Are you getting your flu shot? The conspiracy returns with a vengeance.

“We fight fire with fire. They aren’t the only ones with a supply chain.” Voice one.

“But the vaccine for this season’s flu shot is already made.” Voice two.

“But not…” Voice One.

“The packaging” Voice two. “How?”

“Inert compound on the inside of the packaging when it comes in contact with sterile gloves the compound get’s transferred. The sterile glove’s exterior surface becomes the mechanism for infection.” Voice One.

“Infected with what? Hope? There is nothing to counter the mind control elements of their compound.” Voice two.

“Paranoia. We increase the fear. Better living through amplification. We enhance the effects. Where their compound is carful, calculated and controlled. We push it over the top. The effect will be devastating. The careful polarization of beliefs and fears will escalate wildly out control. And most importantly, we remove the need for anyone needing a leader, a savoir. The other side wants fear to provoke the blind following of their messiah. We will give them chaos, where no one is trusted. Friend will fear friends. We will pit parents against children, all will be enemies of everyone. Let chaos reign.” Voice One.

“So much death. Wouldn’t it be better to try and control the situation, present our own leader our own hero?” Voice two.

“You think we can still control the situation, noble, but foolish. We are behind on them, they are ahead. We are in a speeding car, with no brakes, we can only try and pick where we crash. Our goal is to, survive the crash by deciding where to crash, and then kill the bastards who started this.” Voice One.

“My role?” Voice Two.

“Use the the test market.” Voice One.

“Delivery timeline?” Voice Two.

“15 -18 days.” Voice One.

The pause was so long Riley thought they had left. One of them cleared their throat.

“It’s that desperate is it? Leadership just came up with the plan? Was it even piloted? A proof of concept? Fine tuned? This feels rushed.” Voice Two said.

“No time, it’s now or never. If we don’t get it into the masses we’ll have no impact on the coming phase of Trifecta’s plan. We were caught flat footed with this.” Voice One.

“No we weren’t, we ignored the early warning signs. We should have been moving on this in December.” Voice two.

“I agreed then, and I agree now.” Voice One. “Other’s agreed with your assessment as well. You were elected to the governing committee yesterday. You’re to return with me.”

Again a long pause.

“After finish this task. It must succeed and we need the results. I’ll join you and the committee later.” Voice Two.

Riley waited a long time until both voices were gone. The room was dark. Fearing even to move, they waited. Focusing on breathing quietly for this long was exhausting. Time was limited, but in a war where information rules, getting the conversation out gave Riley plenty of time. Trifecta never used the same location twice, so there was little chance of them returning. Finally, muscles cramped into numbness, they carefully flexed to try and get the blood flowing again. It was some time before Riley could move, down the narrow ventilation shaft and head into the building.

The smell of salt water greeted Riley’s nose slipping out of the service corridor into the mall proper, they let a smile slip onto their face seeing the pirate ship.

“Pull your mask up or I’ll have to ask you to leave.” The mall cop said.

Jumping up, a blush lit up Riley’s face. Gripping the mask hanging around their neck they pulled it up. The euphoria of getting actual information from members of Trifecta made them sloppy.

With a muffled, sorry, to the mall cop, Riley headed to the escalator of the movie theatre, pulling their phone out, turning it on and bringing up the ticket for the late showing of Tenet, they bought some popcorn and settled in.

Be Well…dcd

Why does Banksy make me cry? (interlude)

Waterloo Bridge, London 2004

By Dominic Robinson from Bristol, UK – Banksy Girl and Heart Balloon, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=73570221

Sometimes we need to remember their are heroes who fight as they can, when they can, to try and save humanity. We listen to them less and less frequently now. Why?

Because we don’t hear about them. Our world view is carefully curated. The Social Dilemma outlines this better than I could ever hope. And no it doesn’t matter how enlightened you may think you are. Grow Up. (digression over)

Banksy has been and continues to be one of those heroes. The picture above always gets to me. For years I never saw the lettering. All I saw was the loss of the balloon, which for me was tied to my idealisms, my dreams.

But there are letters, and there always is hope. Never forget.

Be Well…dcd

Oct 11 2027 when email disappears…

I have a number of long term bets with various people. One of those bets is email will disappear by 2027. Six years is not a long time. But all things considered, email, not email addresses, will be basically gone by then. We can see it in how Virtual meetings, Teams, Slacks etc. are taking over the world. The only thing we use email for, is authorizing or connecting apps to us.

There was a time when having an email address was rare and people thought, what would I do with that? Likewise today we send messages through Facebook messenger, Slack channels, texts, or links in various apps. Don’t email me.

In six years time I suspect it will even be less. By that time our notifications will come primarily from the apps we are connected to, not the addresses we use. DM messaging will be the go to, not emails. For many people that is the way it is now.

The courts and governments will of course drag behind the rest. But banks, are already ahead of the curve. Why invest someone’s time to look and an email and process. If someone wants to send someone money, just direct transfer it. It makes sense. The people we pay bills to, want the money direct deposited, it saves them the administration of processing cheques or emails.

Emails for me are just becoming an alert service, this Twitch streamer is on, Oh Rogue Wave is live on Instagram, new Tweet from Andy Mckee.

Hopefully we will all be spending less time on email. Not so that I win a bet, so that all of us have more productive and fulfilling lives. Lives with real work in them. And not the mindless shuffle of papers, electronic or otherwise.

The random babble continues.

Stay tuned for Part Three of the Tribute to Utopia, the British series, mindless made-up conspiracy blogs of long titles in the near future.

Be Well…dcd

Hate in the time of COVID

A slight diversion from the land of conspiracy. Sorry.

The number one by-product of the World Wide Pandemic is hate. I’m not going to site any study or any personal experience. I will challenge you to look at your-self and disprove the claim. We all see it, we all experience it, some more than others.

Some more than others.

And if you don’t see that…look at who puts forth the most hate. What groups are investing in spreading hate? What good could that money do for the world.

“Love thy neighbour” has died and is arguably the greatest victim of the world wide pandemic after the deaths of so many souls.

We also see the rich getting richer. How can anyone be getting richer off the suffering and the death of others. Yet here we are, the rich getting richer.

All of this is self evident. A statement of the obvious. I hate it. I hate COVID and what it has done to all of us. What it has done to me.

In battles, throughout history, it is the foot soldier, the boots on the ground, the volunteers who turn the war into a victory. Each soldier, regardless of race, creed, color or gender deciding to make a difference. To fight the good fight for a better world.

Courage comes from our heart. A soldier fights for those they love. Who do you love? How far do you love? When do you stop? When does hate stop you? When does your hate stop you? When has my hate stopped me?

My weapons are what I have at hand, my money, my time. And trying not to become victim to my own hate. What are your weapons? Will you fight?

Be Well…dcd

Part Two – packaging in the age of crowded control

Some fun with made-up conspiracy theories in the time of COVID.

Recap

Season 1 – Episode 2 – Packaging

The number of people with income in the world not receiving a mask in a package is near zero. The problem was getting multiple masks into hands of the poor.

“We’ll give it to them for free.”

“We don’t have the money.”

“Well, actually we do, but we’ll get the governments and the good Samaritans to pay for them.”

“Impossible.”

Amazon's largest warehouse hub has a coronavirus case. Workers say changes  need to be made.

It actually was that easy. The whole plan was that simple.

Make a virus – check. Technically they didn’t make the virus, they just created an environment where it was highly probable to create a virus. And by highly probable, I mean certain. Saved a ton of money. And no scientists to worry about getting in the way when they developed a conscience.

Ensure it spreads worldwide through travel – check. Ironically the spread patterns were almost identical to how the board game ‘Pandemic’ plays.

Make everyone where masks – check.

It was mind boggling to the team. The country that creates the virus (China) is also the country you have to buy the masks from. (China). Talk about creating your own supply and demand chain…

Those that can’t afford masks get them for free – check.

So why wasn’t the program working better? By now we should be in greater control. Oh the success rates were great. The drugs were getting out, they just weren’t working at an optimal level. Some suggested that the control agents needed more time. Other’s starting working on mandatory mask laws which worked, and if it didn’t work, increase the fines until it does. It was quality control that discovered the problem.

“It’s the dam packaging.”

“What?”

“We tested the packaging to make sure we weren’t losing too much of the drug onto the packaging. We found a compound alright. Not our drug. Someone is putting a counter agent in the packaging, hell it’s in all the packaging.”

“What?”

“Can you stop saying ‘what’, dam it, this is serious. Someone is countering our plan by using the packaging that every mask comes in to distribute an antidote. The counter agent is absorbed through the skin when you open the disposal mask packages. And initial results are showing the interior of every Amazon package, every carboard box, each piece of packaging has been sprayed with a topical, skin absorbing anti agent.”

“If that’s the case, what about the all the anger and confrontations. How are we getting the results.”

“Our agent is amplified by the paranoia from being in isolation. And we’ve been dosing people for a long time. This counter agent is new.”

“Who?”

“The world health organization? No, but that’s not important right now. Management is pissed and want to know who is interfering.”

“Bezos?”

“Give me a break. He’s just interested in supply chains and being famous.”

“Then…”

“Yup, gota be the Revisionists.”

“I hate Revisionists.”

“Take a number.”

Be Well…dcd

A Conspiracy Theory in homage to the British TV Series Utopia – A Long Blog Post Title Entry

With the release of the US Netflix take on Utopia I was drawn back to my memories of the British TV series of the same name. Although the show was too gory for me, I did watch it all, captivated by the cleverness. Genius work in my opinion. But I’m easily impressed. I would argue it is one of the least appreciated tv series of all time. Yes, it’s that good, if you can get past the blood and guts.

Today’s entry is a short conspiracy theory for your consumption. No, not the disease consumption.

The basis of the conspiracy is of course the world order that controls us all and the current COVID pandemic.

Consider the following.

All the free donated masks, millions, perhaps billions by the time COVID is over or controlled or vaccinated against, are made in China or the US. Or a subsidiary of a company controlled by a large multi national. Further they are all made to the same standard. Each and everyone has a micro dose of a reagent in it. Can I prove this to your satisfaction? Doubtful. But you can prove it to your self.

The first component of the drug is inert and simply takes up residency in the muscle tissue of us all, building up with each disposable mask we put on. No noticeable side effects, or any effects for that matter. Fine.

Wave two or the second wave of COVID. Really?

Have you ever thought why there would be a second wave? Doesn’t it make more sense the infection would be constant, dependent on contact and spread? Why would it stop? There is no vaccine, there is no treatment, there is no herd immunity. The second wave is to get us to wear the second wave of masks. To get us to inhale the second component. More masks.

I’m going to digress slightly here. Bare with me. World wide we are all wearing masks. Why don’t we wear them every year with the seasonal flu? Are the 650,000 people who die to respiratory illness related to the flu not worth it? We all know COVID is deadlier than the flu. But think, if we wore masks during flu season. Think of the savings to health care systems world wide. The decrease in long term hospitalizations alone would save billions.

Have you figured out why we don’t wear masks yet every year? Neither have I. There is no good reason not to. Cheap health care. We should have been doing this for decades…we’re idiots.

The flu deaths, I would note, follow a similar profile to COVID: elderly or a pre-existing condition. Not the young, not the healthy. Oddly enough it is the young and healthy who threaten the world order the most. They are not controllable it seems. The last thing the WO (World Order) needs is a group of independent people who are free thinkers. People who use the existing systems for their own purposes. They who don’t vote, and more importantly don’t consume mass market products. These are the people who listen to podcasts of like minded souls, they like bespoke products. Or hell, make their own products. And they live in society. They are not the ‘off the grid’ whack a moles. THEY are becoming society.

A society that is mindful.

You may think it funny for me to say ‘they don’t vote’. But if you don’t get what you want, why vote? Their experience with voting resulted in nothing tangible for them. So why vote? There are other ways to game the system, to get what they want. Their numbers are growing. Simply look at the increase in the number of podcasts or micro breweries. The number has exploded over the last 10 years.

Jumping back to ‘why masks now, try and keep up. The highest levels, of the WO are under attack. In general the richest people can’t hide anymore. Reasons for this in my opinion:

  1. Too brazen, some of the elite have just decided it doesn’t matter to keep the secret any more. Too rich to care about the masses. After all what can the masses do? You only need to look at 45’s tax bill to realize this. You do the math. The turmoil in the middle east power structures is another example. The, ‘ I’ll just kill you ‘ mentality. And this is between their own elite with nothing the lesser of the elites can do about it. Three letters MSB.
  2. Lost control of the media. Everyone is a reporter now. The People are the Media. No hidden death squads, or people who disappear.
  3. Rebels in their midst. Altruistic members of the WO wanting change. Whose conscious is over burdened with guilt and can’t be killed. Because they are part of the media, part of the people.
  4. They’ve gotten sloppy. Gone is the cold war era of careful planning. Corrupted by their own wealth, they no longer need to hide.

Edmonton, Alberta Canada is known throughout consumerism as the perfect test market. McDonalds tests there, everyone tests there. And low and behold, little old Edmonton had it’s first race riot ever. Spontaneously two groups met in a the same parking lot and the police had to be called in. Never happened before. Never, ever. Except after a Hockey game…odd…

Anyway, they all were wearing masks at the start, masks that had just arrived, new disposable masks. Freshly handed out. The test of the delivery system containing the second reagent was a success.

Be well…dcd.

Laundry…

On the bed I see a shirt with a small stain on it. The blotch won’t come out, no matter what is tried. It’s a work shirt, simple, blue with a fine checked pattern, just enough to break out of being solid blue. I’ve had it for years. I don’t want to throw it out. There is nothing wrong with it, in my opinion.

But

We live, or at least I live, in a society where you can’t wear a shirt like that to work. Makes you look sloppy, dirty. Throw it out. We do that, we throw things out when they aren’t perfect. We judge others by how close they are to a misplaced concept of perfection.

Why?

How did I get programmed to throw things, anything, out when it is no longer pristine? The black shirts that aren’t pitch black, but faded black. Into the homeless shelter donation bag. Small hole in a dress shirt, can’t be worn. Scandalous!

I’ve noticed the same thing about fruit. When I was a younger man, it was common for me to cut out the bruised part of an apple. It happened regularly. A bad spot on a banana, just remove it and eat the rest, not a big deal.

Now, we complain about any blemish, on anything. We expect, no we demand faultless fruit. The right color green on our salads.

Its only a matter of time before we start doing this with people. Oh wait…

Amos Garret, a legendary guitarist, once said, ‘Don’t hide the mistake in your solo, play it loud, play it proud.’ or words to that effect. Those words have hung with me over the years. We are a people of mistakes. Our mistakes, as many before me have said, define who you are, who I am.

I don’t want to be an endless consumer. The slave of mindless consumerism can be fixed. Some would call it adopting simplicity. I call it doing the laundry. The mending of an ideal from my youth I lost along the way.

Be Well…dcd

Losing the glue holding society together: Coffee shops.

I have for some time contended coffee shops hold civilized society together. Coffee shops in many ways are responsible for the enlightenment. Now I suppose we need to review the history of the coffee shop to get a context for why.

Constantinople – 1475 – Kiva Han served black unfiltered coffee, made in an ibrik. The article here: https://tinyurl.com/y6dcprwt does a better job than I ever could.

When I read the words “Constantinople – 1475” I see a hazy hot day with the sun setting, streaming through the dust and the profile of an olive skinned man with black stubble just showing over a keffiyeh, squinting against the late day heat. He turns to walk into a coffee shop alive with chatter. Hand gestures emphasizing arguments, or just comments. He takes in the room with it’s maze of tables, organized as needed to accommodate patrons various groups. A subtle glance to the owner behind the bar, they nod back and turn to pull down an ibrik already starting a carafe of strong, cardamon laced Turkish coffee. Making his way to a table against a wall near the middle of the room, oddly an equal distance from each exit in the establishment. The two patrons at the table see the man, and as he arrives at the stone table, stand. One pulls out a ebon black chair out for him and as he sits, they move off to join another table of coffee shop philosophers.

Romance, intrigue, an emotional attachment is what I love about coffee shops. The words can be written anywhere, and I suppose great writers can write anywhere. After all Stephen King made his writing recovery in a laundry room. Would we have Harry Potter without a coffee shop?

But for me there is a romance, a sense of being genuine by going to a coffee shop, sitting at a table alone, arranging my tools to help plot the Martian takeover of the Lunar Empire, and drinking coffee while a write.

As you can see I have digressed, become self-indulgent, procrastinated from writing the real blog. Glue. A glue that holds our worlds together. One of the only places of common ground. Maybe next time.

Be a hero, wear a mask.
Be Well…dcd

Argh! My Muse is closed!

We all have muses. At least I believe we do. For me, and no one, absolutely no one who knows me should be surprised to discover my primary muse is the coffee shop.

And mine is closed.

I’m at the point now where I have to face the fact of moving my muse. How does one move a muse? One doesn’t.

The simple fact is writing is a habit. And like most habits, its tied to locations, triggers honed after years of development to allow us to get work done. The work of writing.

Secretly I’ve hoped the closure will be ‘one more week’. Just one more week and it’ll be open, and I can sit a table a write. Oh the glory of it. I can feel the seat, see the smiles, and the typing. The screen with words magically appearing. The best words, all the words, the words my story. (Yes I know the prepositions will still be missing…now be quiet).

The first taste of a pour-over coffee, closing my eyes and the brief moment of transcendent bliss. A slight inhale of breath with a slow exhale, a gentle smile of, dare I say it, happiness. The pause and then writing about Dyson Kinton and her crew trying to save the Lunar Empire from machinations of the Martian Marines. Or maybe it will be the completion of The Cocktail Mysteries Book One: The Case of Jonathan Smythe Concord, esq. where James discovers…

Perhaps I’ll return to Markaz, the first city where magic is discovered. Maybe we’ll visit Jorunn and Othin as they strive to survive being a channeler and forge who can wield all four elemental magics.

Maybe it will Tanner Kindly, trying to save the universe from falling into another diaspora by visiting retribution as the arm of vengeance for the Trifecta.

But I don’t have a muse, I’m not able to dive into the habit of writing. I’m in the habit of dreaming. Day-dreaming, wishing, longing for the return. The return of a table, a coffee and writing. The state of writing in dribs and drabs.

In case you haven’t identified what this rambling blog is about, its wallowing. And it’s not as bad as I make it out to be. I’ve actually gotten quite a lot done on the Cocktail Mysteries. But I long for a routine to make me more productive.

Becoming mindful of lessons learned and write. Your muse, my muse, will find its way to you, wherever, whenever you are.

Be Well…dcd

Some thoughts on why I’ve wanted to be a monk at various times in my life, another entry in the long blog titles series.

At various times in my life I’ve wanted to be a monk. Specifically to be left completely alone with my thoughts, to contemplate, to just be. I suspect many people have wanted this, just to be left alone.

When Iris Eyes Are Smiling…

Thought One: Why can’t we just be nice to one another? Really, why can’t we be good people, all of us? Fundamentally I don’t understand why people are evil, mean or abusive. It is a great weakness in my writing. It’s hard for me to understand and put myself in that place. I am referring not to a reaction state, as in when someone hits you and you want to hit them back. There are evil people, people who do mean things because that is their nature. People who believe they are better than others.

Where does this come from?

This thought can overwhelm my soul and drive me to the solace of solitude.

Thought Too: I enjoy peace, the place of the tranquil soul on still water. I am sure others, perhaps even you have experienced moments of tranquility. When you the turbulence of your mind becomes the flat still water of peace. I long for this when wanting to be a monk. The place of being in the still moment of nothingness. A place to remain forever. In my youth it was easier to find this place. As I have aged, my tolerance for people intruding on my peace has become nill. In fact I become quite upset. The once still pool of deep waters has become a shallow puddle, easily disturbed, muddied by the merest infringement on it’s edges. The isolation of the monk calls to me, assuring me the monastery can protect me from this.

Thought Three: It’s a lot of work to cultivate the peace desired in my life. I need to book a time, find a space, hope that no one is going to interrupt me. Do I have the tools I want to use ready, a coffee, some music and notepad. A monk is again protected by the abby. There is less struggle to create the sacred space needed for contemplation.

Some people will say I need to learn to meditate, I am not going to argue, but the point of this rambling writing is not just a an injection of daily meditation but a life of solitude and peace.

Living a life were the interruptions of life are birdsong and kettles boiling to make coffee, a dream, a hope.

Be Well… dcd