Louis Bentley's Journal 01

The following is entirely fictional. Any similarity is entirely coincidental.

Louis Bentley - Case Files

Episode One

Louis Bentley’s Journal.


I’ve always wanted to be a writer. But, it wasn’t as lucrative as I thought. Besides, I didn’t have anything to write about. Over the past thirty years, however, I’ve come across a lot to write about. Too much actually.

I’ll start with one of my more recent cases.

June 3rd. The case of Emily Blonde. She was a thirteen year old girl. Kidnapped and held for ransom. Her family was rich. Father had some government connections. The police weren’t involved. They weren’t even informed.

Somehow along my thirty years as a private eye I had developed some sort of reputation catching cheating wives and husbands and interfering with police business on certain homicides. That’s why the mother came to me. She was beautiful. Mid thirties, long slender legs and her waist was thin. So thin, that her hips stuck out in a sexy way. I could balance my coffee mug on her ass. She came to me with the news that her daughter, Emily, had been kidnapped. She had explained how she knew it was a kidnapping. Quite simple really, a ransom note and her husband knocked out and tied up in the trunk of his own family van. Apparently he was picking her up from a soccer game when the kidnappers nabbed him and got the girl.

They had threatened the father with something political. She didn’t go in to details, but, from what I understood, a lot of big people would end up in small jail cells. He told his wife to remain calm because he’d find a way to get her back. He told her to be strong, and believe in him, and most important, to keep her mouth shut. He couldn’t pay the ransom; apparently he didn’t have that kind of money to throw away. Amateur fucking kidnapper’s asked for a ridiculous amount. Word had got to them that Mr. Blonde had recently been given a large amount of cash to hold for a political body. Problem was: he had to show statements of his bank balance. So, he couldn’t use that money. Kidnappers didn’t care. I’ve seen this kind of thing before. Without my help, little Emily was guaranteed dead. There were possibly two or more people involved in the kidnapping. One, without a doubt, would be a pussy and start to worry too much making the other two consider what they’ve done. In the end, because it’s their first kidnapping, they’d kill her, against the one pussy’s wishes, simply to “cover all their tracks and leave no evidence.” I needed to act fast. If she was lucky, they’d get stupid and kill each other.

Mrs. Blonde lasted three days, no news from her husband and three calls to Emily’s teacher, lying that poor Emily hadn’t gotten over that bad flu, had finally taken a toll on her conscience. After that, she had lost faith in her husband’s capabilities and came to me in secrecy. She offered big money, but, that wasn’t why I was in to this case. Something about young girl and kidnapping with a side order of possible rape makes me sick to my stomach. I jumped at the opportunity to get involved before my friends at the station caught on to the disappearance. They’d be nothing but a nuisance. The reason I left the force: too many idiots playing Rambo, but, basically just getting in my way.

It took me a whole night of watching the house of Mr. and Mrs. Blonde before I figured out that no one was coming here to monitor the parents. Weird, usually they would send one person to watch the home from a distance. Just to make sure there was no police getting involved. Usually the worried pussy was the candidate to send. Just to get his whiny ass out of the way. I could imagine three masked kidnappers arguing on what to do next. Makes me laugh a little. Idiots.

No luck at the house, I ended up going to the school. I couldn’t go through the proper channels to get permission to view the security tapes. So, I broke in and stole them. I had standards when I started this business, but, I realized over the years that sometimes it’s easier to just break the rules in order to get a job done. After all, Emily’s life was in my hands now. I had to do what I do. The school would report a break in and security tapes being stolen would trigger a police response. They’d look at charts and find students absent from school and they’d find out about Emily. Mr. and Mrs. Blonde would receive a warning note from the kidnappers. Faggots wouldn’t have the balls to kill her yet, besides, they wanted the money. So, a warning would do fine for now. The newspaper would find out and it would leak in to the general public, the kidnappers will begin to freak out. I’ll find them and take them down and rescue the girl before the police do. To cover up the break in at the school, I will plant the stolen tapes in the kidnapper’s hideout. It’s wrong, I know, but it needs to be done. I will not go to jail for saving a life. So, I’ll lie to save my ass. All this from a small break in at a school. It’s good to know how these things play out.

I reviewed the tapes for around six hours. I got the EC-32 camera tape. EC-32 meant Exterior Camera number 32, for those of you wondering. This camera had it all. Mr. Blonde pulled up to the sidewalk in his van and waited for Emily to come out from the school. While waiting, a beautiful young woman with sunglasses and a baseball cap with long black hair running over her shoulders, probably a wig, tapped on his window. He rolled the window down and she sprayed him with knock-out gas, probably homemade, he fell limp in his seat. A second accomplice ran up on along the passenger side of the van and got in. The black haired woman pretended to be talking to the driver while her body conveniently covered the window from the view of the school doors. Emily emerged from the school and the black-haired woman glanced over her shoulder at her. Emily assumed it’s a friend of her father. She approached the woman. As soon as she’s close enough, the black-haired woman side stepped quickly, the accomplice, who had moved Mr. Blonde to the passenger seat already, sprayed some more knock out gas in to Emily’s face. Emily stumbled back, too shocked to scream. Suddenly, she begins to wobble as the drug kicked in. The woman held on to Emily and brought her around the back of the van where she shoved her in to the trunk. The woman got in to the backseat and the van sped off. It was quick and simple, but, still amateur. The whole thing took less than thirty seconds. As for the van, they obviously switched later, leaving Mr. Blonde tied up in the trunk. As soon as they sped off, another young girl stepped out of the school and watched them disappear around the corner. She ran out to the road shouting at them. No sound on my old hardware. From the look of it, this was one of Emily’s friends. It is possible that she was supposed to hitch a ride with Mr. Blonde.

I made a call to Mrs. Blonde who gave me Emily’s best friend’s name: Sarah Ashe. Mrs. Blonde left a photograph of Sarah under the doormat of the house. That way her husband wouldn’t find out she had gone to me. The next day, I had to find a way to talk to Sarah in school without looking like a pedophile.
I caught about an hour’s worth of sleep and headed to Mrs. Blonde’s house to get the picture. Then, I made my way to the school entrance and waited for Sarah to show. The girls started arriving at the school at about 8:15 a.m., Sarah showed up promptly around 8:45 a.m. She was the same girl from the photo, shorter hair now. Classes started at nine. Before I could get to her, she was in a group and already inside the school. I had to catch her alone at some point. I felt like I, Louis Bentley, was going to school for the first time again, difference was: it was an all girls’ school. It was going to be difficult, I knew that much.

To be continued…

When you least expect it...

When you least expect it, the world shovels another pound or two of shit on you.

You'd think you get used to it after 21 years, but, no. It still sucks like a bitch. Makes me wanna beat the hell out of a glove compartment. Why a glove compartment? Because, fuck you that's why!

[Pause]

For now, I will have to suffer the wrath of my financial adviser as he rips a new asshole in to the center of my face and proceeds to fuck it. Oh, what a cheerful image. What can I say? I am bad with numbers. I've tried on many occasions. It's not rocket science or quantum physics, it's simply in and out. Shit, I have problems with basic math.

In the meantime, I will pass my time by doing what I do best: writing fictional tales of people suffering through their own problems. No matter how severe; their lives always seem better than mine. Or, at least, their problems are more interesting.

I've shaved sugary silver droplets of crap before, looks like it's time to pull another rabbit out of my ass.

Good grief, Snoopy! You look like shit!
Fuck you, Charlie Brown! I sleep on top of my damn doghouse!
Why do you do that?
Because your mother won't get out!

Another chunk of brain droppings.

Sigh, I guess it all comes down to faith again. I believe. Without a doubt. I've just grown weary of the tests. Mother says it's the devil trying to hinder us. Well, he better stop before I go down there and fuck him. Mafia style: Bitch, where's mah munney? Don't make me ask you again, muhfucka! Where! Is! Mah! MUHFUCKIN' MUNNEY, muhfucka?

Until I find time to write again, I say goodbye to my faithful following of readers, and while you're here, please comment.

Doctor Gill says

~love yourself~

Fuck Snoopy.

PACHO : A Brief Look at Parkash Singh Gill, My Father.

Today, 9th July 2009, is my father's death anniversary.

I wanted to post a long story, but, I decided instead to keep it simple. I'll show you my father, and you'll see how much better looking he is than my bother and I. When we were growing up, he used to call my brother Beta, and he used to call me Juju-mujhe. He was hard on us growing up. More on my brother, I learned from my brother's mistakes. Example being : DO NOT PUT KITCHEN ON FIRE and you won't get your ass handed to you. But, before anything, he looked after us. And I think, most important, is that compared to alot of people my brother's age and alot of people my age, my father Parkash Singh Gill taught my brother and I how to be men and not boys. To carry our feet when we walk. To shake a hand with a firm grip. To raise our chins to any challenge. Fear nothing. To be humble. To show respect. To be respected. To pull out chairs. To open doors. To love. To help others in need. And most of all, to never give up. Never surrender. And know how to lose with dignity, no matter how painful, as long as you gave it your best.

This was my father's basic nature. I can only hope I can live up to it as he did.

He was a good man. He is greatly missed. And we love him. As always.

I present:
(all images can be clicked on for a higher resolution image.)

Pacho. My father.

13th July 1968, my father at age 16.

Left: My father, September 1973. 21 years old. He had more facial hair than I did at that age.

Right: I'm assuming my father was in between age 21 - 25 here. Probably in India.


My father and his friends, I am assuming this is in India as well. Or maybe somewhere in Malaysia.

Left: Dad is on the left, and this is one of his college friends I think.
Top: Dad at a beach party trying to get a fire started I think.




Left: 1965, my father's parents. Sohan Singh and his wife Puran Kaur. My grandparents.
Middle: My father at (I'm assuming) a party. He looks cool.
Right: My father holding on to my brother and my eldest cousin, Lisa. He loved kids.

My father holding on to me. He looks happy that he had another son. I look, well, like a blur little boy.






My elder brother. My father's firstborn.













Left: My beautiful mother, I think roughly around the time dad fell in love with her.
Middle: My father, at the stern as he teaches a class.
Right: Work hard, play hard. Dad, having a good time.

Last but not least, is my favorite picture of my father and I. I hope it makes you laugh as much as it makes me laugh.


That's a cigarette in my mouth by the way.

My father had a few things that he used to say often, here they are:

"The truth will always prevail."
"Shoot to kill."
"I am Sohan Singh's son!"

So, I say it proud, as my father said it proud:


I AM PACHO SINGH'S SON!

Don't you forget it.

Love you, Dad. Miss you like hell.

- Julian Gill.

8 Days and Counting

I'm bored.

It seems I've been doing the same thing for the past three days: trying to get Premiere CS4 to fucking work. Pain in the ass. Really. Can't wait to start the new job. Also, looking forward to the 15 day free spot. Catch up on some backdated personal projects.

Oddly, I thought my last few days here would be more epic than this. It's the same thing. I'm trying to finish the job before I leave. But, I don't know whether that's possible given the circumstances.

On a good point, I won't have to deal with that fucker [name], the sound guy. He's been giving problems these past few days. Infuriating. He behaves like a child. Sometimes, I wish he was a child so I can punish him by taking away his candy and watching him cry till he realizes where he went wrong.

Fucking punk.

Saw the legendary Raging Bull film last night. Superb. Scorcese's best film, they say. I might agree. To me, Scorcese's best film was and will always remain to be Goodfellas.

But, enough of that. I have much to do. I think? It is quite repetitive to sit here and wait ridiculous amounts of time for a project to load, even though when it's done loading, if ever, it crashes immediately.

The people at Adobe are following in the same footsteps of Microsoft. There's no customer support for these major issues. Forums suggest I am not the only guy facing these problems. Looking forward to using FCP on a Mac. The new job is giving me a Macbook. I am usually anti-mac, but, the idea of getting one for free makes me a little bit horny. Besides, if it can edit and play games and let me write with no problem, then maybe I'll make the total switch over to the white side.

But, I doubt it. As bad as Windows is, I just feel comfortable with it.

GENERIC HOST PROCESS for Win32 Services has crashed. Hmm, there goes audio till a reboot.

sigh.

Doctor Gill says:

Be a chimera and choose a 'self'. Hehehe.

~love yourself~

sideways.

Another Dream

I woke up breathless. Heart beating furiously. I lay back in my bed and sighed relief. I got out of bed, grabbed my last cigarette and entered my smoke chamber (bathroom) and relived the dream in my head...

I crawled in to bed and put my head on my pillow and before I knew it I was out.

The dream started simple, like any other. I was in Subang, as usual. The streets below the office. I wandered around in the streets and ended up in my room again. With a friend, no names mentioned, he was trying to roll a weed blunt. He did it successfully. I was cleaning off my desk wiping loose strands of tobacco from the wooden platform.

I said goodbye to my friend as he stoned off on my bed, and headed outside again. Back to the streets of Subang. Walking through Subang Square and out to the other side where the shoplots are. For some reason, there was a very nice outdoor coffee shop in the corner lot, where the TBS building should be. Oddly, the entire mood and scene reminded me of a romantic evening in France streets. Anyway, I walked through the coffee shop and headed right around the corner. In the distance, along the row of shops, I noticed a bun shop named 'Happy Times Buns'. It was obvious to me the shop was a weed spot under cover of a bun shop.

I entered and saw people feasting on their toasted butter buns. They sure did smell good. Reminiscent of Rotiboy. I looked in to the kitchen where the bun makers worked endlessly. Lab coats and surgical masks on with hair bags. Look more like a science facility than a bun kitchen.

Near the back of the kitchen was an older Chinese gentleman. He looked at me expectantly. I gave him a slight head nod and he understood why I was there. He made his way toward me with a smile on his face. Pointing at the buns on a tray he asked "any order?"

To keep it a nice pleasant visit, I answered " yeah, give me two toasted buns." He smiled and he shouted the order over his shoulder to the chefs behind him. He moved behind a counter and picked up a phone, he dailed a number and looked at me waiting for my other order. That's right, apparently, I was buying weed. Odd. He asked me how much I wanted with the gesture of an empty palm.

I thought for a second and said "dua orang makan." He didn't hear me over the sounds of chefs and amchinery in the background, so I said it again, louder.

"Dua orang makan."
"Maka," he asked.
"Makan," I answered.

He understood now what I wanted. A small amount enough for two small blunts. A moment passed and the old man walked back to his position at the back of the kitchen. His son entered after him and stood at the counter. His son was a tall Chinese guy, 23 or 24 years old. He was decked out in red modern Japanese/Hip-hop wear. The kind of clothes that make me think there's no such thing as men anymore. Either way, he smiled and reached in his pocket and notioned for me to come closer to the counter.

I went there and asked, "how much?"
He calculated roughly in his head and said, "the bun I give you free, la. So, (Chinese number cruching), ah sixty."
"Shit," I answered. I looked in to my wallet and saw the only realistic thing so far. One ten Ringgit bill. I looked at him and said, "ATM. I'll be right back."
He laughed and agreed to wait.

I headed out of the shop and back on to the streets. It was very very cold outside now. Like I was in Russia. Dim lights illuminating the street corners. People bundled up in jackets walking hand in hand through the snowy street. That's right, during my time in the bun shop it had snowed in Subang.

I headed back down the road I came. It seemed to make perfect sense to me in the dream that the nearest ATM was near my house. But, unlike how I came to Subang, going back was different. Especially when the sky grew dark and heavy rain began to pour. Lightning shoot through the sky with loud thunderous clatter following after it.

Now, to my understanding, Subang where the bun shop was on an elevated hill. To get back down to my place there was a small little metallic bridge that went horizontally off the hill and had a ladder going down to the base.

When I say it was a small bridge, I mean small. It was an industrial metal plate with bars running across the sides for support. Just before the ladder there was a wider spot with a roof covering. As I jogged out on to the metal plank I saw two very Jewish men. beards, hats, long black coats. The whole Jewish outfit. Curly sideburns included. As they walked towards me on the slippery metal plank I noticed in the wider spot of the bridge that there was a large rattlesnake just watching them pass. I heard his tail shake. Sends shivers down my spine. Heavy thunder sounded and and lightning shot.

The snake rose as it spotted me. Now, I was scared but I thought I'd be out of the snake's range if I ran. Not really the case at all. I sprinted pass the snake on the other side to keep as much distance as I could. The creature leaped at me and I jumped forward in fear. It hooked on to my shirt. Missing my skin with it's fangs by a millimeter or two. I fell on my side and began to pull it off. It's muscles tightened. And, honestly it scared the hell out of me. Thunder and lightning. The hiss of the creature and the rattle of it's evil tail. I pulled on it so it would get off but, it's fangs were stuck in the threads of my shirt. I knew, that even though I pulled it off, it's probably be on my again before I could get up.

I managed to rip it off my shirt and flung it against the wall. The ladder was right next to my head. Wet floor. Darkness. If I fell down the later it was an easy two or three hundred foot drop. I tried to get up but my elbows were slipping on the metal. The snake gathered itself and looked at me. I stopped, looked back at it. I could feel the venom that it shot out earlier trickling down my rib cage. Thank God it didn't get me.

We sat and looked at each other for a very intense moment. Each of us beckoning eachother, make the first move. The snake, eventually, realised he was faster than my chubby ass and lept again.

Mouth open, fangs erected and ready to penetrate. Slithering body twisting behind it...

Black.

I woke up breathless. Heart beating furiously. I lay back in my bed and sighed relief. I got out of bed, grabbed my last cigarette and entered my smoke chamber (bathroom) and relived the dream in my head.

I finished the cigarette and tossed it into my toilet. I stepped back in to my room. And there she was in my bed. Facing the wall curled up and sound asleep. I crawled in to bed next to her and put my arm around her. She woke up and turned her head to me. Looking at me over her shoulder she whispered : "you okay?"
"Yeah," I answered, "just a bad dream."
I kissed her shoulder and fell asleep.


This is where I really woke up. As in, when I woke up earlier and had my smoke, I was still dreaming.

Now, what's scary is this.

Number One : I don't share my bed with a woman. I can't put a face on the girl, or her voice. I do not know her. She reminds me of no one that I know.

Number Two: Before I went to sleep that night, for dinner, I had an apple. The snake, and apple. Biblical? Maybe.

Number Three: Considering how I was dreaming when I had the smoke, when I woke up for real. I needed a smoke and realised that, the one last smoke that I had saved for the next morning was gone.

Which parts was I awake. Damn it. It was a weird dream.

What do you think? Comment please.

~love yourself~

It is finished, and it has begun.

Today, what a beautiful day it is.

I've finished writing the pilot episode of my soon to be hit television drama/comedy. Can't wait to present it to the corporate heads of every single production company in the country. Then, I sit back and watch them bid. Hehehe.

I do hope this works out, as it has been a long time dream for me. But, something tells me, it will. My Lord, I believe, has got my back on this.

In the mean time, I've began the mind maps and charts for the motion picture I've been planning. Can't wait to start that either. I've already proposed the idea to a friend of mine, who happens to be a director, and he is excited. He seems to like my approach and idea. I hope the rest of the world feels the same way.

Make or break, baby. This is it.

I'd love to write some information about these two projects, but, for my own safety I can't. Not yet. In time, perhaps. So, when the time comes for you to find out more about these projects, I'll compose a new blog post revealing air-times. Ha ha ha ha ha ha! Woo!

On a side note. I am growing rather impatient. Mein herz brennt, I believe fits well here.

Number one, is my job status. I have resigned, *** (will resume)


sub note:
Resignation felt so motherfucking good. I swear to you. It was one of the most satisfying things I've done all year.

Side note to Mathieu:
"Yes, Clarice, I can hear the screaming of the lambs."
BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!



***(continued)

and am waiting further confirmation from the new place. (No names will be posted.) I don't really blame the recruitment person, (name) told me that (name) had just started there and had a lot to catch up on. I just hope (name) remembers me during (name)'s heavy workload.

Number two, is mein herz. Ah, yes. Not to say I'm impatient really, but, I would like to be able to move it along a little more. Perhaps having a car would help speed up the process. It's kind of hard to arrange a meet with (name) when I'm completely dependent on my empty wallet and public transport. Pain in the ass, public transport. By the time you get where you're going you smell like an anchovie's cunt. (RIP George Carlin. You were a true influence, and you are greatly missed.)

Number three, is the ever annoying tick-tock of the day passing by. Not many things to look forward to on a daily basis, but, things in time. There are things that I am looking forward to. But, as I said, the forsaken yet independant tick-tock of father time is beginning to annoy me. But, I suppose, good things take time to formulate, and I am thankful they are there. So, I must learn to be patient. Ironic, I am a very patient person, but off late, I seem to be losing my control of that particular virtue.

Diagnosis : Stalemate.

Tun up the bass, please. I don't think my prostate can feel it yet.

Eagerly waiting for Monday's update from my padawan younglings in (name). That's right, people, I've resorted to Star Wars references.

I'm going to go slap myself stupid. Please excuse me, oh and do

~love yourself~

Oh, and it has come to my attention that people who carry the MC1R gene are growing extinct. That's right, people with naturally blond hair are slowly disappearing. Is this good or bad for the human race? I've always found blond women attractive... until I try to talk to them. So, is this a good thing, or a bad thing? You decide!

As A Third.

As a Third.

You’re tired, Ju. I’ll give you that. But, relax. You’ve been worse. Remember the eight? Even the ten? Remember RM60 on a M.C. for a slight case of diarrhea? Blood pressure shooting through the roof? Nineteen years old with the blood pressure of a fifty year old man. That’s what he said, remember? The geezer behind the desk. Reading you through charts before even asking your name. Shocked and bewildered when he realized you were only nineteen. He couldn’t comprehend it.

Neither could you.

Nissan.

“How much did you pay him to do it”, the cunt asked. Twitching as it sensed its own presence. Conceited bastard.

Nissan and TCM.

Those sordid, unimaginative, irresponsible fucks. Couldn’t decide between hash codes of #000000 or #000003. Idiots.

Uh oh. The twitch is back. Not the one under your left eye. Not the right inner ear vibration. The one near your right eye. Right next to your temple. Yes, that one. The weird one. Feels like a muscle twitch. Oh, and the veins in your skull, firmly pressed against the left-back side, feels like they’re clogging. Reaching up to the pinnacle of your dented dome, but, never really going anywhere.

Left ear starting to have a slight piercing feeling. Like there’s a very large, very blunt needle pressing against the beating drum so softly you can barely feel it. But, it’s there.

Exhaustion. Feels like something that you’ve done before. Hands off the keyboard, my friend. Your stumpy, ugly fingernailed fingers shouldn’t be typing. Index and middle of the left limb, softly pressed against the right limb’s soft spot just below the wrist on the inside.

Beat.
Was that it?
Beat.
No, there it is.
Beat.
Beat
Beat.
Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat.
Yes, there they are.

Uncontrollable they seem. Quick as well. Pumping furiously to almost no avail. Seems useless in this context. Weary now, your eyelids are heavy. The song repeats again. Bass, bass, kick, snare. Sub-bass, snare, kick. You know the drill; it’s on its third loop now. You can feel it on the soles of your feet. Maybe that was the beat you felt earlier.

No, what you felt was the real beat, wasn’t it? It’s your blue-red life juice. Shifting with every reptilian brain impulse. Another synapse shoots crooked splinters. Pump, pump, pump. It’s keeping you awake.

You’re tired, Ju. I’ll give you that.

You’ve survived worse. Don’t think back too much, though. Your brain is brooding too fast now. Unnecessary issues are coming in to the blurred view of the ever seeing, unblinking eye. Ironic, it too is a third. Hm, you think, almost missed that one.

Chug, chug, chug. Blurred. Straining whites soon to bleed red. Sharper than a butcher’s knife, they say.
They who?
They. The ones who say.
Say? They? Satay?
Figuratively.
Asshole.
Ever the charmer, aren’t you.
Indeed.

Waiting to hear that familiar tone? Which one was it again? Ah, yes! That one! You do like that one, don’t you?
Question, why are you such a prick?
You haven’t figured it out yet?
See what I mean? Prick.
Aha. I see, now, what you mean. Are you implying that you yourself aren’t one?
I am. But, not like you. Never like you.
You are what you seek. Think about it.
I don’t understand. What is it-
What you seek is what you are, and what you are is what should change.
The fuck do I-
Seek? Pussy, Herr Julian.
You really are a-
Prick?
Stop interrupting me.

Grin. Ear to ear.

Who is that?
Hmmm.

Ah, yes.

You’re tired, Ju. I’ll give you that.

But, you’ve been worse.

Forty-two sends his regards by the way.
I don’t think he said ‘regards’.
He is yours to keep, you know?
I am his to leave.
Nice turn with that. Opaque, yet, intriguing.
Big words, huh? A losing battle?
I laugh at your idea-
Prick.
… You don’t stop do you?
I’ve said it before. Some people don’t like to hear it.
The famous one?
Yeah. The one they don’t like.
That one is in rather bad taste.
Sure as hell sounds cool, though, don’t it?
You are right about that.
Tell forty-two this : I’ll sleep -
When -
I’m –
Dead |Dead.

You’re really not that pleasant when you’re like this. The twitch is back again.
I noticed.
Why don’t you rest your eyes, friend?
Why don’t you shut the fu –
You never miss your shots. Always on cue!
I come prepared.

…

You’re tired, Ju. I’ll give you that. Goodnight, dear friend. Until our next chat, I bid you adieu.
You’re not French, asshole.
You’re not Italian.
Good call.
Good night.
Don’t come back, okay?
I never misplaced my keys.
Door’s closed, fuck off.
See you soon.
As a third. As always.
As always.

Leather, leather, pumpkin feather.
Something’s carried beneath the weather.
Foul stench, it plagues so far,
Underneath these shining stars.


Get off my porch! I ain’t got no more quarters, asshole!

~love yourself~ | ~flesruoy evol~





Hello there, Julian. It’s been a while. Forty-two sends his love.
I don’t think he said ‘love’.
Did you miss me?
Ah, shit. No sleep for the wicked it seems.
Indeed.

Until the end of time. So to speak.

Two words:

Quantum Physics.

Yum.

Apparently, that is the most basic calculation.

This is a fun topic. I've trying to go back to one of the most enjoyable books I've read, Timeline, by my all-time favourite author Michael Chrichton. Rest in peace, my friend.

Anyway, if any of you saw the movie. Just remember it doesn't do the book justice. It's not a bad movie, but, the book was amazing.

M.C. has a good habit of gathering factual research and journals and putting them in to his novels. reading his novels, I learned so much about DNA, quantum physics, space-time, psychology, animals and so on.

So, the idea of quantum physics inducing time travel is not impossible. Instead, the references given in the novel make it seem entirely plausible. Faxing a person through time is the general idea.

In essence the 'device' will break you down to a molecular level and perhaps even to sub-molecular levels. Once you're in that form, you will be 'faxed' to your preferred time travel destination. How the research team stumbled upon this discovery was through their intention of 'faxing' objects instead of copying sheets of paper for print. They wanted to fax containers. The problem was, in the tests they did, their object would disappear for hours and never appear on the other side of the device. Instead, it would reappear eventually in the same position it was 'faxed' from.

So, they repeated the process with a camera. When the camera came back they got footage of trees and a lush green forest. So, they aimed the camera up. It came back with images of the night sky. They traced the stars and mapped their positions over the course of history and realised their 'fax machine' was temporarily faxing things to the past. Around 1300 A.D. if I remember correctly.

However, time travel is not really what was going on. In Michael Chrichton's theory, it was a series of multiverses.

That's right, multiverses.

Instead of having you go back in time, you go in to a different universe where time is moving slower. Yet, somehow, it still is on our current time line. So, even though it's a different universe, it can still affect ours. So, if I were to go back in time, and say, slay Hitler before he was born, I could have either changed history, or history would have continued with simply a different name on the face of Nazi-ism. Either way, I'd effect our current time.

This shit is just fun to talk about, make me feel smart and shit.

Some links for your reference in case you want to learn more

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quantum_mechanics
http://www.crystalinks.com/timetravel.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timeline_(novel)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Multiverse

So, do enjoy these little trinkets. They can be entirely factual or as fictional as you see. I, personally, would like to think that it's possible, but, even God hasn't ordained it, then it ain't gonna work.

But, still. It's fun to look in to this shit. Oh, and do read Timeline and Sphere by Michael Chrichton. It's good stuff. Especially the latter. Superb.

Doctor Gill says take 17 ambutols, 13 ACMPD3N7 inhales and grow the fuck up.

ACMPD3N7 -Family of genes controlling aminocarboxmuconate paraldehyde decarbolase.

ACMPD3N7 modifies responses of the amygdala and cingulate gyrus in th ebrain; potentiall link to neurodegenerative disease, thought that neurodegenerative disease were a result of disruptions to the maturational pathways in the brain.

Basically, it makes you mature.

~love yourself~