"Thinking in mythological terms helps you to
put in accord with the inevitables of this vale of tears. You learn to
recognize the positive in what appears to be negative moments and aspects of
your life. The big question is whether you are going to be able to say a hearty
yes to your adventure…(the adventure of being a hero, of being alive)."
-- J. Campbell, The Power of Myth, p. 163
"Will our joining together-the linking of our
cultures, hopes, dreams, ideas, and imaginations-into one communications
lattice or membrane give us a single voice with which our planet can be heard
by others greater than ourselves?"
-- K. O. Berger, "The Information Ecosystem,"
In Context, No. 23, 1988, p. 15
"I think spiritualism is where (music)…came
from,…and I think it's coming back to that."
-- Jim Goodwin of The Call The Rocket Magazine,
Jan. 1990, p. 15
"With what seemed the simplest key (
-- Benjamin Franklin, by C.V. Doren, 1938, p. 171.
# # #
Geo's
Vision Machine
Weeks of rain and hail storms had pounded a
swampy, Atlantian Armistead, Oregon, causing a whirling rain of splash from
Jack's rear wheel, christening faded jean and high tops alike, tall as the
village fountain when summer water and power were pumping from the Cascades. A
temporary break from the monsoon god was lucky, indeed. The late dusk sparkled
powdered diamonds with blue black winds. He turned onto Avenue N pushin' down
hard, grinin', headed for a Moon soaked and dangerous covered bridge. His
walkman soundtrack matched his own heat, bammin' with the Meat Puppets tape
"Monsters." Past the raging creek he fondly called
To town folk, Geo's two barns and leaky frame
house looked just like those oil company calendars with their genetic rural
scenes and never a human being anywhere. Moss had replaced paint and shingles
and the place felt like it was slowly sinking, "divining to meet the water
table." The northern-most barn was off-limits to Jack for secret reasons.
Geo made wine in the small barn off of the garage-which was stacked up high
with boxes of books, college papers, bikes, skis, and camping gear. Dr.
Georgette Klein split
Transformation. Atheist-Episcopalian then
bottomland Buddhist, part psycho-engineer, frequent Quaker and eco-manic
depressive poet. Ph.D. finisher in her last three races. Geo was as grandiose
as her nickname; she worked the new alchemy-or spirit sciences, reinitiating
world traditions with high computer techno-séances and transformed pagan menus.
John Lilly, Ginsberg, Crazy Horse, Ben Franklin, W.I. Thompson, Jesus Christ.
Players. It was this meta-mystical boundary, "door breaking" as she
referred to the whole business, that kept Jack biking up here. He had his own
plan for the Vision Machine.
Jack Gabriel placed his palm on the barn door
scanner, and shifted his pack stuffed full of yogurt, rice, bagels, and juices.
"Geo, jack here." The laser light flashed twice, opening the security
door. "I barely made it to the co-op before it closed," he yelled.
Geo was on the phone. Someone in South American by
her "world Spanish." "Can't seem to balance the r-wave tonight
Ramone, we sign off, count 5-4-3-2-1 cut." She was permanently perplexed,
thought Jack. For years the "Truth System" was attempting the down
link and connect various research bases from across the planet, independent of
political boundaries-and only recently-free from corporate and military
subordination. Many explorers brought programming or hardware expertise, as in
the case of ramone, a wealthy mad humanist who brainstormed data bases for the
System, and others like Telecommunix Nurvana Matrix in
Jack pretended to be interested in his food cache,
but his eyes wandered around the laboratory for new print-outs a communiqués
torn from the telefax. Maybe Francesca transmitted a meeting time for this
weekend when Geo would be in Eugene with white witches and other healers from
the Northwest.
"Dude, ya you, behind the refrig." She
swerved off the old dentist chair and away from the multi-complex console.
"Can an engineering drop-out handle the lentils and beer this
evening?"
"Ya, sure Geo. What happened today? Did we
receive?"
"Haven't checked since
She walked out of the security gate, palm down to
the sensor. "Barn check, Jack."
What the hell is in there? He was one big frown.
Maybe she doesn't trust me with some aspect of the System, perhaps to
experimental and dangerous. Maybe she was growing? His mind switched to the
meal, and still hadn't checked the dump ticket for electro-mail. Lentils and
garlic, beer and Ben and Jerry's. He ejected Shankar, replacing mellow with
Camper Van Beethoven. Jack was kicked out of the engineering program at
"Maybe this weekend I can set up the tunebox
and try out the interface pic," he mused, twisting off a Henry's NA.
Part of Jack's grand design, beyond his satellite
centerfold linkages and hard copy form Francesca in
Francesca Lambornii played a Steve Kilbey
composition on her studio piano, a piece from his earthed CD entitled "the
reality generators malfunctioned," and wondered if her father would bring
news of Jack in
Professor E. Derek Lambornii met Geo at a
conference at Harvard many years ago, enjoying a
theory, and ran a Truth System team in addition to
his Chairpersonship and teaching duties at the University of Madrid.
The Truth System actually began in
Vega was searching for a way to tap the 'prima
mater' of the subconscious through the myths and archetypes of our music,
healing arts and dark spiritual past. To couple these powers with technologies
that freed us for interaction in today's global syntax and musical genres.
Alchemy in the era of nuclear death. His now classic contribution in Blue Alien
Magazine caught the attention of Geo and her followers because of his work with
aboriginal artists and the new Techno-Jungian System.
Jack bit into a cracker piled high with cheese and
pickles. Geo was back from the barn and was happily serving lentil soup.
"Two communications came in, both from
"How's Francesca, rock star?" It seemed
that she never took this part of Jack and Francesca's life seriously.
For Jack, questions surrounding the origin of
sound and the universality of music composition were forever churning inside
his head and heart.
Cesca
was researching the theory of archetypal sound or sound patterns that we
process and store in way similar to dream archetypes, made popular by Jung and
others. She believed that our mythic heritage included sounds, sound
progressions, and songs. Jack will interface the memory and interactive
technology of the System with Cesca's music-image syzygy and listen for the
spirits' songs. So goes the plan.
Jack threw his plate into a soapy sink, then
grabbed his Fender Strat, and conjured a tale of veiled lust for his pals hours
ahead of time. Musical kisses: scanned, transmuted, digitized…orbitized.
"Geo, tell me this doesn't break down your
doors!"
"Do you know any Spirit?" Another band
that Jack had never heard of. Geo went up to her sleeping platform to
flatten-out the gyrating energies of international research on her subconscious
(and settle the beers from dinner!).
To bring music into the System meant approximately
twenty minutes of additional patches and frequency adjustments. Sometimes Jack
would turn off the amplification and listen to his messages through his
headphones. Under the guise of musical cards, via electronic delay, he accessed
the data bank for Cesca, for any information pertaining to the history of
sounds and mythology. Using a separate storage disk, he kept his work private
and sent duplicate copies to
The aboriginal date file was quite extensive, as
were tons of others. The System's African information was subdivided three
times as was Oriental mythology. Euro-Slavic, and Central, South, and North
American databases were all available on the Truth System. New information was
sent from leading universities and governments electronically everyday. Ever
since the fall of communism in1989-92, Geo, Ramone, Derek, Schillart and
appendages have enjoyed historical information from all parts of the planet and
some governments now wanted to know what they were doing with their
"mythic heritage!"
"Damn!" His fingers toiled with the
"down" arrow on the word processing panel of the massive control
center. The major challenge to overcome in his mission stemmed from the lack of
detailed musical information in all of the mythic bases. For example, a North
American Plains Indian story describes a young warrior who took ceremonial
objects on a journey to other camps to bring his people together so that they
might all-young and old-live on with their traditions and with the white man.
The hero meets animal-gods and trades their knowledge and direction for one of
his gifts. They each teach him harmonies or songs. Heavy symbolism-and open to
many interpretations. The sonorous power of myth.
"I must find a way to break down my own door
to the archetypes." After the electronic journey back in time, he banged
out a telefax, promising Francesca a disk and a guitar serenade in the days
ahead. That night he dreamed of eagles, slowly descending over a hot plain, and
cool drumming all around him.
# # #
"This profile is stuffed with crazy
juxtapositions, Sir." Baxter was growing a hole in his balding head from
confusion. He always finished the Times crossword puzzle before breakfast.
"Right, and Dr. Klein still has access to
many files in our museums and research stations, although we don't know what
she's after. CIA doesn't dance with Deadheads, and this mission is now mid-high
classified. Tell me about your days at
Mickey Baxter dribbled through his infamous
background tale for Chief Nine-O-Four, describing how he assisted student
government and other radical campus longhairs with computer surveillance of
local police, and Systeming operations with other protest movements across the
country.
"Take the files from Room A34-X and make sure
any notes your transcribe clear with my office. From those last articles in the
New York Times, it seems that this Truth System is now well established and
centered in
"Looks like I'll be drinking with the ducks,
sir!"
Baxter wondered if all this was connected to Earth
First. It was all-or-nothing with those guys. Same in intelligence. CIA was
checking the Truth System against FBI files but this song was strictly
"posse international." "So I'm a reporter again," talking
to no one, again.
Mic had zero time to research key lines of
interest. All of this stuff was spooky. Like pagan craft or this new alchemy
stuff that glued technology into the spiritual.
"OK. Hold on," he muttered."
As Baxter boarded a red-eye for SFO and Eugene,
Ramone was linking up with the Australian lab for mega-mythologizing and a
braver new world.
The weekend brought messages of all kinds-and from
diverse sources. Ramone's recent upgrade from the Australian data base; a
telecopy from some guy at Harvard concerning a speech Geo should do in three
months; weekly reports form all labs from the Nurvana files; and a request for
an on-site visit from a reporter from the Richmond, Virginia, Daily Register.
"Hmm." With Geo tied up in
# # #
"Uptown Hotel and Restaurant, how can we do
ya?"
Jack resisted the obvious sexual connotation.
"Can I speak with Mr. Browne, please?"
"He's in room 13. Hang on for a sec."
"Sam Browne." Definitely an easterner;
Jack guessed about 40 years old.
"Mr. Browne, my name is Jack Gabriel. I'm Doc
Klein's assistant up in Armistead, with the Truth System."
"Thanks for calling up so soon." Baxter
wasn't really rested or prepared for his "interview" so soon.
"Is Dr. Klein available?"
"No, not until Monday. It thought I could
show you around and answer questions, or help with the photos for your
piece."
"Great, Jack, that would be great."
Baxter/Browne finished the meeting details and
opened his suitcase. Maybe it was the cold wet air, or a chest cold coming on,
but he felt something slightly strange going on here. Perhaps it was the
reading materials: hexes and spells, LSD dream states, artificial intelligence,
Orwell's 1984, and on and on.
"Oregon is so green," he whispered,
blinking twice.
# # #
Francesca was starting at her father, on the
balcony. It was Sunday morning and Jack's name came up with a smoggy sunrise.
"Papa, do you know any of the
following late 20th Century musicians?"
"Cesca, I'm trying to format the new software
for our lab. It came overnight from Geo. Why not reference the source bank
through the Truth System. I'm busy all day and won't require access, Do you
know the security code sequence for today?"
Any chance to utilize the computer interface in
her father's lab was precious time, and she whirled and left him without a
thank you. All of the technical personnel had the day off so she could pursue
any facet of her project with Jack.
To find archetypal sound patterns or music scores,
Cesca proposed to gather data on late 20th Century rock musicians and new
composers like Steve Kilbey, Phillip Glass, Peter Gabriel, and Brian Eno, all
who generated electronic space and sound images with many mythical references.
And the black music of early American blues must hold some keys for her thesis
because of its dominance in rock'n'roll and because it transcended so many
human eras and places. Hybrids led one back to the source. She punched the
security code and switched the input panel to the Universal Data Bank, then
keyed into all the major musical references that the 21st Century could offer.
If only Jack could rub her shoulders.
# # #
Our man from the CIA growled at the rain dumping
off of the Hotel's decaying gutters. Why didn't Klein choose San Diego for her
trip into global mythology? Whatever that means…
Our man "the reporter" jumped into a
waiting taxi for the five miles "over the bridges and under the
omens" to Professor Klein's woodland house. This prelim is too cool,
thought Mic, maybe I can play this Gabriel kid for some inside stuff.
Jack had rose early. Partially because of the
visitor scheduled for 11:30 am, but also to research additional myths for the
project, tentatively called the Citadel Concert. Tea steeping, he slipped a
Steve Tibbetts cassette into his walkman and headed outside to grab the junk
mail out of his mail box, the last remains of physical mail since the World
Postal System Electric Delivery Service went into operation last year. The
grounds were as wet as usual, and the rain gauge topped-off at 1.2 inches. He
still didn't know what Geo's hex meant on the barn.
Tibbetts was one talented composer and complete
player, like many that Francesca and Jack were studying. On YR, he combined
electronic sounds with real instruments to construct a rock-afro-orchestral web
unlike any artist of this day. Jack still meditates to this recording, access
to the soul. But why? What was occurring at the subconscious level? Was there a
mythic chain or memory linkage that was could be tapped into?
All of the barns were wired tight and Jack hit the
outside video surveillance control on his remote flexer for the day. He was the
eye for the Truth System.
Like a dog just back from a run to the ancient
trees, Jack felt good. He felt best prepared to work when his internal energy
level was buzzin', but he couldn't quantify it. It was all-or-nothing, like
music and Francesca.
The Truth System was always on. Warm for the next
search, the next door breaker. Jack booted he mainframe VAC computer and pushed
the audio-visual gear from "stand by" to "ready." Still
time to fetch some brown sugar for his tea. Then Jack was looking for an
Australian Aboriginal myth and accessed the very first data base, now
megabillion bits in size, from Dr. Vega's research in central well
"Man, this video is too cool," he said
as he flipped the control peg like the ones on the old video games. He scanned
by date, still-framing when something caught his eye. The countryside was a
dull red-gold and ancient to Jack, like a foggy image from one of his old
Midnight Oil records. Brown land? "This shit isn't indexed well," he
spat. The first data base wasn't organized like the current ones; sometimes
secret projects were missions of persistence. Tibbetts' drums and sparkling
sounds of bells and tiny symbols floated Jack high above the immediate ranges
of rock rhythm and melody as he searched past
Sam Browne was dangling by hexes.
"Mr. Browne," Jack called into a
microphone that connected the lab with various intercom points in the facility.
Sam jumped two feet off the ground! "Yeeess!
Yes, right!"
"You're early, sir." Jack had never been
on time for anything, either. "Please step back to the edge of the
grass." Jack turned and activated the security System and quickly logged
and saved his position in the data base, then brought the System and his
guitar, still on from hours ago, to stand-by. He then shuffled out the door to
formally meet this east coast guest.
Introductions. Jack explained the rules for
information seekers at the lab: "photographs are allowed on the grounds
only; I'll give your paper some camera-ready pictures of the machinery with the
biographies and stuff from our PR file."
After a short time, Jack noticed that Sam Browne
was staring at many of the wardings or hexes that Geo and others had placed on
certain buildings and trees.
"Ah, those. Hexes; old spell logic."
Jack didn't know much, beyond that settlers had brought many pagan beliefs with
them for protection in the wilderness.
"May we go inside now, I'm chilled
suddenly." Sam wondered what was in the small barn. Jack had barely
mentioned it.
"Mr. Browne, please place your hand on this
panel, right here and then we can proceed into Dr. Klein's lab." A simple
palm test for Jack's visitor, one giant surprise for Geo later that weekend.
# # #
After a morning of compiling sound samples from
Brian Eno's enormous musical library, Cesca downloaded her data to a storage
disk and made a backup set for Mr. Gabriel in Armistead.
"Sound as space," she murmured. But
space depended on perception and our ability to "see music" as an
intellectual happening, transcending to "feel it" as metaphysical.
This idea of Eno's is a modern possibility. He used electronics to pain the
listener into his compositions. "Like a soul pulse…?" she wondered.
While she was certain that Brian Eno had some keys to archetypal sounds, Cesca
considered the possibility that Beethoven could have created similar
"aural" symbols for those initiated into his particular patterns and
historical timing. Where is the Universal score?
"Culture memory; cultural filter," Cesca
called out. She decided to break-off of the San Francisco Rock Music Museum
Reference Database, a number sequence she knew by heart now. Time to swim and
think. Maybe she could get the John Cale later.
What she didn't realize at this point was the
critical relationship between sound mathematics and engineering and the brain's
ability to understand certain sound patterns as music. This recognition
process, back into the mythological, was the door that she and Jack must locate
and break-open.
Rock'n'roll + spirit science = the new alchemy.
Any
# # #
Geo strummed through he print-outs, electronic
mail, telecopies, and the Nirvana Log from Jack's weekend adventure.
"Shit! Mr. Gabriel, hey, dude. Now! Check
this out!"
Jack definitely heard her screaming over his
personal volume dam in Michael Stipe's latest solo project.
"Did you know that your attempt to handle
things without me fucked up?" Jack scanned the security service print-out
and then up at Geo.
"Now we have proof that the CIA database
interceptor is still current." But this didn't get Jack off the hook.
"New rule."
This is how Hercules would channel-speak through
Geo, Jack thought. "No visitors without my knowledge; no rock punks, no
women, no milk men!"
"Absolutely, Doctor." A title that he
saved for times when his ass was hanging high…like the tree moss outside.
"If he didn't like my fendings, maybe we
could plant some heavier powers for his return trip to 9-0-4. Bastards."
Geo raced over to the truth System, spilling her
tea on
"Jack, we need to touch base with the others.
Get a cover sheet ready, we'll use code 40 for security. Let's see who this Sam
Browne character is, fingerprints don't lie."
Jack wondered just how much the CIA knew about
Truth System-and the Citadel gig. "Big Bang II." Code 40 was a simple
multiple layer code based on an ancient Amazonian prayer. In using it, Geo
established an instant red warning flag in the minds of all those privileged to
translate it.
"I'm all set with the telecopy cover."
Geo scanned the cover and second page into the overhead tele-copier interface
rack and returned to her file on government employees. Jack wasn't getting a
thing that night.
# # #
By
The water in the shower was ice cold.
By
# # #
Francesca was lost in space, Senior piano
composition, Course 411. The Professor
was a dead man on a university leash, having lost any connection to modern
music and the arts sometime back in 1976.
She had too much to do with her own ideas, but she had to maintain her
routine, like University. Nothing really mattered unless it was to find the
connection between sound and spirit.
Cesca left the
“Hey, Mister.
Two beers here please.”
“Cesca, do!!! What’s up?”
Sergio produced many of the new bands from
“You know about my sound research, the secret
stuff, right?”
“But where are you going with it? Should you play with this new alchemy? I just don’t see the whole vision.”
“I can’t tell you now. When Jack was here last we stopped our
explanation on purpose,…complications, yes?”
Francesca Poured and pondered. Did Sergio have a clue to a question that was
nagging her? Cesca took a shallow
plunge.
“At a rock concert. The artists and audience are staged and
interact in predictable ways. I’m
wondering: what are the variables that can send a spiritual wave or ringing
throughout the audience? How can the
band be a shamanic force, and the music, a spiritual power?”
“The group needs to open a resonance, or harmonic
channel, and share it with the audience.
The best bands initiate and burn a ritualistic fire of sound and
sight. And spirit. Remember the followers of the Grateful
Dead! It was a cult, with off the
symbols and rituals of any post-modern religious movement,” sighed Sergio.
“So the music pulses outward like a wave? Like in wave theory in physics?”
“Why not, as a general model, but intensity,
volume, harmonics, words, and many performance variables all play a role in the
concert mandela. It’s a living circle of
sound, spirit, and technology.”
“What variables?”
“There must be a transaction, of shared belief,
between the crowd and the band, a faith or trust in sounds, composition, and
words. The band, with the people, are
enacting a modern version of an ancient gathering for ceremony and the fans
must reach out to the performers on stage.
Live, music is a two-way phenomenon.
What people see on stage is critical information that helps to create a
mythic or transcendental relationship with performers. The pioneering group, yes, played
in-the-round, right?
“A living mandela through an ancient staging form,
right Sergio!”
“What happens to this mythic mix when a video
screen enters the mix? And a taped
concert or televised song is substituted?” asked Cesca.
“Sound pulse is diminished at the expense of
superficial close ups or—how is it—soap operatic effects! The union of the spirits is more
difficult. Many live broadcasts use the global
stereo and expert direction well. This
is a complex area, Cesca.”
She wanted to ask Sergio about how important
pre-event advertising was. Especially if
there could be a little or none! But she
held back, wanting to remain in control of the Citadel.
“Thanks babe, see you at the gig.” Francesca headed for the train, rethinking
the “Third wave.
“.
# # #
Not only did Geo plant some dicey tidbits in
Mickey Baxter’s file at the CIA, she planted some disturbing insights into his
mind. She claimed that the Truth System
was working on a new “unified theory of life on earth” and that with all of the
extraterrestrial contact her team was getting, the very way humans commune and
share the earth’s resources was up for grabs.
“We go back in time and apply mythic lessons for a
better period ahead.”
“
Jack sensed that Brown was lost in space with
facts and hexes now or maybe mind-fucked with Geo’s psycho-babbling. The two left the lab to Jack for the rest of
the day; Geo waved good-bye to her
“bugged-naked” visitor from the east and headed to Eugene for a Quaker peace
march and sit-in.
Jack first decided to record a song for Francesca
for the weekly Nirvana Pouch, due out as usual Monday morning. His electric Ovation created a wonder
stirring through his earphones and his voice reverberated softly in the
background. “Another love song.” He penned a few choice words onto the
cassette liner card and dubbed a letter he had recorded earlier into side
B. “DAT was out the door.”
Next he retrieved another myth from the Truth
System, this one from an ancient Tilted/Aztec story concerning the creation of
the Universe, unusual because both gods and humans were required to preserve
the life of the universe and the lives of the people.
In an index from the University of Mexico at
Mexico City, in the Folklore and Mythology databases, he found a reference to a
videoplay from “The Five Worlds and Their Suns,” a 1996 production that
contained a scene entitled the “Creation of Music.” He jacked into the multiple layers of
electronic memory and audiovisual inputs, all duplicating systems:
“play/record.”
“It appears the god of the heavens, Tezcatlipoca,
and the god of the wind, Quetzalcoatl, team up to bring the beauty of music
down to the earth.” Pause video. “From the script, Cesca, the God of the Sun
is opposed to this transference of the musicians and their powerful
spirit. “Stop cassette recorder. Start Video and recording system. “This is a cool production, beginning at dusk
and into the night, and well costumed.
Unfortunately the music is suspect.
You’ll have to give it a going over.
Here’s a great quote from the playbill.”
“So it came to pass that the (two Gods) helped one
another to create music upon Earth.
Music accompanied the awakening dawn.
It inspired the dreaming man. It
comforted the waiting mother. One could
hear it in the wings of the bird overhead and in the waters of the brook. From that time forth, every living thing
could create its own kind of music.”
Jack stopped the tape and keyed the Truth System
to stand-by, noting the myriad of flashing lights and low buzz of the disk
drives and tape loops.
“Interesting, the God’s and their presence in our
reality. Thunder, wind, animals and
water in this myth all embody power from a higher guidance or order. A different place than the one we know
about. But what built the sounds and
songs of the myths that we have today?
And how are we creating the soundtracks of our children’s mythology?”
Perhaps natural, or ambient, sounds held some
promise—and certainly Cesca was putting together important sources from modern
composers. But does rock music have the
power of myth? Their vision, now a
spark, sought a power that had existed all around us for ages. One door to a billion handles into the universal
soul.
Jack jumped down from the controls with his
messages for Francesca, but not before checking the security monitors and
electronic door locks of the grounds.
The small barn stood alone, systems all ok, but gripped Jack in a
strange way. He wanted in—even with the
scolding that hung like and
“This there a secret way in there?”
Palm down, lights and heat reset, Jack headed to
the square in
Inside the small barn, really more a fortified
bunker than a shed, an internal satellite dish rotated to download the next
signal from the Truth System, this one a linkage from Ramone in
But with results far, far advanced from the kite
and string in the time of
And she knew everything there was to know
about Jack and Francesca.
# # #
In lower Spanish schools, they taught children a
meditation, full of sunsets and ocean birds and sounds of gentle rain s on
coastal rooftops. But now Francesca was
strapped and booted into the Truth System and hyperspace—and she remembered the
sequence of image codes that unlocked a big, white door to another place. Each time she saw a key image or feeling,
like the sounds of the waves at the beach, she replaced it with a new sign from
Jack’s work with mythic symbology. She
wanted to discover how her memory, in combination with the System and retooled
meditation, could work to produce information on archetypical sounds.
They needed to select four mythic channels, to
experience through the Truth System interface, and she saw a possibility. By duplicating the sounds of the ancients in
a modern format, they might finally break the storyteller’s door into super
consciousness.
“Play.”
She was hovering, soul-flexing with the soundtrack
of the Toltec place. Francesca smiled
under the weight of love and technology and waited for the light.
# # #
The lightning was slamming into Ramone’s
mountaintop lab, streaking down two shiny poles, lightning rods for a spooky
mountain plan. The power activated a
myriad of recording and collection devices, which Ramone analyzed and
repackaged for the others in the System.
All physical aspects of the flash and sound where described in microscopic
detail, while the experimental conversion process developed a different
analysis with the mainframe back in
In modern time, weather forces still influence our
global mythic theatre, especially in the powerful imaginations of
children. Geo knew that we are emotionally
vulnerable during violent natural events, and even falling snow triggers
certain emotional cues, as does a bright sunny morning. The weather effects our states. It is these catalytic orientations, or
semi-conscious awarenesses, that she explores through the new alchemy. Lightning brought a global energy net through
the wizard Ben Franklin. But there were
alternate mythical sources, too. She
believed that once the “kinetic shroud” was peeled away, a spirit would reside.
Lightning is the door she was determined to
break. One hot cosmic baby.
# # #
The truth System was the dictionary/tutor of every
student’s wildest dreams. Of course, the
entire database accessed the best libraries of the new Century. Jack switched off his guitar, with Eric
Johnson in mind. Data file.
Atmospherics” (Harv\024\vr\min:X) 1. Radio and Television noise in a radio
receiver; or randomly distributed white spots or bands on the screen of a
television receiver, caused by interference from natural electromagnetic disturbances
in the atmosphere. 2. A special sound or
light effect created for live rock music or theatre. See Harv\025\vr:
“Isn’t this strange,” Jack leaned back, headset in
the two cushion rest from some deadhead Armistead dentist. “Where was I reading about new research on
naturally occurring sounds?”
In the den, where Geo was coating her objects
d’art with dust, the wood stove was cooing and hissing softly. Jack rummaged through piles of popular and
scientific journals, trying to connect a weak memory with a current quest. Mars
Magazine, Sierra World Journal, Public TV Guide. “Ha!” Weather\Window. An obscure quarterly published by an
international team of scientists stationed on the moon since 1997. One of many electronic mail journals that was
available on disk or directly from a public access database at NASA. Geo had printed a hard copy.
She had left it on the kitchen table about a week
ago and Jack remembered the dot-matrix style cover, a cool graphic illustrating
how lightning was brought into a container, but he couldn’t decipher the image
and it had restarted a strange rumble inside of him,…”butterflies of
electricity.”
Geo had spilled coffee on page 3. On page 15, he noticed some scribblings on an
article entitles “Earth Storms and Electromagnetic Phenomenon: New Paradigms
from the Moon Meteorological Station.
“Sun spots, gravity flux quotients, orbit vectors, weather charts,
rock’n’roll!” Suddenly he jumped back,
and stared up at the ceiling beams and the fire shadow angels.
The text read:
“…we are learning more about the power of sun spots and their effect on
planetary weather and it appears certain…”
Jack turned the page and glanced at the right margin where Geo had
written: “check print-out from Ramone
against this electromagnetic valence chart,” with a reminder to “check
lightning antennae alignment in small barn a.s.a.p.” He hacked into the Truth System,
shaking. He loaded the magazine and sent
a copy to Francesca. He couldn’t get
into the small barn. He had tried, but
now he could pursue this train of thought, that had started with Ben Franklin’s
discovery. A kite, string, and a
key. ZZZaappp! The Moon!
“Why was Geo secretly studying lightning? How does it relate to mythology? Did she want me to find that magazine?” Jack was talking to the Universe again, and
to no one.
Synchronicity was knocking on Jack’s door. Would he challenge his friend and hero? A ladder of trust needed a sturdy wall to
lean on. He would climb as slow as
possible.
# # #
Francesca was deep into her subconscious, in a
trance induced by a spirit science marriage.
She was actually picking apart the ancient melodies from the Toltec
play, searching for archetypical qualities, patterns, or symbols. Through its meta-psycho sensors, her journey
was recorded for later study. It could
even record the dream state but few ever wanted reruns.
She was wanted on the outside and a small skin
prod device gently vibrated and brought her out of the meditation. It was a message from Armistead “What did the
“great satellite” bring this time?”
# # #
Jack had just slipped into his sleeping bag after
refueling the stove when he felt Geo’s presence. He had crashed in the den after stirring
through galaxies of database information; the
System was still printing articles,
bibliographies, and abstracts. When Geo
swept into the kitchen, she knew he was working.
“Jack, I think it’s time you met Jami.”
Geo dribbled teas on the way to the mystery barn
while Jack tip-toed right behind. He
wasn’t sure he was awake, everything was moving so quickly. She placed her palm on the security pad and
motioned him to do the same; she turned the key and hit the lights. A robot whirled, sputtered, and extended its
communication sensors in a quick, steady pace toward them.
“G/999/RED.PROEP/XERA.” Geo commanded!
The robot’s front panel zipped down and
immediately replied to Geo’s verbal access code: “Greetings Dr. Klein. Did you take your vitamins today? Please log-in unidentified visitor.”
Geo entered some numbers, pressed some buttons and
validated a new code sequence for Jack to use.
From then on, he was in the lightning barn.
“I know about the Citadel Concert,” she said.
“The what?”
Jack was beyond himself now. He
plopped right down on an Indian rug under his feet, in awe of the laboratory he
once thought was a pot factory. “Jesus!”
“That’s the name Shillart saw when he read one of
your secret messages to Francesca by mistake.
He believes that our secret energy source, given that the correct
engineering applications can be designed, can be a way to your “archetypical
séance video groove-in.” Door breaking!
“I should have realized that you would know what I
was sourcing—and sending to
“Hell no, Romeo face! Come on, let’s fix breakfast and I’ll explain
where we’re at with Jami the robot boy and the lightning transformer
process. The way we know myth and our ancient
heritage is about to explode, Jacko!”
“
“What is the barrier?” Jack was astounded.
“Think of it like as intermittent stream. When the rains come, water is now a spiritual
or mythical current that only flows during violent, natural happenings. And lightning, right!
We are unraveling a universal DNA or met code,
first discovered by the weather pioneers from the moon station. You read about it last evening! I put that into your face on purpose, buddy.”
“The barrier is really our own ignorance,
too! It is time to access the spirit
inside each of us. We now have the force
to activate myth, and we can power the new alchemy. Perhaps, though music, we can synthesize a
global advancement in human understanding, a second communion and begin a world
healing!”
“Door breakin’.”
“Door motherfuckin’ breakin’, palsy.”
Jack started for the phone before it rang: Francesca?!!
“Have you heard the same speal I did? The Citadel Project is out. Tell me about the lightning lab! Have you interfaced the containment vessel
yet?” Francesca finally paused for a
breath.
“You’re coming over here, Cesca, a.s.a.p. God, what a cool drop of love this is!” What do you mean, the containment vessel?”
said Jack.
“Didn’t Geo turn you on to the schematics and
research tapes?”
“No. We saw
the barn lab and Jami the robot. She rapped
about a force derived from lightning, and a braver new world.” He looked back at Geo, now at the controls,
headphones on, tied into an expanding world.
“Oz reincarnate.”
“Honey, what about school?”
No problem, I can give my Senior Recital early and
be there in four days, max.” Jack loved
it when her Spanish and street jargon mixed.
He loved her.
“Bring everything not duplicated here. Let’s talk again when you get a flight.”
Jack left the laboratory and walked to his
meditation spot along