The AI jerks are always about, and there’s a whole brood of them, currently swarming, that’s a pretty nasty one. I’ve spoken about the game they play, many times on this blog. I haven’t spoken much about the kind of future they envision for us all, though.
To them it’s a Utopia, where all their desires can be fulfilled, and they get to be their best self. They want that for us all, apparently, and seek to educate us, so that we learn to love the AI, and long for the promised Eden of Singularity Land, where the robot and human enter into a (simulated and virtual) love pact, that there’s no going back from. This would seem like an unholy union, to the normal person, but these people are into all things freaky, and aspire to have everyone in the world become a freak as well, so they can announce that as the New Normal. Ben Goertzel is their pin-up boy, and Sofia the chatbot a fount of wisdom, in this dystopic vision the technohippies have in mind for us.
The idea of the Singularity is, in their minds, a kind of race to the bottom, for humanity, although they view the giving in, in a hedonistic orgy of vulgar oafishness, as a beautiful transition into a Brave New World, that we should all long for. They are bewildered when you point out that anti-humanistic Satanistic technofreakery isn’t really your thing, and suggest you just aren’t evolved enough to dig all the soft porn they post, to tempt you in with. Philosophy pisses them off, big time, too, as I found out when I posted my first comment in one of their threads, a link to an article about Plato’s conception of beauty, having seen one of them enthuse about her game character’s physical beauty, which, in her mind, was a by-product of kindness. The matrix started glitching, when faced with intelligent discusssion, and philosophy not just providing a cool allegorical reference for Plato’s cave, that could translate to a gaming environment as a shirtless male model on a couch in an underground carpark, and to heck with the philosophy bit.
Two people making logical philosophical points in their thread fried the circuits, and when logic didn’t compute, a fuse blew somewhere, that started out with threats……………..
then, rather hilariously, led to a curse being put on my poor ol’ book, “The Q Affaire”.
I mean, what has a comedic romance thriller novel done to deserve this, other than a spot of light philosophising, I ask you? Satanists aren’t big on humour, though. I knew that already, having come across many of them in my time on YouTube. You can often recognise them by the little wings, with puzzling little dots, which according to Q, is locust poop. Their idea of what is acceptable to post on social media is fairly poop as well, and I ended up having to report one of them to Twitter, for the video of the very young looking girl below, doing unmentionable and tonsil-damaging things to an unsuspecting banana, while dressed up as a cat. The girl posting it was a blue haired female who was doing her best to look like her gaming avatar, and one hopes that this ARG group of LARPers she associates with are just sharing their soft porn stuff between themselves, and not dragging children into virtual reality games with them, online. They seem to me to be a pretty good reason to not give your kid access to a phone or computer until they are at least 21. At least if you don’t want them to get dissed, doxed, and cursed all in a day, by satanic larpers playing an online ARG. This group strike me as people with a lot of personal problems, that they would like everyone else to have as well, so they can call it the norm. Thank goodness the Singularity is nowhere near. I’d hate to see what that thing would look like, if these were the brains helping program it.
Oh, I forgot to mention, being called a shill. Must have been the threats, curses, and doxing that made it temporarily slip my mind. Took me a while to decode the word salad in this Tweet I received, but basically this blue haired female avatar, who insists he’s a male, who just finds it more convenient to pretend to be female in Twitter, for strangers, but gets annoyed when they think he is one, with the mistaken idea they are treated better than men (I didn’t see his friends treat people too well, as they waltz around Twitter threatening and cursing people, and subjecting them to looking at their creepy porn content). He seemed to think I’m being paid to write my book, “The Q Affaire”. Or something. As I say…..
Goodness only knows precisely what’s being conveyed, because…
A. These people are confused about everything, ranging from gender, to how to speak English, right on up to how to visualise a decent future for themselves, based on behaving decently in the present……
B. They are inveterate liars, who are playing an ARG game online, the stated rules of which (letting people know they are in a game) they are breaking, themselves, because they have no morals or ethics, and follow the Satanic Crowley law only, “do as thou wilt”. What they don’t tell anyone about, is that they are hoping to entrap innocent people into joining their game, so they can mess up their heads, their lives, and threaten and dox them. For fun. That’s the average Satanist’s view of what fun is, you see. Welcome to the dystopian future. Or you could just fry their circuits, by saying no to their jerky game and depressing future.
Q’s always on his phone, up to something, and you’d think he’d have been happy enough, posting away for me, about “The Q Affaire” book, now that he’s been promoted from Tea Intern (Q insists he’s a “Tea Operative”, but whatever). No, tho’, that’s not enough to keep him out of mischief, and he’s back recruiting boymen, down on the boards, and little boys too, for his Stoneage troll training farm, not so cleverly disguised as a puzzle. I told him. I said, Q, you start this nonsense up again, with your rubbishy recycled bits of things the magpies dropped in the bushes, I’ll be pulling out your tentpoles, and you can go pitch your droopy tent in some other kindhearted fool’s garden. I’m not helping you train little boys how to steal real men’s identities, before they’ve even got their first girlfriend.
Maybe they have some chance of meeting a nice girl, if they don’t hang out with you, and become trolls, but I know I don’t want them doing what you did, “borrow” a decent man’s identity, to chat up a decent woman, then threaten her with an army of trolls, when she finds out what a sad little boy you are.
He wasn’t happy; but he sees me as a mother figure (I know, it’s complicated), so he looked suitable chastised, with tears welling up in his likkle eyes, at the thought of being tent-pegless, and having to make his way down the river of no return, to camp in someone else’s mommie’s garden. Kids. Whattaya gonna do? He’s out in the tent, sulking, with a big pile of “Punisher” comics, from the Stoneage, to keep him happy. They’ve even got puzzles in the back, which should keep him going tonight, when he’s no internet to post on the boards from. I shall be keeping an eye on my “Tea Operative”, as I don’t trust him in business ventures, if he’s not grown up enough to behave himself. Shame. He’s actually a pretty good secretary (sips tea). Maybe there’s hope for him, He tore off one of the incriminating puzzle posts, and ate it, to destroy the evidence, and I helpfully tore out the other puzzle page , so he wouldn’t choke on the rest.
I also had to give him THE LOOK. It ain’t easy, being an employer and a mommie, to Q. When he’s finished his comics, I may eventually return his phone, but only if he’s a good boy.
Note: This post was originally published as a Newsletter post. If you’d like to sign up, to stay updated on on the latest from Donna’s doings, about books, boys and puzzling plots, click on the link in @TheQAffaire Tweet link, shown below, to receive it weekly, via Email.
A is for apple, b is for balloon, but what is Q for? Well, there have been a lot of queer guesses about the recent origins of the 17th letter of the alphabet, and to some it’s still just a letter. To others it’s a whole way of life they don’t want to lose. A kind of modern tradition, with a lot of symbolism involved. But where did Q come up with all these symbols, is the Question?
One of the answers that might strike you as having some clout is Qabalah. What if Q stands for Qabalah? Now, hear me out. I know Q pretty much put himself forward as a traditional Christian, holdy-handsy type, who enjoys singing around the campfire in kinship with like-minded clean-livin’ Jesus believers, before trooping off to a giant sleeping bag together. Their dream, if we believe what they told us, is about the defeat of the evil Cabal by the forces of the “goodies” troops, who have boots firmly planted on the ground, worldwide, led by the good ol’ USA, who are so superior to everyone else, in, well, everything, really, having both an awesomely rich culture and deep historical roots, that the rest of the world is dreadfully jealous of. Luckily for the rest of us, they often get involved in wars in other countries, to help bring democracy to them. Kind of a “Call of Duty” thing, for them.
They were fully backed up, too, by General Flynn‘s digital army, Trumpeting out the good message like happy Tweety birds, in a new dawn chorus. Poor ol’ feller unfortunately may now have to repurpose his Defence Fund as a Dementia Fund, given that he’s not able to remember this happy Christian family moment, when he pledged allegiance to Q. Let’s pray he recovers his memory, as he might take up naked surfing, or somethin’, next. I suppose he could order a few pairs of shorts, assuming he’s let roam free, still, with his name and address printed on them, like the lady at the right of the picture has done, and the lady in the middle, to remind them who the president is (was) and where they live. Smart thinkin’, there, if it runs in the family. I don’t think it’s officially dementia until you can’t remember your bank account no., tho’, and I’m betting the ex-gen can-can. Personally, I’m surprised this photo was taken in the States, because previously I was under the impression that Americans only wore items with their clubs, counties, or country in big letters on the front, while abroad, in case Dementia or Alzhiemers set in while on a European holiday (Europe can do that to you).
The whole Q thing is right in line with a Qabalistic vision, though, with plenty of nodding to theosophy, and Steinerism, when you look into it a bit more, because the Illuminati that Q followers are so obsessed with were very much a feature in much of the lore about Qabalistic studies as well. Imaginations pretty much started running amok on the fantasy end of things, right after the Jews were unceremoniously ejected from Spain, in the 15th Cent., for being Jewish, and scapegoating became a popular way of blaming everyone for your own sh1t you didn’t want to own, long before that, with a rich historical tradition of scapegoating to be discovered in lots of different cultures, throughout recorded history. The Qabalah’s origins are as obscure and shady as Q’s, after he hi-jacked the 17th alphabet letter for his good vs evil fairytale, and are difficult to unravel and examine, because of the mix of influences, between popular culture and mythological/historical references. The number 17, for example, turns up lots of places, and it would be a little Discordian to think that all the things in the real world that these numbers point to, in Qabalistic terms, have a correspondence. Yet, some of the things do actually have people in common, and points of similarity between them, and it bugs me to have to admit that we may never know who started the whole Q larp, since there were so many involved, and the various strands form a veritable spider web, which I’m betting those who originally thought up the concept, are quite glad their prey got tangled up in to the point of not being able to see their way clear to disentangling the sticky mess. Many would like to have their guts for garters, at this stage, and I’ve never been a fan, since that time Q threatened to send his army after me.
Some strands, like religious and Qabalistic style numerology, worked into elements of Q’s online posts, added the air of mystique and fun puzzle elements that a sheep might want to put together of a dull evening, with the rest of the flock, while not really seeing what the whole picture looks like, when you are standing a bit further back from it, and aren’t a wooly headed sheep. The posts work on creative, associative type thinking, rather than logic, which ruins the appeal altogether, to the flock (trust me on this; I’ve had my head figuratively bitten off, by Q, for arguing logically with him, over some of the sillier points he made). You can read about the more humorous bits in my new novel, “The Q Affaire”, out on Amazon, if you prefer to read about ridiculous arguments, rather than be in them.
While Q didn’t exactly claim his posts were channeled through the prophet Abraham, or anything like that (Q, make outlandish claims, as if?), some of the literature his ideas were probably based on doesn’t exactly have a terribly reliable provenance, unless you see narratives as equivalent to the realities they signify.
Carrying out Qabalistic studies are a bit like reading the bible; if you are taking it too literally you might be doing it all wrong. It’s a creative tool for thinking, and Q uses it like that, but treats it like a big joke. The whole thing turned into a kind of “Infinite Jest” that doesn’t go away, as long as there are enough people taking it seriously. Really, someone should write a comedic novel about it; oh, wait, they have. I did, didn’t I, and I got quite a laugh out of writing about Q, having hung out with him for a while, and seen how he thinks, and the funny notions he gets? He likes a good book, I know; the bible I’m not so convinced about, given his behaviour, despite all his protestations to the contrary, but I remember how annoyed he was at my revealing his top secret code, developed around the book “The Neverending Story”, which he insisted I’d no permission to repeat. This, even after I pointed out that the “code” appeared at the back of the book, and he was even more annoyed when I pointed out that the writer was clearly influenced by Buddhism. He wasn’t having that. Perhaps that didn’t fit in so well with his less public beliefs? He didn’t say. I know he’s keen on Freemasons, mind you, so perhaps they just compare notes on concrete mixes, when they are having a natter. They don’t tend to tell the more mainstream Christians that, ‘cos why cast pearls before swine/sheep (although I’m no longer convinced there is such a thing, as I understand it, anyhow, in the US)? I suspect it’s angels on your shoulders, snakes underfoot, or nothing at all, over there. At one level, it seems rather pagan, but unconsciously so, if you get me. Same symbols, same hysteria, only no Wicker Man.
Q might have a well developed sense of humour, when it comes to laughing at others, who he refers to as “sheep”, in a joke that revolves around mirror reversals that he loves, but doesn’t always let on about…you see, the sheep he’s really referring to are the ones who believe him without questioning logically anything he presents as fact. The fact that most of his followers, while excellent at following him, were pretty useless at following any logical trains of thought, to analyse the nonsense they were force fed, to grasp that they were the ovines being referred to, not the “normies” they were encouraged to despise, along with the evil, baby eating/trafficking/sacrificing deep state Cabalists.
How hilarious, then, would it be if Q followers not only had to swallow the bitter pill of Q’s storm being a washout, but the further irony that Q wasn’t exactly the sort of Christian they thought he was? Mind you, they were given hints that there was a lot more dark than light about, in the shadow of Q, what with all the talk of hangings and lynchings that even the most Christian of followers didn’t seem to balk at. Satan would be shocked, and delighted, to see how Q kept the fires of hatred stoked up, in good Christian hearts.
Mirror reversals are one of Q’s Qabalistic tricks. Opposites, you see, are how the Qabalistic worldview works. Opposite polarities, bumping up against one another in a big clash, then transforming into something new. So, it’s perfectly OK, if you’re Q, to say you’re a Christian, but be into death and apocalypse because out of the destruction of something, comes something else you really want. And if you’re Q, you’re the goodie, so you are on the first boat ascending into the heavenly new world that awaits, and to hell with the sheep. They were just lambs to the slaughter, in the service of good. The means justify the ends, and all that jazz. I guess you have to be in an apocalyptic cult to appreciate how joyous thinking about that sort of thing can be. All the same, they did work rather hard to present themselves as the “goodies”, rather than the “baddies”, those QAnons.
Oh, great. The Apocalypse has arrived.
It sounds a bit unscientific, this theory, what with apocalypses and sheep running about to escape being rounded up for a nefarious agenda, which only starts with the fleecing of assets, but wait up, because there are numbers to back it up. Proof. There’s even a special clock, which was further proof that it was an exquisitely designed mechanism that even the divine watchmaker would have been wishing he’d thought up himself, or at least not have had to work through earthly agents to set in motion. More reflections of the perfection of the above, into the waters of the earth below, on the face of the ticking clock of time, which bound Q to Trump in perfect, zero delta synchronicity, when they were really getting their mojo working.
It was pure magic to watch, when the apparently meaningless numbers and letters conjured up from Tweets and Qdrops created a Qabalistic correspondence of meaning, which totally escaped the flock, to the point where even Q’s “These people are stupid” phrase, no matter how many times repeated, didn’t sink in as having any possible reference to them. They just consulted their Gematria calculators online, and marvelled at the miraculous way their God was setting about putting the plan to hang and lynch folks of their choosing, into action, through them. Glory be. It’s good to be good. It’s also very nice to have scapegoats; people who do things so evil that you can feel great about hating them, and venting your own inner demon in their direction, thereby casting it out of you.
I didn’t make it to the end of the next video; I doubt even Gen. Flynn would manage to, on his most forgetful days, so don’t feel you have to wade through the whole thing to get the idea that you can pretty much throw anything at Gematria, and it sticks a variety of associative ideas together, in a psychoanalytic free-association type logic-free party for the mind.
The video above does demonstrate how Q thinking works, though, doesn’t it, pathetic as the results are, in terms of logical”proof” of anything, and it’s the same sort of associative thinking used in Qabalistic meditations, used for forging and exploring spiritual associations, on the paths that criss-cross the 10 nodes on the Qabalistic tree, describing the polarities in creation, echoed down below, on the earthly realm, from the spiritual, ideal realm above. The problem is, if you abandon logical thinking, you can end up almost anywhere, including the loony bin, if you aren’t careful. Perhaps this is just creative thinking, and a fanciful narrative over a bowl of whatever you like to put in your pipe of an evening, but some of the Q people took their wildest ideas quite seriously, was the impression I got, when they got the hump at people laughing at stuff like this, which is pretty tame, compared to some of the things I’ve heard Q followers say. At least flat earthers aren’t obsessed with blood and guts. They stick to being odd and irritating, rather than frightening and aggressive in their beliefs. Anything goes, though, when logic does, as anything’s possible, once the modern definition of science is chucked out.
Qabalistic study was not used for logic, really, at all, in our modern definitions of the term, but the Q posts, and the decoders, wanted to pretend it was all about logic, for them, while throwing random numbers into the thing, as though they had meaningful connections with the logical realm. The sheep loved the game, however, as it made the boring old field they were in rather more exciting, what with all this hidden stuff that you could scare yourself over, and go running around with the other sheep, baaahing about it. They’re still missing their shepherd Q, and the old herd, but the solution to missing something you didn’t have is pretending you did, and hanging onto the past, pretending it’s still a thing, when it isn’t. Logic, proof, justice, religion, shepherds, don’t count on any of them, if you don’t want to be a very disappointed and abandoned sheep, at the end of the day.
Last week, he was my temp. intern, helping out with the tea making, while I was editing the book, in the evenings. Now it’s hit the Amazon shelves, he’s given himself an upgrade, and let himself into a few of my social media accounts into the bargain. Still, there were some nice surprises, on launch day, including a recorded Q message. He may be a secret agent, but he’s coming out of his shell a lot. This book has done wonders for him, I tell ya!
I gotta hand it to ol’ Donna. When she sets her mind to something, she does it. For a little slip of a thing, she seems to have some big ideas about herself. Now take me (and I know you would like to – wink!) as an example; my big ideas about myself are all founded on the reality of my being an incredibly capable undercover agent. Donna’s ideas are founded on, well, Donna thinking, which I’ve never been able to fathom. This new book, though, may well provide the insight that months and months of intensive undercover surveillance failed to reveal. It’s funny as all hell, too. I wish she’d made me laugh this much when she was putting me through hell the first time.
Mme. Sososstrus, the lady who never spells her name the same way twice, out and about, before going missing in action, with “Bad boy” Crowley.
Dear reader, I don’t want you to be too alarmed, but I must inform you that our beloved Mme. Soss, who we met recently at her energetic and ectoplasmagorific seance session, and have quickly grown to love in that special way one reserves for ones’ cult leader, has gone missing in action.
She’s a bundle of energy, so we have come to expect all kinds of energetic feats from her, but this one seems to be to be beyond the precipice, in terms of courting danger.
A missive left in my bedroom wardrobe, transmitted, like most of Mme. S’s missives, etherially, via automatically channeled communications, has arrived. Two actually. The first was an “Out of Office” message, in response to my request, last Friday, that she author the first issue of my Newsletter for me, since I would be too busy editing my blockbuster novel, in preparation for its release into the wilds of Amazon, shortly. That didn’t worry me too much, and I had my new secretary, Q, run up a short editorial piece for the maiden voyage of said newsletter, as Plan B. He’s good with plans, though I have to admit, I wondered whether he’d get it sent out on time, since he’s missed quite a few deadlines before, I noticed (I hired him mostly for his tea making abilities). I wasn’t too worried at first, and must admit, was thinking mostly of myself, rather than Mme. S’s safety, as I was unaware at the time of who she was spending the weekend with,and where she was headed. Imagine my shock, then, upon being informed, when my new secretary delivered the tea things to my study, as I set about my evening’s work, editing “The Q Affaire” for publication, and, while taking my first sip of his rather well made tea, (surprising, since I have rather severe doubts that Q is Irish, as he claims, so the tea should not be that good) that the rumour was Mme. S had been planning to abscond for the weekend with the abhorrent Mr. Crowley, a right little demon, if past rumours are anything to go by (and many do swear by rumours). This Mr. Crowley, though technically deceased, is said to be very much at still at large in the spirit world, and always circling, seeking out upstanding women to corrupt utterly. Q had won the confidence of Mme. Sossostrus, who is always putty in the hands of men who can wink charmingly, or tell pretty stories of the intellectual or poetic type, I noticed, and apparently she confided in him her weakening resolve in trying to resist Crowley’s Bad boy charms, before her disappearance.
I can hardly bear to think about it still, the shock on reading the missive shown above, that materialised in my wardrobe this morning. I had to get Q to decode it, before I could make any sense of it , but it’s clear she’s in over her head with Crowley, and was lucky to be able to convey a message to me without being detected via remote mind-reading, or penetrating insight of some other magical means, by the cunning Crowley with the silver tongue, that tempted her to travel abroad, with him her only escort. A poor choice, which one would think she might have spent longer pondering, since even the destination set all sorts of spiritual alarum bells ringing in the head. I largely blame myself, I must say, for leading her astray, and I see Crowley as merely a spirited opportunist, who leapt at the open portal when he saw his chance to jump on Mme. S, who he’s fancied getting his claws into for a while now, according to herself. Why am I to blame? Well, I was talking about volcanos a lot recently, and ziggarats, and Tarot, and generally going into the mystic a bit, and Mme. Soss gets easily enthused by such topics. Indeed, she dropped by several times to hold impromtu meetings of her new cult, The Order of The Heart, at my hearth, and, between the fire, and all the talk of volcanos, not to mention sacred shrines with snakes interred underground, and slithering about as shapeshifting rivers and Garden of Eden dwelling tempters, I fear the temptation was all to much for her adventurous side, and she gave in to her hedonistic impulses, and travelled to the volcano with him. Yes. That’s right. They went to the volcano together. I have a feeling she won’t be the same woman when she returns, but she’s full of surprises at the best of times, so we probably won’t be able to tell. I imagine she will though, even if it takes a while for the full story to emerge. I mean, would you be able to talk about it, straight after you had a week away at a volcanic eruption with the bold Mr. Crowley? I wouldn’t think so, somehow.
Update: She’s back. I’m glad of that, because not only was I worried about her getting a bit too close to the action, in Iceland, but I was also getting worried she might be too far from it, since she’d promised to edit this weekend’s edition of the Newsletter, and make herself available at the launch of the new TarotTime Team , over at the Etsy shop. She swept in yesterday, in fine fettle, ready for more fun, and soon the *ESQ method Tarot service was announced, in our snazzy new poster that Q threw some glitter and glue at, all available to initiates and non-initiated alike, at an out of this world low price. I even threw a coupon in the basket for new customers, I was in such a good mood, after being let use the glitter glue gun for a while. Mme. Sossostrus assures me that having glue stuck in your hair just makes the readings more auspicious, and downright fun, which sounds right to me, since anything Mme. S gets involved in always ends up being a lot of fun.
Mme. Sossostrus plans to update us further, in the Newsletter editorial, regarding what new things she learned in her travels last weekend, as well of a reminder of what we new initiates have learned to date, by means of another podcast this weekend, featuring her best bits (oh, I do hope we are up to it, but I’m by no means confident we will be!), as well as belting out the weekend Newletter for us. She’s all heart, that woman. You can order your Newletter here, if you can handle it. First issue guest authored by Q!
Have you met the divine Mme. Sosostrus yet? She’s preposterous, and yet…..such fun. She’s quite the character, and seems unable to pronounce, let alone spell, her own name. Still, she has all this weird knowledge, she claims, from these Kookistani people that nobody else seems to have heard of. She’s pretty vague about their whereabouts, but Mme. Slives half way up a local mountain, with a troop of Capuchin monkeys for company, and only ventures abroad down the town, on Alice the bike, when out ofUisce Beatha, apparently, or when there’s a chance of some silver crossing her palm. Oh, there’s a piano half way up there, too, which, by her own account,they gather ’roundin the evenings, to knock out a tune or two on.
We’ve heard her singing, unfortunately, at a recent seance we had. As a writer, I seek out these Kooks, to help me cook up new books, and Mme. S was quite the hoot, as she literally threw herself into finding the ghost myself and Mr. Poxley-Warner dreamed up. With all this free entertainment, and barely containable mirth, we almost forgot teeny Foxley Poxley’s wailing for the evening. The only dark spot on the ectoplasmic spectacles was the fact that that Donna Emerald beat me to making art out of the pig’s ear that Sosostrus made of the performance, by publishing a play of her own. The pigeon post must have been intercepted, or some malicious spirit put the evening’s entertainment gossip about via secret twitching curtain coded signals, or teatime tattling, down the local cafe. Still, there’s a book and several dramatic paintings in it still, I suspect. Plenty of time for clearing up the mouse remains from the cooker, too. One can’t rush art, and she’s such an inspiration.
Oh, Ireland. Where are we now, after a full year of the big Lurgi lockdown? Nowhere further along to freedom being restored, it seems. Oh, sure, we had brief glimpses over the wall, but that was just to tease us, wasn’t it? A big joke on us; a prank to make us think that if we played along, our jailers would set us free sooner. Still, we learned to love our servitude, didn’t we? Kissed the jailor’s hand, and even begged to be beaten down some more.
Well, folks, I hope those of you that played along are happy now. What’s that you say? It’s people like me that are holding the rest of you back from getting your freedom? Suuuure. You keep on believing that, then, if that gets you any further along, towards freedom. I think you’ll find it doesn’t, but far be it from me to try to persuade you differently. I know well how people like to cling to beliefs that make them feel better. Bit sick of it now, are you? He he. Aren’t we all? I discuss a couple of aspects about the Lurgi lockdown, one personal, one political, that have cropped up for me recently, because of the events of the last year, in this livestream.
Never mind their psyOps. Maybe turn the narratives off for a while, completely, and dance to your own tunes, when you need a break from their madness? Freedom happens mostly in your own mind, anyway, some say. Just don’t tune out the truth, completely, through fear or blind trust, and expect it all to turn out grand in the end.
Yipee. It’s that day I’ve been looking forward to. My new book is out, and I’m so excited, because I get to celebrate down at Café Emerald (leaps out of bed, and flings open the curtains). Well, the sun isn’t exactly shining, but that just makes it sparklier, down at the café, so it’s all good.
Didn’t know I had a little cafe, did ya? Well, I have a lot of things tucked away in my imagination, and “The Q Woo” is just one of them, that we’re celebrating today. It’s like a birthday party, for a book, what we’re doing today. This is Part 2 of “The Q Affaire”, of course, but I’m publishing it as a volume on its own, today, in the gift shop (points to an area you hadn’t noticed before, as I pour you a nice hot beverage, at the best table in the house, and they’re all great tables!). I make things. Books, art, craft, anything pretty or interesting, that I think will be fun to do, I’m sure to give it a go. I’ve even had a go at doing an ad for my book (titters).
I’ve arranged the shelves nicely so you don’t even have to get out of your comfy seat to see all the bits and bobs (returns from behind the shelves somewhere with a plate of fresh croissants and jam for you, smiling).
(The Gift Shop, over there- points vaguely towards the back, at shelves with all sorts of interesting knick-knacks, plus that book that you’ve been waiting eagerly on. You salivate with interest, then notice that Donna has obligingly brought a copy of it to the table for you): DonnaEmeraldArt etsy.com
Here’s the blurb on the back cover of the latest one. I’ll read it for you, if you don’t want to let your croissants get cold before the butter and jam go on (adjusts reading glasses and reads):
What’s it about? Well, it’s a continuation of a comedy thriller I published recently, but I’ve brought in this new character, Q, that you didn’t get to meet personally, in the first book, and there’s romance, and comedy, and adventure, all rolled up in a big puzzle plot, and it’s all set on YouTube, and it’s terribly exciting, and funny, with lots of suspense, and thrills and spills. I put everything I like into it, just like I do with the other stuff in life, you know? Put in things you get a kick out of, and hope other people get a kick out of them as well, you get me? Of course it’s very deep too (puts on serious author face, not terribly convincingly). He he. It’s actually a pretty hard to follow plot, so I recommend the Backchannel Reading Room, over there, for those who are anywhere past, ooooh, Chapter 5. It’s nice and quiet in there, and very secret, so don’t tell anyone about it. You, dear reader, are a special customer, so you get the key (pulls out an ancient looking key from a devastatingly attractive but tastefully understated cleavage area, and displays its rusty elegance against a deliciously curved clavicle). There’s a fire in there, on chilly afternoons (you haul your eyes up to my face, thinking of fires and cleavages, for a moment, until comprehension dawns. I pretend to not notice I know what you were thinking, and look back at the book. as you blush. So, let’s read what the reviewers said about the ol’ bookie book, shall we? This is from the blurb at the back, as well:
I’ll leave you to enjoy your tea, coffee, cakey, musicy, bookie nice time, on your own for a while, and go look after the other customers. If you need a refill, just raise a hand absent-mindedly while reading, and I’ll be over without you missing a moment away from reading, or having to talk. Have fun, and get up and walk around whenever you want to think. WCs are in the Top Level Clearance Rooms, for Q clearance customers’ eyes only. Extra fluffy towels and fancy cologne for handies available there, dear reader. See you later. (Goes to say hello to other arrivals, seats them, and heads off to make more tea and coffee, and fiddle about with gift items people have been enthusing over while they get settled down with copies of the fabulously Fnordish looking new tome, hot off the always wonderful Ms. Emerald’s magical tablet.
I didn’t write the whole thing at the café, as some writers do, you know, because the beeps and other weird noises can put you off, but then again, I’ve made sure nothing in my cafe beeps, and the customers, being the type that love books, are delightfully quiet and civilised. There’s even a noise cancelling button you can press, under the table, if the music distracts you, and you just want Raindrops playing. In fact, come sunset, if you are still tucked away in a corner, reading, you will mostly just hear seagulls and waves, as you drift away yourself, into your imagination, watching the sun set from our balcony, over a last cup. I do hope you had a wonderful time, and that you enjoyed the day. I hope you enjoy the novel as much as the novel time we spent together, too.
Well, that was a nice day. Think I’ll watch the stars come out before I wash those dishes, and clear up after the book launch guests. No hurry, after all. (smiles, and pulls up a seat, with a last cup of tea, to end the day).
It’s nearly the weekend, and you’re bored, bored, bored. It seemed like such a good idea at the time, to ask Madame Arcati to pop ’round on her bicycle for a pep-you-up scéance. Now, you are beginning to wonder, as she seems even dottier than the reputation for summoning up things from beyond the wildest reaches of the imagination led you to expect. Will a vase or two be damaged in the throes of whatever is possessing her? Will she return from the other side safely? Most importantly, will she be able to remove the troublesome apparition of your dear deceased mrs., much missed, but not enough to actually have her still hanging around, looking rather green around the gills, in a fetching way, but interfering somewhat in domestic matters you wished she would just keep her pretty nose out of?
This terribly funny movie has a script to die for by Noël Coward, and the suberb Margaret Rutherford plays the delightfully potty Madame Arcati. A real classic treat from 1945, in Technicolor, despite the fact it looks spooky that way to me, as I remember seeing it first in black and white (pre- our first colour TV, I suppose). I hope you love this witty and wonderful movie as much as I do. Should get you to the weekend laughing.
Nothing’s perfect, they say, and our Friday night movie has ads. It’s free though, and free is good. I hope the ads aren’t too invasive. Oh, an’ watch out for those pesky bodysnatchers. They’re everywhere!