..."

Then I pause. There's a half hour of silence in heaven and earth.

During this half hour's silence, I mentally call out for the final destruction of all things. This is a sampling of my mental calling out: "Destroy all things, spare not, vindicate your right, bring judgment, loose your mighty sword, let water as wormwood flow, rend all things in two, overturn, pull down, trample out the vintage," etc.

During this half hour's silence, I fervently scan the mass of people below for sincerity and repentance. The mass of people goes on for miles and miles. This is more people than at an airshow at Richards-Gebauer. And there's not a portable outhouse in sight. And these aren't even elementary students. Nobody has to go – that's all. Because they're perplexed, confused, dazed, drive to distraction, they're out of their minds and temporarily not focused on the call of nature. I see in their pitiful faces much fear, but no sincerity and no repentance. My pity withers away, and scorn courses through my being. I look away lest I get very rude.

During this half hour's silence, I turn and gaze up at the sun. I stare deeply into its face. I see and discern every detail of its surface. I look at the sunspots and feel somewhat regretful they're not as bright as the rest. I watch solar flares jump a hundred miles off the sun's surface. I feel my eyes heating, becoming like glowing coals of fire. I know they're not burnt out but strengthened. Within my mind, I'm wishing the sun were just a little brighter, a little hotter. Perhaps if it were two suns, three suns, four suns, a hundred suns, a thousand suns in one big ball, that would be bright enough for me, that would be hot enough for me. But then again, maybe not, maybe I'd only want for more. So I gaze, and I gaze. I'm basically making-do here with just one bright sun, one hot sun to gaze at, and it's entirely inadequate for my eyes' needs. I'm saying to myself inside: I thought the sun was so big, but this little pipsqueak is like nothing. I again form a picture of the people below in my mind's eye and laugh. To them the sun is too bright, too hot, too big.

During this half hour's silence, I turn back to the crowd below. My eyes are blazing in red hot anger. As they gaze into my eyes, they see the two dazzling suns (one for each eye) beaming from my face, and the somewhat smaller (actual) sun behind me. My head is pulsing like that one ludicrous-looking alien on Star Trek during the last credits. But I'm beyond him in size, certainly in looks, and in pulsing intensity. My head is blotting out the actual sun, but the rays of my eyes continue to scorch and blind the crowd below. But then I suddenly start thinking to myself, perhaps I need a psychiatrist, perhaps my family is right, perhaps I should be taking my medicine, perhaps they were right to withhold Grandpa's money from me, perhaps the college was right to terminate me, perhaps my fear of fifth graders being traumatized is actually a fear of fifth graders themselves as the result of some issues I had in fifth grade. These doubts are suddenly gripping me; it's like an octopus of doubt that's got ahold of my head and I'm thrashing about, and I feel the twin suns in my eyes diminish in size, then start to fade, then to cool. Someone below shouts, "Hey, look!" My head is shrinking down to normal size as well, there's no more pulsing. Everything is just the same old same old. I just barely glance over my shoulder and catch a peek of the sun and it about blinds me. I look away quickly or I'll surely lose my sight.

Then I look down at my watch and notice – yes, just as I suspected – a half hour has passed.

But the gigantic podium is real (in my imagination)... hey, what's this? the podium has shrunken too! Everything is normal size. And the crowd is angry. They're running after me. I'm running behind the stage. I'm thinking, "This is just like Heaven, not a janitor's closet in sight" in which to hide. Then I shake my head and my imagination brings me back to what I perceive to be reality at this minute.

The TV's on. "This is now the longest day in history," Ashley Banlaugh of MSNBC says, and she's got the previous long days sketched out on a wipeable marker board to prove it.

One other thing to note today: Officials have announced the discovery of the cause of the Earth stoppage. Satellite photos show a giant angel at the North Pole, with its heels dug in. Those powerful feet (which I myself have seen) have disrupted time! I probably should say time itself to make it sound more important. This is great; I was saying all along that giant angel meant trouble for the world, and that it was just a matter of time! Turns out it was literally a matter of time! (Glad to see I haven't lost my sense of humor).

Thursday, March 15, 2001

TV reports today once again center on the giant angel and the whole time-has-stopped thing. Everyone's wondering what to do. Some want to blast him with nuclear weapons, but they're all afraid that someone with the power to stop the planet with his heels might be real trouble if he gets mad. Others advocate using conventional weapons, but then again what if we get him mad. It all kind of reminds me of old science fiction movies where everyone has one big problem and they can't do anything else till they get it solved. There's the old professor, the voice of wisdom and the only one that is able to sense a deeper mystery. There's the old professor's young, single daughter, who's also into science and is always around. Then there's the leading man who accepts the professor's musings on the situation, and finally is able to marry the his daughter. In our current problems there's lots of professors; we're just waiting for the daughters and the leading men.

Anyway, beyond weapons what should we do? Then it occurred to the powers that be that this is a spiritual problem. They arrived at this because angels are known to represent the dimension between heaven and earth. One old professor spoke up about the Greek word for angel also meaning messenger. The giant angel with his heels stuck in the Earth thereby stopping the Earth's rotation must be a messenger. The task at hand is to find out what his message is, then send him on his way. It may be like in the movie The Day The Earth Stood Still; the visitor will have a warning for us, such as stop building weapons of mass destruction or we'll "obliterate" you. And we're sitting here going, "We never really considered ourselves a rogue planet before." Anyway, it could be, we get his message and he leaves.

But who should get the message? Again, in the last mentioned movie, the monsters from space wanted to talk to the heads of all the governments of the world. But this giant angel, being a heavenly messenger, probably would prefer the heads of all the religions of the world. If we could just get them together, maybe that'd do the trick.

Well, it's worked out so far. President Bush has led the way in calling people of faith from the world to the task. Priests, priestesses, shamans, rajs, reverends, rabbis, itinerant preachers, witchdoctors, seminary presidents, TV evangelists, channellers, Sunday School teachers, yogis, archbishops, cardinals, popes, swamis. All were gathered from the four corners of the globe, and brought to Washington, D.C. The leader of America's delegation, the Rev. Pat Robertson, predicted great success with the giant angel. "If I can cure a case of knee jaundice 3000 miles away, I think I can handle this," he told his 700 Club audience. President Bush, reading from 3x5 cards, told the assembled holy men (and a few women) of the world's confidence in them, concluding with profound words that will no doubt someday be etched in marble over his tomb: "Good luck to ya."

The TV pictures showed the great spectacle of planes loading, the great religious leaders marching two by two into the crafts. All manner of colorful vestments, robes, leisure suits, loincloths, turbans were seen in the great parade, not to mention the Ahimsa monks of India who walked by completely naked; I was kind of put off by that; I mean, they showed Elvis from the waist up and these guys are letting it all hang out! But it was all in the interest of religion, the common good, purity, and humanity. It just brings to mind some possible interesting moments on the plane, with Pat Robertson engaged in a rich dialogue on Christian Reconstruction or the Ethics of Prosperity and he glances over and sees that draped over some guy's hairy leg.

Closer to home, a couple of the boys from the G.S.S. came over. They knocked and I didn't look to see who it was, then when I opened the door it was Van and this other kid. Van wondered if I'd heard that it'd been daylight now for several days. I indicated I had. He asked if we were planning any trips to outer space. I said we weren't. When I saw him starting to look just slightly disappointed, I said, "But we will be very very soon!" Then I explained how so many people are afraid about the Earth stopping, etc., and that the launch pad we normally use is all booked up with people escaping from the Earth. "We couldn't take off today if we wanted to," I said, which made sense to him. In the back of my mind I was toying with the idea...'how about turning him on to the wonders of gargling air? Or Element X and sunshine?'

Friday, March 16, 2001

Another day of daylight.

And on the giant angel front, he still has his heels dug in. You've got to admire his resolve. But still the world is wondering what could his message be. Or what's it going to cost to get the planet moving again?

The sight of the religious leaders gathered at the North Pole made for inspiring pictures. All those same vestments, robes, leisure suits, loincloths, and turbans gathered around, holding hands and all of them forming a circle around one of the giant angel's feet. Rev. Robertson began leading the assemblage in prayer when great thunder was heard. He stopped in mid-supplication. Suddenly the angel's voice boomed out: "Not you!" Then for the better part of an hour, those were the words he repeated over and over, "Not you! Not you! Not you!..." Robertson put his hands up in the gesture meaning "What? I don't understand." A few of the more wise yogis and swamis led the reverend back to his plane.

It came crackling over the radio then that they'd determined the giant angel didn't like Pat Robertson. The leaders of the world were debating among themselves whether Robertson had to go; most said yes, but that's where they parted company with President Bush. Bush wanted to keep Robertson as the head of America's delegation, thus ipso facto the head of the world's delegation. It was a matter of national pride, not to mention political debts.

Some of the others thought perhaps the Pope would make a better representative for the world, but he'd already caused enough trouble. Just to backtrack a bit, when the plane touched down at the North Pole, he'd bent over to kiss the ground and his lips were stuck! They wasted three minutes microwaving some water, then rushed it out with a cotton swab and even with that he had a little skin tear on his lip and a little blood.

But Bush said no to the idea of the Pope being in charge. (Remember, the man is virulently anti-Catholic.) Then something very odd happened. It seems one of the honchos from a major American energy conglomerate is Catholic. He called Bush and Bush immediately changed his mind. He gave the go-ahead to get Robertson out of there: "And I mean now!!" Talks were able to resume!

Saturday, March 17, 2001

It turns out we were pretty lucky when the Earth stopped that we stopped on the sunny side! There's been reports today of some of the turmoil and troubles of people on the other side of the world. Sounds like a good many of them are freezing to death. That's got to be tough, but them's the breaks.

Anyway, more daylight! And it's been pretty nice and warm, all told. Everyone's pretty comfortable, except it really would be nice at night to have the good old dark back. It's funny how you don't appreciate something till it's gone! We just took it for granted every night that someone up there pulled a chain and turned out the lights. And now that it's not happening, it bugs us.

Up at the North Pole, the talks are going on with the giant angel. The coverage through the day has been sporadic for the most part; at least they weren't showing it all; must be they figured if they had privacy they could get more done. So all we were getting were the hourly updates, and sometimes those aren't much, just "talks are continuing." Then came one announcement that the angel had actual demands, that his presence wasn't merely to communicate a message. And about an hour later we heard the basic outline of his demands: "the cattle of a thousand hills and the foreskins of 10,000 Afghanistan fundamentalists."

Even if this report is just half right, it sends signals about the giant angel: 1) He likes mass quantities of beef; 2) He has it in for Afghanistan!

I have another suggestion why the talks are closed. Probably the religious leaders realize they have nothing to bargain with. What are you going to do in the face of a giant angel? He's like the 500 pound gorilla in the riddle "Where does a 500 pound gorilla sleep?" ... Anywhere he wants! If he wants the cattle of a thousand hills and a certain unmentionable item in the quantity of 10,000, I guess we should be grateful he didn't ask for the cattle of two thousand hills and a certain unmentionable in the quantity of 5,000. It could've been worse; he could've left the Afghanistan fundamentalists out of his demands all together.

Well, it wasn't too long and we heard the report from religious spokesmen. And it was exactly as had been previously leaked. Now the problem was how to get all this booty together!

Sunday, March 18, 2001

The United Nations met today in special session to discuss the giant angel's demands. The Afghanistan foreskins would be no problem. But that many cattle?! That could ruin the world! Unless... and here's where the world's political leaders can get real cagey, as opposed to the more good faith approach of the religious leaders. Unless... what if ... what if we sent all these diseased, contaminated, foot-and-mouth suffering, mad-cows to the angel? Afterall, he didn't specify the kind of cattle he wanted. How were we to know? It was decided, then, to get together all our bad, crippled, pus-leaking, mouth-foaming, jaundiced cattle and send them to the angel; these are the ones we couldn't give away anyway; he may as well have them. And as for the Afghanistanis, are we really sure that's all he wanted? This is like Dr. Evil holding the world ransom for "One Meeellllion Dollars" when he's still figuring the value of money in 1967 dollars.

Monday, March 19, 2001

The Great Speckled Squad was called over. Leon and I were discussing it, that it might be a good idea to turn them on to Element X and trapped sunshine. The real trick would be controlling them once they learned these secrets. They might turn fairly sour in disposition once they learned the cosmic secrets. They might be like the villains from the bottled City of Kandor or worse. I said, jokingly, "Then I vill be responsible for unleashing on ze vorld a master race of super 4th graders!" Leon laughed, and for some reason jotted the remark in his notebook; just a little more immortality for me, I thought.

In our discussion, I really couldn't see any compelling reason to keep the G.S.S. in the dark about these secrets. My point went along these lines: the world as we know it is ending in 2001, these boys have no future in this world, so what's the difference? If they betray us all and use their powers for evil, that could be bad, but it'd be only for a little while. And think of the amount of good they might do. Then I shook my head. Why kind of good do we want to do? We basically want the world to recognize our prophecy as true, then as many as want to will turn and accept the message and get their lives right, with sincerity and repentance and be spared, be taken up on the last day. OK, that's the point, I gently reminded myself. So we don't want to do evil, but only good. Otherwise not as many would be spared. Ah nuts, I thought, this is getting confusing!

Then Leon had an idea that made a great deal of sense. How about we choose out an "inner circle" of boys, turn them on to Element X and trapped sunshine, and see what their resulting disposition is? That would suggest to us the wisdom of including the whole lot of them in our confidence. Good idea, I said. For some reason, Leon shrunk back a little, like he felt a little squeamish taking my praise. I didn't know what to make of that. Regardless, that's what we would do. And of course I was thinking how this would impact my legacy, how it was going to sound at our prophecy conference when we reported the things we were able to do.

We didn't do much with the whole group of G.S.S. members. Leon talked small talk to most of them, while I picked out three members to take into the office. I got their names: Richard, Jason, and Kyle. I told them they had been chosen to go on a long journey, and that they needed to bring just one thing: their families' photo albums, especially ones with baby pictures. Could they do that? Would they do that? Each one said he could do it. "Good," I said, "We'll meet back here at International Headquarters tomorrow at 1:00 in the afternoon." Then I warned them against telling the other boys, that they were special, and that they should make sure they went to the bathroom before arriving.

Getting back to the world/global situation, with the daylight persisting, etc., etc. As a sign of good faith, the giant angel has pulled up the pressure of one foot. Now the world is beginning to spin, but is only going at half speed. So night will be here pretty soon, but they're all saying it will be twice as long. So I guess we'll have a little taste of what it's been like on the other side of the world! Brrrrr!

Tuesday, March 20, 2001

[1:28 p.m.] There's five of us here at the International Headquarters. Richard, Jason, and Kyle are the G.S.S. members selected for the experiment. (I thought of sending permission slips home with them for their parents to sign, but decided it might complicate our lives). Leon is here. And of course, obviously, I am here. I'm actually typing this in while the other guys wait around. "Just answering some e-mail!" I say when they ask. "It looks like the guy who discovered all those 'Search Engine Secrets' has found a few more and I just to send him a note telling him 'Good job!'"

This could be a good little experiment in itself. How long can I type and keep these guys waiting? You figure I'm the brains of the outfit, that'd be something worth knowing. But, alas, so much to do and so little time.

[3:30 p.m.] We've spent the better part of the last two hours trapping sunshine and distilling Element X from the air. (Element X of course is the unknown element in air, and there's nothing like a fresh batch to really clear your head). The trapped sunshine I've got stored in a terrarium. I can tell it's the good stuff, because the plants are twice as big as when I put it in. Now it's just a matter of transferring it to the vials without losing its edge.

[3:45 p.m.] Kyle's dad called and said he needed to come home now. So the experiment lost a little of its validity. But if truth be known, I don't even remember what the experiment was for...so I guess we'll get along.

[4:30 p.m.] I've explained to the two remaining boys and Leon about what to look for in their baby pictures. The way to do it is to examine your own cuteness, of course, but also to focus in on the details. Such as, "those two eyes I had when I was a baby are the same two eyes I have now, those two ears I had when I was a baby are the same two ears I have now," then the lips, the nose, etc. Basically you're trying to blow your mind by connecting back to your earliest years. If we could find a movie of our parents on their honeymoon, that might really do the trick...but lacking that....

[5:00 p.m.] Everyone has gone to the bathroom. Leon and I took a regular dosage of laxative a couple hours ago. I gave the boys a double dose, not so much that I don't trust them, but you never can tell when prevalent elementary school social mores will kick in and wanton reckless abandon will prevail.

[5:30 p.m.] We're in our chairs. I look about the room. Leon and I in the back row, the two boys in the front row. Around us are the usual complements of pillows in case we fall. Each of us has the extra large size diaper on for sanitation. I'm thinking maybe I should make a checklist so that nothing gets forgotten. But the thought quickly passes, I think, ah, what the hey?

[5:45 p.m.] The four of us are ogling our baby pictures. It looks like Leon and I are the only ones taking it seriously. The boys seem to be trying their best, but I think they try a little harder when they notice me glance their direction. Having sufficiently stared at our past cuteness, having sufficiently recounted the identity of our past ears, eyes, nose, etc., with our present parts, I get the vials of X and trapped sunshine. First I ingest my portion. Then I'm holding my breath, and nod to Leon. He ingests his portion. Then Leon and I nod to Richard and he ingests his portion. Then Leon and I and Richard nod to Jason and he ingests his portion. Remember, I like order. It's one of my pet peeves at Christmas when everyone tears in to packages without any order. We want to see what everyone gets. Of course those were the days when I got along with my family, before they screwed me over with Grandpa's money and before they tried their level best to get me committed. It wasn't enough that I be dismissed from the college; my family had to come swooping in like vultures and kick me when I was down. ANYWAY, I like order, and it's good form to ingest X and sunshine as we did.

[6:00 p.m.] I feel myself rising out of my body as before. I look down from the ceiling and notice the other three still seated there. My own body is sitting motionless beneath me. The other three are not motionless. Leon is itching his nose. The boys are peeking back and forth at one another. I notice Richard glance back at my body. He looks a little freaked that my body is so motionless. Suddenly the thought occurs to me, what if these guys don't make it? That could be a problem. I could return to my body right now, but then all this will have been for nought.

I'm waiting around, hovering over the guys. I'm thinking of that day when a gaggle of geese flew overhead, when I was chopping the ice on the sidewalk. I was thinking one of them is going to drop something on me. Then I'll have a big white splat.

[6:25 p.m.] I notice Leon leave his body, just barely. He gets up about three feet, sees me looking at him, then his spirit return to his body like dirt going in a vacuum cleaner. The boys are still fidgeting, but look like they're actually trying.

[6:45 p.m.] I don't want to wait any longer. I fly off. I'm sailing through the air. The neighborhood quickly disappears, the state disappears, the country. This is really the way to fly! I'm heading for the angel at the North Pole!

[7:00 p.m.] Indeed he has his feet firmly planted in the earth's crust. The earth is not moving. Well, I'm satisfied, so I fly around some more.

[8:00 p.m.] Something is drawing me back home.

[8:15 p.m.] I get back to my place, and start to fade through the ceiling for a landing. What??! My body is gone!! I see the four empty chairs, the pillows. The only thing missing is my body! What could have happened???

[8:25 p.m.] Then it suddenly occurs to me. Those idiots didn't make it. They saw my motionless body. They've assumed I'm dead! I rise up through the house again, about a quarter of a mile into the sky and look off in the general direction of the county hospital. Sure enough, there's an ambulance with its lights flashing headed that way. It's daylight out, of course, so it's a little trickier to see. I sail off that direction. Obviously if I'm able to make it to the North Pole in 15 minutes, it's less than a five minute trip across town. I actually pass the ambulance, and now I'm sitting on the overhang at the hospital. I'm thinking, this could be fun. But I'm hoping they aren't manhandling my body too much.

[8:30 p.m.] The ambulance arrives. Leon is along with the attendants. Looks like he took the time to take off his large diaper and put on some pants. The boys are nowhere to be seen. They open the door and there I am on the stretcher. Oops, I have no clothes on, just a rather large diaper that goes up to my breastbone. That's going to be hard to explain. I decide to watch the guys work. They wheel my body in the hospital. I follow right behind. Right to the emergency room. A doctor is there. He rushes over and opens my eyelids and looks in. He listens for a heartbeat. He checks for a pulse. He taps my knees for a reflex. He looks in my ears with one of those ear-looker-in-things. He asks Leon if he's the next-of-kin. Leon says no, that he's a friend. The doctor gives him the bad news. "Your friend is dead." He closes my eyes, then reaches into his pocket and withdraws two wheat pennies which he graciously places over my eyelids. In a way I'm sad, but in a way I'm encouraged that this old medical custom is still practiced.

But Leon doesn't look overly sad. I hover over him as he jots in his notebook, "Looks like the project is ended with the death of Dr. Armstrong." I'm thinking: "Project?" Somehow does he think the end of the world in 2001 depends on my physically being here? That doesn't make a bit of sense. Maybe he meant he would have to find a new Master, and with so little time remaining in the year (9 months), it'd take him a bit of effort to work his way up in the ranks of some other Master. Maybe he could attach himself to Walter, assuming Walter is still in the prophecy game. Of course he is. But he doesn't exactly keep in touch, him and his prophecy conference in Dallas!

I wonder what happened to the boys. No doubt they went home. They're probably yacking it up about me in a big diaper. And now I'm in the hospital, dead. I look over at the sad scene once again. The doctor has left the room. A low level orderly is putting a tag on my big toe and wheeling me out of the room, doubtless to the morgue. Wait a minute! I think. I'm not dead! But how can I reveal that? This is going to take some explaining, but I'm sure I will come up with something.

I follow along and he gives some papers to a nurse, then I'm pushed into a little waiting alcove. It's not a morgue afterall. I guess that's just in the movies. The nurse calls one of the local funeral homes, and they're supposed to come and get my body. I breeze back out the other way and watch Leon, very dejected looking, leaving the hospital. He doesn't have a car of course, since he came in the ambulance...so he'll probably walk home.

[9:14 p.m.] I'm watching up and down the hall. I'm thinking I need to wait till the nurses go on a coffee break or something. I can't reach out and pull a fire alarm or something, because I'm incorporeal. So I'm biding my time... just thinking... looks like the experiment didn't work... well, just because I didn't get the results I wanted doesn't mean the experiment didn't work. It still proved something. It proved that a person needs to be very spiritually advanced to be able to leave his body, fly to the North Pole within 15 minutes, then beat an ambulance to the hospital, then wander around unseen while his own dead body is tagged and prepared for the mortician.

[9:23 p.m.] That wasn't long to wait. I just hope my computer back at home hasn't hung up and that it's getting all these thoughts. Try it sometime, it's really hard to think in a perfectly linear way like this and not get a lot of gobbledegook on the screen. I will admit it, I'm not so pure I don't look at those nurses and think a few romantic thoughts now and then. But notice how just by thought transference I was able to shut that out. I'm not worried about myself, it's the computer I'm worried about. It's got a lot of power, of course, but my brain is like a nuclear power plant and the computer by comparison is like a 50 watt lightbulb.

Anyway, I just wasted a minute. The nurses have left the hallway. Must be down at the nurses' breakroom having a smoke. But this is no time to ruminate over that. I need to get the heck out of here. So using a secret technique, I reemerged in my body. And since I only have this large diaper on, I immediately reach down and yank it off. Then I wrap the bed cloth around myself and walk nonchalantly to the door. I peek down the second hallway, and start walking. Everything is OK until I get just about to the door. An orderly appears and says "may I help you, sir?" Thinks I'm a patient. I bolt for the door, and he's right behind me. Outside I'm leaping as I run, still thinking maybe I can fly. Fortunately he drops off on the chase, and I'm able to get away.

Leon's place is closer to mine, so that's where I'm headed. He can help me with some pants and a shirt. It's just a matter of getting through his dormitory without the college girls catching a glimpse of my unmentionables. I'm knocking at Leon's door and he opens it. He is surprised to see me, but I rush in and shut the door.

[9:53 p.m.] I've been explaining to Leon that he shouldn't have called the ambulance, that I wasn't really dead, etc. I recounted to him that if anything like this ever happens again, don't tell anyone, just dismiss the boys and say Dr. Armstrong is sleeping.

Wednesday, March 21, 2001

After last night I decide to take a few days off and rest. Leon called, but I said, not today.

It wasn't all that restful, though, as I kept dreaming of my lily white dead body and that toetag. Parts of my dreams were very beautiful, but parts of them weren't very beautiful at all. I kept thinking, "I want to go home, I want to go home." But nobody would send me home. Each dream ended then with me dashing down a long hallway wrapped in a bedsheet. And sometimes I was being chased by an orderly, and every time I looked back he was about a foot behind me. I kept trying to leap into the air and fly away, but a large diaper was down around my feet and holding me back.

As for the beautiful parts of my dreams, I feel I should keep those in my mind only, adherring to the policy of "nothing blue allowed." Suffice it to say, some of the hospital staff aren't big and burly at all, but svelte and beautiful, with a bedside manner Marcus Welby never attained.

Thursday, March 22, 2001

I got a call from the hospital last night. They were kind of loud. I held the phone away from my ear and their squawking sounded like adults on Peanuts cartoons. Of course Leon had given them my name, and I still have the toetag to prove it! They asked me to hold for the doctor. Then the doctor came on. He had a few questions about what the heck had happened, that he'd declared me dead. I feigned ignorance, then joked, "I think I'll need a second opinion." Then I said I woke up in the hospital, was confused, didn't know why I was there, and left. He was a little abrupt (to my taste) in reply. But my superior, rapier wit carried the day when I said, "Excuse me for living."

Friday, March 23, 2001

I feel like I'm losing some of the focus of the whole "2001 That's It" thing. I guess I'm only human. So with all this world turmoil concerning the giant angel and the earth stopping its daily rotation, I've shared in it. For me this should be good news! And I need to keep that firmly in mind. Every sign, even fairly subtle ones like this, needs to be received, even cherished as a pointer from above.

So...to me...it's good news, great news that everyone is running to and fro, the whole gnashing of teeth scene. I'm blessed to see the world's consternation. In my mind right this minute I walk the length and breadth of the biggest city. I look down alley ways. I look through windows. I see people huddling together in fear. And I think, "Yeah, that's more like it!"

The whole experiment thing with the boys was probably a mistake. I can't really trust them to keep their mouths shut. I should've known better. Leon is bad enough. I guess some of the power of being their leader just went to my head. Maybe I even wanted to show off a little. But in the back of my head somewhere, being a hopeless optimist, I kept thinking if they had the Element X and the sunshine and we went out-of-body together, it'd be a beautiful experience for them; they would be transformed. I wasn't really expecting them to just sit and giggle, poke, and fidget. And now they have the indelible memory of me sitting there in a giant diaper, apparently dead to the world. Who knows who they'll tell?

I need to become more private. The whole G.S.S. thing will continue, but on a different basis. The boys must never be allowed into my confidence! It all has to be more superficial. More of the grunt work thing that they were created for...

Saturday, March 24, 2001

The world is quickly passing away. And the funny thing is that nobody seems to realize it, nobody but me and a few of the usual doomsday suspects. And you know I really need to appreciate it more that the ends of the world have devolved upon ME. I mean, to look at me you'd never suspect that I, Dr. Charles Armstrong, am the center of this vast cosmic drama. I mean, look, I'm rejected by the world, rejected by my family, rejected by the college, kicked down, battered, beaten, cut out of Grandpa's money, threatened with being locked up in the behavioral unit, just basically pecked on by the rest of the squad. I am the Great Speckled Bird, which probably I've covered already.

And yet... (I love this part)... I will say it again! And yet... (Ho, ho, this is beautiful!... This needs to be a "devotional interlude" in this "modern devotional classic" that the clawing, slobbering, gnashing masses will read when they've missed the first call out of the world...)

Friends, listen to these two words: "And yet..." Think of those two words. Let them come upon you. Let them impress you. Let them sink deep into your thoughts. Here they come again: "And yet..." Isn't that something! "And yet..." Have you ever really given those words any thought? Have you considered what I'm about to say about them? That we live in an "And yet" world? What do I mean by that? Read on....

We live in an "And yet" world in this sense: You can take a lot. Some say it like this, "He never gives you anything beyond what you can handle..." You may be rejected by the world, rejected by your family, rejected by your employer, kicked down, battered, beaten, deprived of your fair share of whatever, receive threats against your person and your freedom, and you may be just basically beset upon by the rest of your peers. "And yet..." you survive! You survive, and you gain new strength to face the new day! In gaining strength, the troubles are diminished. They may be exactly the same as they were, objectively considered, but to you a new day has dawned! And all because of this: "And yet..." "I went through this terrible ordeal, and yet I will be OK."

Hmmmt. That's precious. Who could know how precious? Or I probably should say, Who could have guessed how precious? It's only when you find it out for yourself that it becomes as precious as it is (to you). Think of the words again: "And yet..."

Now, in the world to come, in the days when the destruction is at hand, that'll be something for you to think about, to meditate on, to mull over, to let simmer in your cognition. Sure, you missed the first call out of the world. But there's still breath for you in the midst of the terror and tribulation. And what if it is a little sulphurous and hard to breathe? You're still at least gasping for air, aren't you? Even if the world as we knew it hadn't ended in 2001, with President Bush's war on the environment it would have been this way before long anyway. So breathe my friend! And perhaps you will make it... Think that whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger! Think: I've been beaten down, battered, etc., AND YET.... I will go on, I will survive... until the final judgment, until what I deserve is finally meted out to me.

Sunday, March 24, 2001

A day of rapturous misery for the world, rapturous for me.

I looked out my window and saw a cat walk by holding a dead crow. Very encouraging sight. I walked by a body shop just as they were dragging in a wrecked car. Gave me a warm feeling. The paper said bankruptcies were up and that the government wants to make bankruptcy tougher to declare. In my mind's eye I picture miserable souls wringing their hands and moaning, "How am I ever going to make it?" They open the cupboard and there's nothing there. That's quite a luscious thought.

Every sign of misery reminds me how close the end is. It is at hand, even this year. I'm getting my prophetic hackles up again, is that the way you'd say it? Or should it be I feel the prophetic fur on my back rising again? Whichever it is, I feel the prophetic adrenalin coursing once again through the veins in my head. That doesn't sound right. I feel the prophetic impetus throbbing in my very temples? How can I describe what I feel? I feel...prophetic indigestion? That's no good. I feel...prophetic dynamism in my spirit. That's pretty good. Dynamism, from the Greek dunamos, literally "the power that senselessly blows things up." I feel...prophetic moxie, moxie on the prophetic ball.

Monday, March 25, 2001

Yesterday I was writing about the misery the world knows, how rapturous this is for me. Now I'm getting it back, what I had before I lost it in, my energy somewhat dissipated by being together so much with other people. Leon and the G.S.S. will have to wait, my friends. I need to take care of Number 1 while letting the rest of this evil, dark world go. For all I care today, the G.S.S. can take a long walk on a short pier. When I think of Leon right this minute I'm reminded of the old cartoon of the middle-aged man with his wife at the Grand Canyon. He's taking a picture of her and says "Back just a little more, dear." In other words, if Leon suddenly fell off the edge of the world into the abyss, I wouldn't care.

But tomorrow maybe I'll love him again. It's just lately I've been thinking 'why bother with all these people?' Is grunt work that important? Do I really need to hold a prophetic conference just to get in good with the likes of Walter? What's he really ever done for me except encourage me there for a day or so...actually it was a day. I was thinking 'he'll talk my leg off,' but then he basically withdrew and we haven't been together since. I'm losing track, though I see his truck at Hardee's occasionally. he seems to drink an awful lot of Hardee's coffee, and on a junkman's salary. It makes me wonder where he gets all the money to go to prophetic conferences and buy all those books and drink all this coffee, unless junkmen make more than I imagine. Maybe he inherited it, which some people do, which I should have done with Grandpa had it not been for my backstabbing family.

Anyway, when I was writing about the world's misery I cited only trivial, local examples of misery. But the world has lots of misery on the larger scale as well, with all this foot and mouth disease. Animals are dropping dead by the thousand. And of course people are miserable about the world stopping, and now just recently it's going again. There was a big to-do about that, to be sure! I don't know that it really helped, but it was a good sign that the end is at hand...didn't help that much because people persist in their rebellion.

Tuesday, March 26, 2001

Leon called and said he was coming over. I'm not really up for it. I don't know why I'm so depressed. Maybe just not enough bad news in the world to keep me happy. The full prophetic gastank I had the other day seems to have had a leak in it.

But I said 'sure, come over.' I look around the room, the international headquarters, and it's all kind of shut-down. I'm like Jeremiah in the cistern. But I plugged in the wall-map, the hot spots in the world. I guess I still care about it even if it's sham. And of course Leon knows what it's all about.

The boys maybe have moved on. The word no doubt got around to some of the parents about the experiment the other day. You never know because people don't always tell you things. They think you're weird or something. Which could be why people seem like they're staring at me more when I'm in the grocery store...

He'll be here in a bit, no doubt. I don't know what we'll do. Just I don't think I'm going to mask it that I'm basically down.

Wednesday, March 27, 2001

What a huge surprise yesterday afternoon! When Leon came over it was with a surprise, like the surprise ending the world is going to get yet this year. This I definitely wasn't expecting. Leon showed up looking all hangdog and I knew he'd be the death of me yet. But it was all staged, all an act, all carefully choreographed and produced to drive me slowly out of my mind. The young assistant wasn't hangdog at all. Instead, he was hoping to bring me up from my self-induced doldrums.

And his surprise was "the perfect tonic," as Grandpa used to say. In Grandpa's way of talking, I could let my imagination go here, this was a perfect batch of homebrew, "Dr. Leon's Perfect Rejuvenating Tonic and Elixir," dispelling doldrums and replacing that ho-hum malaise with joy and radiance. Oh, I didn't know this is what I wanted, or what I needed, but in this case Dr. Leon certainly knew best!

The surprise ending came just as I was about ready to tear the Hotspots Map of the World off the wall and admit to the sham. I was a little disappointed Leon didn't have his pad and pen out to document exactly how I went about it, which corner I tore first... But it didn't finally matter, because I didn't finally tear the map at all. Maybe he saw how far gone I was and knew right then he must remove the facade, the fake hangdog look and reveal his plans for the afternoon. At any rate, that's precisely what he did!

Leon said "Wait!" I froze in my tracks as I had been steadily advancing, ever with menacing steps and a look on my face that could kill, toward the Map of the World. At his barked command I felt two senses: 1) hostility, that an underling, a mere grunt worker should tell me, the Great Doctor Charles Taize Armstrong what to do; 2) relief, knowing that I was spared from a possibly rash action and that perhaps the end was not yet. Anyway, relief was the final verdict, as I was delighted with what followed.

Leon opened the door and in marched the boys, the entire Great Speckled Squad, all accounted for. I was like in one of those shows where a person is very overcome with emotion and sort of sputters out his words in short, hard-sounding syllables: "Wh--? Huh? Buh?," etc. My gestures matched, with that kind of random flailing that comes to a person when he is both nonplussed, perplexed, and happy. Had I been a trumpeter swan I would surely have blown my own horn.

The boys stood around, grinning. They had big grins on their face. For them I guess this was the perfect denouement to the last 25 minutes, the time it must have taken Leon to get them all outside in one group. Apparently he'd explained to them that this was a surprise, because there was not a peep out of one of them till I saw them stream into the room. Now there was a general hubbub.

Leon called attention with a raised index finger, and said, "Wait! There's more!"

"More?" I thought. I hadn't been this excited since I heard Mad Cow disease affected sheep too.

Leon went back into the hall and came back in pushing a tea tray, laden with creampuffs and two teapots. And now I knew there was love. Genuine love of disciple for Master, of the Speckled Squad for their Bird Commander. I quickly counted my blessings. Leon and I then shared a couple glances through the blank bit of air between us, over the heads of the boys, each one jumping for joy. He motioned with his head in a very pronounced way at the Hotspots Map, and I knew what he was trying to say. I motioned back in kind and jutted out my lip to indicate profound relief. The map never looked more beautiful or more meaningful as it blinked out the various trouble spots around the globe.

I shouted out, "A point for everyone!" And there was a general melee of squeals, such delight at the thought of making me happy (1), and receiving that extra point (2) toward full Pterodactyl status in the Great Speckled Squad, the finest group of boys ever assembled -- and that takes in the entire history of Boy Scouts -- and the finest leaders ever, myself and Leon.

We settled down for a splendid tea party, and I ended the session with a short talk on how perplexed the nations will be later this year when the tumult comes.

Thursday, March 28, 2001

What's-his-face – Van – was the only one who didn't seem to be having a good time. Which made me a little nervous, since his background isn't that great. He's the trouble child, the one who had the trouble with the chocolate milk at school. Poor kid probably can't help it that he's a pain in everyone's rearside. Maybe they dropped him when he was a baby. Anyway, he was looking a little more sullen than usual...and to think he's the one who brought the other G.S.S. members around! I asked him what was the problem. At first he said "nothin'," but with a little more persistence I got it out of him that he'd been looking forward to space travel. He even said, "You promised."

I think I was pretty fast off the mark in defusing what could've been a problem situation. I said, "Absolutely!" He was a little surprised, the way I took it, since maybe he was seeing through the sham. I repeated, "Absolutely, we'll need to do some repairs on the satellite very soon." I then went on to explain that it wouldn't be my fault if he wasn't here when we left, so he needed to be responsible and extra vigilant that he was present at that time.