IBM ENGINEER TAKEN FROM HIJACKED FLIGHT 370 GOT A SELFIE OUT TO THE INTERNET.

http://jhaines6.wordpress.com/2014/03/30/must-go-viral-blockbuster-this-is-accurate-and-now-100-percent-confirmed-hijacked-ibm-engineer-successfully-dialed-out-of-diego-garcia/

I've been a little busy this week, too busy to spend much time soylenting. I've only written about three more paragraphs of Mars, Ho!; I've been working on Nobots and The Paxil Diaries. The Paxil Diaries was waiting on my porch when I got home from Patty's Tuesday evening, and boy was it a mess. I've mostly been working on it. It's funny how much easier it is for me to notice mistakes on paper I miss on screen.

I finished editing it again last night and am waiting for another copy, which they haven't shipped yet. When it comes I'll go over it again, upload the revisions and buy another copy. It may be green outside before you can get a copy after all.

Nobots needed more sales outlets, so I worked on that, too. You should be able to get it at bookstores in a few weeks. If you bought a copy last year, you may own a rare book. If my name is on the bottom right of the front cover instead of right under the title, you have one of fewer than two dozen copies. It should be worth something in a decade or so.

I may work on the Mars book today, but then again I might just take the day off, take the computer to Felber's and watch Cosmos on Hulu since channel 55 was off the air last night; their web site said there was equipment failure. And drink beer in the beer garden and listen to music and enjoy the 65 degrees they're forecasting.

Or maybe sweep the floor... nah.

War in La Jolla, eighth year, second entry

Today's scripture. Laetare Sunday. If you practice high religious Latin then "laetare" is usually for Maria.

First reading. Samuel recruits David to sign the phaeries into hell. Laetare Sunday, you sign the phaeries into hell, you keep up their drink supply. Ritz closets were not always for collections; they began for safekeeping. Nowadays remote control hell on wheels. What are we topping these carrots for, anyway (Isaac's time). You will never make fast, we're trying to get enough debt to share one of the temple models. The phaeries didn't like the carrot topping, and that caused the problems. Saul wouldn't sign them into hell, they're flippin' rich, and they'll pay you for that wine flagon. Samuel had the bread box delivery, no need for wine flagons or carrot sticks. All of Jesse's sons may go along with the seven sons around Eleazar's time--switching from the carrot stick to the green eggs (and later, dead reanimated green eggs avec ham). Days are coming when nobody will work; another age of the world, nobody will flip inside out and procreate, eunuch-man will be all you have to play with. Days are comin', says the Lord, when you will look at those mountains and say "Fall on us" because you're mounted way too high on that to be real--top tits are the call sign of the eunuch. Isn't that the one that sat begging? Don't be him, they'll take you inside and eunuch you. What are we topping these carrots for anyway? We're trying to get Seth back (like all working together to afford a massive mission for the good of the world). Trying to get Seth back into what? Abel (after Cain slugs his nose down, Eve runs up, cradles his head, screaming,"Say something my son!" and he opens his eyes with his busted down nose and says,"set-h"). Some, however, say that it only looks like him, and the man himself says,"I am" ) (I HAM). You're not Ham, you're Seth (sat begging at the footsteps of the temple). Well, it only looks like him (next paschal lamb in the history of the scripts).

Jesus sends the fellow through the pool of Siloam, the great grand glorious debt counseling waiting room where doubles are shuffled and identities mixed up. Otherwise the scene is Jesus giving tetris blocks to the eunuch (cut the tether, kick out the dog, plant a garden, go for a walk) or even giving ritz to a dog (imagine a family of dogs confirming that this is indeed their own, and then shrugging and saying "ask him for yourself"--sniff his ass for yourself).

Letter. Deeds done in darkness are a shame to even speak of. Like suckin' the dog and eatin' farm sh*t, and rapin' their kids.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

See you on the other side:
https://webbrain.com/brainpage/brain/D36749F1-3A40-09FA-957F-41294B88CB70#-225

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Century_of_the_Self

http://www.amazon.com/Century-Curtis-producer-Power-Nightmares/dp/0930852753/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1396032300&sr=8-1&keywords=century+of+the+self

Calling it today, for Bush 3.0

War in La Jolla, eighth year, first entry

Around this time of year or so should change to eighth year.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Davey Jones' locker. The hollow-deck. Davey Jones himself admitted that he was a rat trash filth pig. After enough years he developed a similarity to god's disease,"I just can't take doing this anymore." Davey Jones had a rack that he used to torture people on. Eventually he insisted to his crew that he, too, be racked up and ground down to nothing. Burning man in the desert; he regretted his decision later but there was nothing left to be done for it but ON WITH THE SHOW. The hollow deck is now the standard practice at the entrance levels of actual Hell. The world went to hell, began bringing the handbasket with (have the mortician begin keeping the thread; the first toaster blenders, devil with a blue dress on, sew tassles on the blankets to remember a time when they were so thin, like baskets), insisted on its right to go, brought the whole place down, signed the dogs into the apartment dwelling, mined the world out and hung the diamond anvil in the sky, roofed itself over, chased the phaeries down with the dogs, caved itself in, built itself a carnival top, and now operates as a meatfest shipping idiots to hell. Around the time of "roofed itself over" one could walk around for thousands of years before making it to Davey Jones' locker. Now the phaeries and dogs have a compressed system in the basement for leading an individual to the point of eating their frontal lobes as crow and accepting the decision for the excavation.

The Talmud, six thousand some pages long, all of the sounds and routes at the times when it could take several thousand years to make it to Davey Jones' locker. Ninevah progresses and the final editions of "the book" become subtitled "better living for humans expecting less than one thousand years". Then the end of Ninevah, Noah and down to less than two hundred years. The establishment of Sodom and Gomorrah, the tightening of the architectural edges, everybody counts by ten, nobody keeps their tongue up their nose; I know about what range your sentence will be in, less than eight thousand, in the basement, i(n)t h(e)urt(z).

Window dressing. How many hands does a robot have? Three. Better leverage while rowing. Drawback is that, after preparation with the hot rock, they lose most of their impulse and will never fight harder than what it takes to stay alive. Window dressing. Vir - go. Life just kinda goes. After you hit it with the hot rock look at it go, more or less just following the line, living half in the dream land. The ritz closet, with father Abram's blind eye and Zechariah's other hand. Nowadays hell on wheels and remote control.

"No Ah"... requires lots of window dressing to make up for it.

From man in regard to his fellow man... I alone demand the accounting.
These ones need to boil their lies.... these need to learn to count by more than ten.
These ones are brain damaged... these ones are cut down to about the same.
These ones are window dressing... these ones do what I tell them.

I'd planned on traveling to Cincinnati last Monday to visit my daughter and came down with the flu. I called Patty and told her it would be the next Monday; she works full time and is a full time student at Cincinnati State, and Monday is the only day she has off.

I looked her address up on Google Maps. It looked pretty easy to find. "Don't trust Google," Patty said. "They're doing road construction and it will try to send you down a road that's closed. Take the Hoppit exit, turn right and I'll meet you at the Shell station.

My nose was still producing copious amounts of snot, I was still coughing up lots of mucus but felt a hell of a lot better than I had last week. I woke up about 5:30 Monday morning, did my morning routine functions, especially coffee, one function of which was checking my phone. Three missed calls and a voicemail from Patty. I called, knowing she wouldn't answer because she's never awake that early and left a message that I was on my way and to call when she woke up.

I have a big laptop bag and a small laptop; the bag had cost me $5 and came with a broken laptop. I put spare clothing, charging accessories in it and loaded it, my battery jumper, and Patty's cat's ashes in the car.

I had a half tank of gas and figured it would get me to Indiana, where fuel would surely be cheaper. After all, it's a red state and Republicans hate taxes, right? No such luck, I was down to an eighth of a tank by the time I reached Bloomington.

It's a little frustrating that Cincinnati is southeast of Springfield, but you have to go northeast to get there unless you want to drive over three hundred miles of two lane road with 30 to 45 MPH speed limits and lots of stop signs and so forth. It would take forever that way.

Gas was a nickle cheaper than Springfield; $3.55. I put twenty bucks in, figuring I'd fill up in Indiana and started on my way again. I had my phone plugged into the car stereo for times there was no music and I'd heard all the CDs, which I'd neglected to change before I left. There was a rest area so I stopped to urinate and change CDs. I checked the phone; Patty had called. I called back, and again she warned me about Google.

Apparently people from Illinois aren't welcome in Indiana, as the usual "Welcome to [state]" sign was nowhere in evidence. The only way I knew I'd crossed state lines was that the pavement got a lot worse. I-74 had apparently been badly neglected for years in Indiana, except for a stretch by Indianapolis. Gasoline was more expensive than at home.

The sun was shining, the pavement was dry, and there was little traffic. "Welcome to Ohio!" the big sign proudly proclaimed in bright graphics as the pavement improved. I reached Cincinnati and the traffic was terrible. I-74 East split into I-75 north and south; I guessed south but wasn't sure. I pulled over to the shoulder and called Patty to make sure I wasn't going the wrong way. I wasn't.

The next exit was the Hoppit exit. I met Patty at the gas station. "You shaved!" she said.

"Yeah, my upper lip hasn't seen the sun since before you were born." Patty had never seen me completely shaven; most of her life I've had a beard, or at least a mustache when my chin hair went gray.

"I don't like it," she said, frowning."

"Neither do I. I'm growing it back this fall." I noticed the gas cap door on her car was open as she pulled out and was about to honk to let her know when she pulled over and shut it.

We got to her apartment and we hugged and I shook her fiance's hand an gave Patty the metal box and envelopes. I hadn't opened one of them, which had come from Coble Animal Hospital. I'd thought it contained Princess' ashes but they called a week later to inform me I could pick her up.

"Ooh, this is a pretty box," she said. "What's in it?"

I still can't believe I spent over three hundred dollars for a dead cat, part for the vet to tell me she was dying and part to have her cremated, since the ground was frozen and I couldn't bury her. I discovered that animals and humans are cremated in the same crematorium, which is why it's so expensive. If Little One dies in the winter I'm storing her in a deep freeze until the ground thaws.

Patty opened the unopened envelope and started crying. It was a plastic placard that read "PRINCESS" and had her paw prints in it. No, I guess I didn't spend $300 on a dead cat, I spent it on my daughter. "Put this with Calie under the tree," she instructed. "When you move, take it and Calie's grave marker with you."

Colby had planned on making Reuben sandwiches for lunch but the corned beef was still frozen. "Let's go to Chick Filet," he said. "OK," I replied,"but then Patty needs a phone." Her iPhone had been broken for months, its screen cracked. And she'd liked my phone and especially liked my low phone bill.

We had chicken sandwiches and went to Best Buy. The price of the phone was half what I'd paid for mine. She was trying to decide between it and a more expensive one with a front facing camera but decided she liked the idea of it being waterproof and resistant to shock.

"Lets buy a TV while we're here" she said to Colby. After they talked for a while she said "well, I'm buying a TV. I have the money." They have an old twenty two inch tube TV that doesn't work and a little nineteen inch widescreen.

But she didn't like the prices so we went to H.H. Gregg, whose prices were no better than Best Buy's. Best Buy's crack Geek Squad couldn't activate Patty's new phone so we took it home and did it ourselves.

I'd bought Gravity, which had come from Amazon amazingly the day before it was supposedly released for sale. It was a "combo pack" with a DVD, Blu-Ray and download. I'd brought the Blu-Ray for Patty, and we watched it using her Playstation and little TV set.

None of us had seen the previous night's Cosmos so she fired up Hulu plus on the Playstation. After watching it and an episode of Doctor Who I decided that I wanted Hulu Plus.

The next morning she gave me a big bowl of corned beef, cabbage, carrots, and potatoes, and two T shirts. One was almost a joke; a St. Patrick's Day Reds shirt. The other was hawking some video game, a nerdy shirt I'll wear proudly.

She wanted to see how badly Google would have set me astray so I gave her my phone. She was amazed. "They got it perfect, that's how I told you to go." I loaded up the car, we said our goodbyes and I set off on the long journey home.

The trip home was as unpleasant as the trip there had been pleasant. First, I missed my turn to get on I-74. Five miles later I got on I-75, saw I was headed to Dayton and took the next exit. I stopped at a gas station, got gas, and consulted the map.

It would be nice of these things came with manuals. I think it ironic that everything used to have a detailed manual when technology was primitive enough you didn't need one, and now that interfaces have only icons and no way to discern WTF they mean, they don't. Let's see, looks like I go that way...

The radio was playing commercials so I switched it to the phone to listen to KSHE. The disk jockey started giving directions! "Go west on" whatever street the gas station was on "point seven miles and turn right." It wasn't KSHE, it was Google Maps. It easily got me back on I-74 north and it wouldn't shut up so I switched back to the radio.

Traffic was horrible; a semi that read "TARGET" zoomed past me doing at least twenty miles above the speed limit and almost made me miss my exit. Looks like it isn't just their IT that could use more training.

A little green sign with white lettering said "Welcome to Indiana". It started snowing. Twenty miles later visibility was poor, and twenty minutes after that the pavement was covered.

It was a miserable trip. The snow stopped around Indianapolis and the traffic was almost as bad as Cincinnati. Halfway to Illinois the wind started blowing. A couple of semis almost got blown off the highway.

Gas in Bloomington was $3.49.

When I got home there was a box on my doorstep; The Paxil Diaries had arrived. I'd screwed it up terribly. So you still can't have a copy yet...

And... Summoned the old ones!

"tyltylnc tymrkth"

If you're the owner of a copy of Nobots, you now own a rare book. Fewer than two dozen were printed. If you don't yet have a copy, the price is a little higher.

When I originally published I was brand-new to all of this. I guess I still am. Until now the only place it was for sale was Lulu; I hadn't properly registered its ISBN and the bar code on the cover was wrong (Lulu put it there).

When I was readying The Paxil DiariesI got better at navigating Lulu's interface and figured out how to add one of my ISBNs and get it for sale at Amazon, B&N, etc., and get it listed on Google Book Search. I fixed the front cover, too. It now looks like it does on my web site.

Those fewer than two dozen copies will be worth quite a bit in a few years. I worked with a fellow named (iirc) Dave Luttrell a couple of decades ago when computers were expensive. His sister won the lottery and fulfilled his dream of writing a book about his time in the Vietnam jungles. She bought him a computer for him to write it on, and a small local publishing house published it.

There was only a single printing, I don't know how big the print run was, but the local library had a copy. Interesting book, could have been better edited.

Years after I'd last seen Dave, Amy was telling me about her late uncle who had written a book about Vietnam and I realized that Dave was Amy's uncle. She was wishing she had a copy of his book and tried to find one.

The Elf Shelf, a used bookstore here, had a waterlogged copy for $250. So hang on to those books!

No sooner than I'd ordered a galley proof of The Paxil Diaries when I found a huge blunder -- a lot of chapter numbers were wrong and there were no page numbers. That's now fixed, and barring any further stupidity on my part you should be able to get a copy in a few weeks at the latest -- they shipped the galley proof three days ago.

Meteors
The damned alarm woke me up. Damn them whores... but it wasn't whores, it was a meteor shower. Fuck. I went to the pilot room.

The meteors were tiny but when you're going fast, well, when a meteor shower is coming you want to slow down.

Or speed up. Usually it was slow down but not this time. I spoke into the fone. "Attention, passengers and cargo. Prepare for higher gravity in ten seconds." Ten seconds later I gradually added thrust. We were almost at Earth-normal now, and man it was not the least bit comfortable. I felt like I weighed a ton.

After these long interplanetary trips it was customary to spend a month or more in a gradually faster centrifuge until 1.3 normal. After a few days of this, Earth felt pretty good.

Right now it wasn't too comfortable, but we had to outrun those rocks. We'd be at .85G for the next hour. It looked like I was going to be up early today, I had inspection in two hours. I was glad we'd gone to bed early instead of drinking, this would have been hell with a hangover. I went to my quarters and made coffee, wishing again that robots could make decent coffee.

I flipped on the video and saw the last quarter of the zero-G football semifinals. That's one hell of a sport. Too bad Memphis lost.

I was wishing we were back to half gravity again, just sitting here was tiring. When the game was over I headed back to the pilot room.

I couldn't get in, over fifty angry whores were blocking the hallway. "You're all going to be confined if you don't let me through."

One of them laughed. "You and whose army? You think you can take us all on?"

I pulled out my taser. Most of them laughed. "Go inspect your boat, Joe." I don't know why the whores call me that, they know my name. The woman continued. "This full gravity is great, Joe, and we ain't givin' it up!"

"Look," I said, "this acceleration is going to need a course correction. I have to get in that pilot room!"

"Fuck off, Joe." Scattered giggling from the whores. I turned around and slunk off to the cargo area. I sure wasn't looking forward to this.

Damn but the cargo area was a lot longer off than at half G. I finally got there, suited up, and went through the airlock.

My God but I was scared. With the boat's acceleration it was like hanging from the side of a skyscraper. With weights on you. In a space suit with clumsy gloves.

I hooked the A tether to the highest rung I could reach and climbed. When the tether was below me I hooked the B tether above and unhooked the A tether.

I don't know how long it took me to get to the houseboat. I had to stop and rest a few times. I was sweating so hard I was afraid I'd drown in my suit.

I finally got there, went inside, and pressurized it. I took off the suit and went through the dock into the pilot room, pulling the suit in behind me. I was soaked in sweat, I wouldn't have been wetter if I'd been caught in a thunderstorm on Earth.

All my muscles ached, on fire. Them whores was going to be floating in a minute, I was really pissed off. I strapped into the pilot chair and killed the thrusters. The asteroid threat had long since passed and we'd been at high G way too long. Damn, our trajectory was way off.

Well, I'd fix that later. Right now I had a bunch of whores to lock up, and I wasn't about to be gentle. I was hurting like hell from the climb, I stunk, I was really pissed off at those damned whores and almost hoped they'd give me an excuse to tase them.

I was also looking forward to a shower. I was nasty.

I checked the monitor - they were all still outside the pilot room, floating, guarding it from me, ignorant of how the houseboat was docked to the ship. I wonder what went through their heads when we started floating?

I pulled out my taser and went outside. "All of you worthless bitches, hands behind your backs or God damn it I'm going to tase the shit out of you!"

This time they complied. It took half an hour to get them all cuffed and another half hour to get them to their rooms. I stopped by my quarters to make sure Destiny was OK.

She wasn't there. I knocked on Tammy's door. She opened it and said "You're probably looking for Destiny."

"Yeah, you seen her?"

"She was worried about you. She was heading toward the cargo bay right before we lost gravity."

Holy hell, I hoped she hadn't gone outside the boat to find me. If she did, she was probably dead, or would be soon.

I kicked off as hard as I could towards the cargo hold, flying as fast as I could.

Continues, probably tomorrow. I want to thank rk again for pointing out an embarrassing typo in the last chapter. I'm not going to edit the online drafts, but it's been fixed in the manuscript.

To worry about Governments as the ACTOR in world events is like believing the Police are an independent force, manifesting their own will and policy.

http://www.ribbonfarm.com/2011/06/08/a-brief-history-of-the-corporation-1600-to-2100/

An indirect point, not made in the article: Had the British East India Company not destroyed the balance of its tyrannical Bengali trade concession, there would have likely been no American revolution. The continent would likely have gone on the Canada model.

Addiction

I woke up before her for once. I took a shit... hey, you wanted everything, right? Started the coffee because the robots really suck at making coffee, and got dressed. I was just taking my first sip when the doorbell rang. It was Tammy.

"Hi, uh Destiny invited me for coffee."

"Come in. She's still asleep, I'll get you a cup."

"Thanks."

"Uh," I said, handing her a cup, "Destiny says you're a psychologist and a, uh I forgot. You're not a whore, you're studying them.."

"Did destiny tell you that?"

"She didn't have to. I ain't went to college but I ain't stupid, I can add two and two and get something between three and five. It's obvious."

"Is it?"

"Yeah, I wondered how you got the money for a ticket, but shit, you got two doctorates. You ain't gotta look for work."

"Nope. Want to know about my studies?"

"Huh?"

"Jesus, you're a dumbass. I'm studying drug abuse and prostitution and you have two hundred drug addicted whores on board! Do you want an education, dumbass?"

I felt like a dumbass. "Yeah, I guess it might help."

"Here," she said, giving me a small memory chip.

"What's this?"

"Just read it. Don't worry, anything you don't understand I can explain."

Shit, I hate reading. That's one thing where me and Destiny are different, she loves reading. "Well, you had me fooled when I met you."

She laughed. "I study them, you don't know them at all. Don't let them know they're being studied or the study will be ruined."

"I'm discrete. Guess I have some studying to do."

"It'll save you a whole lot of trouble. I have some studying to do myself," Tammy said. "Tell Destiny to drop by when she wakes up. I'll be in the commons."

I put the chip in the tablet and started reading.

After reading for an hour and a half I had to put the tablet down. I was in trouble. No wonder they was paying me so good.

Most of these girls were abused and sexually molested as children, most of them raised in foster care. Many and maybe most were children of criminal parents; thieves, often very violent. They were the kids society allowed to be ruined for life.

It was sad. Most of them were droppers. There's a chemical name for drops in Tammy's book but I'd have to look it up.

These girls hated sex, having a normal sex life was ruined in their childhoods when they were molested and abused. But drops made the whores enjoy getting fucked. Most of them had never had an enjoyable sexual experience until they put a drop in an eye before work.

There were other psychoaffective (and yeah, I had to look that and lots of other shit up when I read that damned book) stuff. Her book had a lot of other big words like neurotransmitters and I just kind of glossed over them, I ain't went to college or nothing.

I gathered the whores just stayed really fucked up.

And the drug was highly addictive physically as well as in worse ways. It made the user the opposite of pissed off when under the influence. When that was taken away, well... it ain't pretty.

"Damn," I thought, "Addiction must be a bitch" as I got another cup of coffee.

It seemed I was in for serious trouble.

"Whoops!"

Four days after a missing flight, a patent is approved by the Patent Office for maximizing dies on a wafer.

4 of the 5 Patent holders are Chinese employees of Freescale Semiconductor of Austin TX.

Patent is divided up on 20% increments to 5 holders.

1. Peidong Wang, Suzhou, China, (20%)
2. Zhijun Chen, Suzhou, China, (20%)
3. Zhihong Cheng, Suzhou, China, (20%)
4. Li Ying, Suzhou, China, (20%)
5. Freescale Semiconductor (20%)

If a patent holder dies, then the remaining holders equally share the dividends of the deceased if not disputed in a will.

If 4 of the 5 dies, then the remaining 1 Patent holder gets 100% of the wealth of the patent.

That remaining live Patent holder is Freescale Semiconductor.

Who owns Freescale Semiconductor?

Jacob Rothschild through Blackstone who owns Freescale.

Here is your motive for the missing Beijing plane. As all 4 Chinese members of the Patent were passengers on the missing plane. Patent holders can alter the proceeds legally by passing wealth to their heirs. However, they cannot do so until the Patent is approved. So when the plane went missing, the patent had not been approved.

Thus, Rothschild controlled interest gets 100% of Patent once Patent holders declared deceased.