I am talking to you

You're standing in the street, in downtown hong kong. The ground is clear glass, and I can see below you as well as above. A vending machine dispenses coke, cellphones and iTunes. We pay each other for the privilege of our company; text the code from our bank to do the transfer. I walk up to my atm. It greets me by first name.

We listen to music in the elevator. Its NIN on xylophone. Head like a hole, by the Lawrence Welk Orchestra. The sixteenth floor. When the door opens, I remember telling my daughter 25 years ago, that models and actresses normally don't own buildings like these. How I told her there are only two kinds of businesses - telephone companies and banks. How later she explained how bills become laws, to my son. How my son tried to have a law about not eating squirrels because they don't have alot of meat on them. Memories are vivid now. They haunt me like waking dream. I keep myself organized through careful systems laid out over the years despite the fact that age related sickness now frays all of my perception. I shake it off. I will be talking to you. And it will be important, so I want to be clear. I take pleasure in bring clarity to you. Educating you. And because I have something to say to you, today, that might take more than three minutes so I want you to bear with me. And listen. But all of this is unspoken. The memories play upon my mind. Like the time you told me I was incoherent. And I was. Squirrels don't have much meat on them. Thats true. I thought to myself. .. I remembered the desktop with the squirrel at full width - its black eye looking at me. The nut in its mouth. The elevator stops.

The glass doors open and we sit down at the conference table. They're all there waiting for me to speak. I don't know why. I don't have any special knowledge or wisdom. I whisper to myself that I can barely grasp and remember the simple double overhand knot. or the bowline. I went to college for this? What knowledge is here that I can convey. I am unsure of myself. It is that moment of fear, that short, sharp moment in which I am not in control. I look for it. And just as quickly it is tamed. The room is well appointed.

The chairs are cool. Sennheiser Microphone. A touch control and the windows dim and the room grows dim. You sit across the table from me. There are six of us here. It's time.

I walk up to the white board and the screen descends. All of you are listening but I am only speaking to you. This is the first time I've told this story. I am certain that I can speak at least part of it correctly. I draw in a breath, and begin:

DNA noticed, once they left their comet and rained down upon us - that the the elements were forged a long time ago and left here for them very nicely. They mentioned something to me once, by the lake - that the first they rang the phone for us was in the number PI. It was a sequence - just like our own genetic sequences - that they told us would allow the dimension to be destroyed without destroying everything just like the bits and pieces of our own DNA are constantly destroyed in the act of replication. They stayed quiet. Until now.

I don't know why I am supposed to tell you this story. Maybe DNA wanted to choose this moment to kill off all of the internet porn and this was supposed to be the magic bullet. 23 Chromosone Council finally had enough of the spank the monkey gang that inhabits the net at night. 3 billion dollar a year industry. Maybe the council of the strand finally decided that they wanted phantom power in-line to the strand and had to connect it out to here. Writing us as we write them. Maybe The christ virus started this after we ate his flesh and drank his blood and took him inside of us to live again. Maybe they just wanted to give away the ending of the next harry potter book. I don't know. I'm just an empty vessel they occasionally fill up with liquid light. When it pours out sometimes it illuminates. Most of the time it burns lik lightning. I'm a messenger for a reason. I can't be any other way. I don't speak for them. I just relay what they tell me. I write, simply because I can't imagine not writing. The message changes and the words are formed for me, well before I am here. My job is to carefully transcribe it and bring it here. I am nothing. The message is for you. So on we go. (slide please)

This next slide shows, that the sun ignited itself because it was at war. The vaccuum used its energy to keep us all bound and it wanted to blacken everything but the sun, for no reason whatsoever, decided that it would open source life itself to the entire universe. This class G star long ago tried to reach its arms of warmth far into the distant blackness - as much as it can but its dull yellow sheen tells the entire universe that its really just a little boy sitting next to a stack of old, dog eared comic books. The sun dreams its a super hero. Even while its gravity wave was small. The sun knew that the wave would balance against the beast at the center of the galaxy. We are far from the beast now. The farthest corner of an obscure galaxy in a quadrant that nobody even worried about anymore.

The vaccuum enjoys keeping us where we are. Thats its secret. It doesn't like for people to be real with each other. It wants you to drift into your own downward spiral. A little circle that becomes smaller and smaller wound ever tighter around you until the circle becomes what? A point. And through that point there will be one line, stretching to infinity. That is the line she wants you to travel.

And the numbers of our dimension are broken off, bit by bit while the light breaks forth in the darkness - we will be safe. Because Ramanujan's sequences out here are just like our own. Like our hearts. They are made to be broken, just a bit, every now and then. The numbers seem to be junk, but that is sometimes where things really happen.

Its fairly impersonal at this point. But then, I turn to you. Every one in the room deserves respect, but you, I speak directly to at the end. Because its you that I am here for. They have simply helped bring us to this point. They are a network. But you are the one I speak to. I don't have anything profound to say to you I just look you in the eye and my weakness within me expresses that final thought. That. If I lose you. Then I am lost forever. I want your children stronger. Go read "Bringing out the Giftedness in your Child" by Dunn, Treffinger. I don't care about you. Go. Get a new mood ring,- one that can text message into your instant messenger chat window for you automatically. Or change color like the album from Year Zero. And if you dare - spend time with people that are strong. Go get a second life and tell them Turner Singh referred you and I will give you the money and leave.

And the secret was, that there is a second death. Offer up our suffering to the lost souls to guide them from purgatory down to your front door. Make some drama in your life? No. Two deaths. Second Death. The first death consists of two deaths in its own, and the second, total death. DNA said that where we are, this place consists of many lands, the whole church consisting of many churches, so total death consists of all the deaths. The first death consists of two, the death of the soul and the death of the body, so that the first death, is the death of the whole person, when the soul is without god and without a body, and undergoes punishment for a time. The second death, on the other hand, is when the soul is without the liquid light they poured into you at first and before you were born and even still. That light within. You remember the apple, in the tree. The red apple. The green leaves. How you picked it. And handed it to me. Like fragments of a dream. DNA told me it was their joke to let you dream, and that in those days, in the clay - I think we were just starting out from the clay like that - DNA were pretty hooked on networking to do it even. Energy driven networks of small molecules. They had fun making you and they like you to believe that you're really just one person so you can believe that you gave the apple to adam. In fact, you ate it yourself. You devoured it whole. You were the lowest in the tribe, you wanted to escape. You used your mind to do it. Good for you. But then that voice from the thunder spoke. Even the DNA stop and listen. It happens over and over again.

I am telling you what the voice said, only because you're asking me. Not because you care. You only have a little bit of life to give me here and I have taken it all because I was thrown from your breast and can never return. Because I was given a plastic fold up bag in a white plastic slit cylinder with an amber nipple instead of your own wonderful tit. Because I bite hard but nibble great.

The voice said that whatever day you eat this fruit, you'll die. Yep. The threat embraced not only the first part of the first death, when the soul is sucked out of you like an American Idol contestant on the st. augustine's cross - when the soul is bereft of that light and spirit - just that part . No. It was the threat embraced down to the second death. Which has no other death to follow it.

The only way you would understand is to make it a part of your life, and now it is a part of your second life. And so now you know that there is a second death. ... I turned off the projector. The pornographic images fade. They are now forever gone. I walk out and leave you all to decide what to do for yourselves. The images are gone. I remember a joke as I press the button on the elevator to go down to the first floor. ... it comes to me slowly. And as I walk alone, into the crowd - heading towards a noodle stand ... the words come one at a time. I wonder slowly why I always cross the chopsticks this way , a quick gesture.. just looking outside of myself and seeing the quick motion of the two chopsticks against ea. other - I wonder if there's a part of me that can actually count how many times one goes against the other... and so as always, there on the street I eat the noodles.. They're good. The joke finally surfaces, as I smile and watch the steam rise from the cup. It rises like a mist around the body of the young girl in the movie "300". And its a private joke that you will never know unless you dare to meet me, just once. In person. Where I can hold a cup of coffee up in front of you and between us. And caffeinate myself while I hear more about the "moods" that let you play pornographic lyrics over and over again. For fun. At that point, I will have you. That is why I am talking to you.

And then I disappear into the crowd and am never to be seen. Rushing to work in the early morning traffic of hong kong rush hour. The people above, dissipate. The words of the message fade..
For the overwhelming mass of humanity, there is the second death wherein their resurrected bodies will be subject to eternal torment by flames that will inflict pain without consuming the body [De Civitate Dei XXI.2-4], the degree of torment proportional to the extent of sin [De Civitate Dei XXI.16], although the duration is equal in all cases: they must suffer without end, for to suffer any less would be to contradict scripture and undermine our confidence in the eternal blessedness of the small number God has saved [De Civitate Dei XXI.23]. -St. Augustine. (cf. Stanford Encyclopedia)