Like a.....

Gollumfogram

Predicted Earth-BioMass Near and Far Future

The Regret and the Compassion.

The Regret Of The Ranee In The Hall Of Peacocks

By Laurence Hope

This man has taken my Husband's life
And laid my Brethren low,
No sister indeed, were I, no wife,
To pardon and let him go.

Yet why does he look so young and slim
As he weak and wounded lies?
How hard for me to be harsh to him
With his soft, appealing eyes.

His hair is ruffled upon the stone
And the slender wrists are bound,
So young! and yet he has overthrown
His scores on the battle ground.

Would I were only a slave to-day,
To whom it were right and meet
To wash the stains of the War away,
The dust from the weary feet.

Were I but one of my serving girls
To solace his pain to rest!
Shake out the sand from the soft loose curls,
And hold him against my breast!

Have we such beauty around our Throne?
Such lithe and delicate strength?
Would God that I were the senseless stone
To support his slender length!

I hate those wounds that trouble my sight,
Unknown! how I wish you lay,
Alone in my silken tent to-night
While I charmed the pain away.

I would lay you down on the Royal bed,
I would bathe your wounds with wine,
And setting your feet against my head
Dream you were lover of mine.

My Crown is heavy upon my hair,
The Jewels weigh on my breast,
All I would leave, with delight, to share
Your pale and passionate rest!

But hands grow restless about their swords,
Lips murmur below their breath,
'The Queen is silent too long!' 'My Lords,
--Take him away to death!'

The Compassion Of The Captive In The Hall Of Peacocks

By Simon Bucher-Jones

Our hands moved, our swords moved, the heads they fell,
The Rajah and his kin,
We had reasons to rise up, as the tide to swell,
As the moonlight to begin.

Yet why does the Ranee look young and unsure,
Who should for her dead stand fast?
Does she think I cry mercy? Oh Allah, how pure,
Is this Matyrdom come at last?

Her hair is wing black as the raven’s core,
And by diamonds her wrists are bound,
So young! and yet she afrights me more,
Than scores on the battle ground.

Would I were only a man to-day,
To whom it were right and meet,
To wish for the life that must pass away,
- for oh, still, that life is sweet.

The rising was just, and the fighting was just,
But if it had been her head!
To be cut in a moment to lie in the dust,
Would my hand not have trembled and bled?

Have they such beauty around their Thrones?
Do tyrants still love and weep?
Would God that I were the senseless stones,
Through which my blood must seep.
I will not give in, I will not bow down,
Having neither strength to stand nor betray,
But oh, I would show you my war-torn town
To charm its pain away.

I would take you away from the Royal bed,
To the rivers sweeter than wine,
I would show you the poor who long envied the dead,
In your tombs with the golden shine.

Your Crown may be heavy upon your hair,
The Jewels weigh on your soul,
If your family had learned, with delight, to share
Their bodies would still be whole.

The Court is full of the cowards’ sly breath,
Like the jackals that turn on the weak,
'My Lords, --- Take him away to death!’
The words, she had to speak.

If I could only rise so she could see,   
Forgiveness and love in my eyes!
Oh Allah, let no maidens wait for me,
In hope she comes at last to paradise.

Book Sales

Like most unintended consequences, the result of the macrosoft analysis of all book sales, reviews, and onweb commentry, has when correlated with certain other statistics, produced surprising results.

Results which we at THANATOS BOOKS are now proud to offer as a bespoke literary book club service.

There is, if you consider it logically, a platonically best book for each individual - the one most suited to their needs, most in tune with their psyche, phrased so falicitously as to thrill them to the core.  Many people never encounter the real book that most approximates this work - and perhaps writers are always trying to create it - but this pinnacle can be approached.  We all of us, who read, have had the experience of a new text fitting into our minds like a piece into a jigsaw - perhaps so comfortably that we read it every year, or so perfectly that we never have to read it again.

Just so, there are also other MAXIMISED books - there is the one a particular person will find DULLEST, for its prose evades his or her eyes, it causes no images to form within the mind; it drones and waffles, it obfuscates, and does not involve, it may - although it need not - deal with dry facts, or specifically obscure wish-fulfillment.

We do not here, sell either of those two kinds of books.

We sell the books that are most compelling to an individual, but also most destructive. They are not dull - indeed to read a sentence from one properly targetted is to have to read on - but they are antipathic to their intended reader.  They interfere with the functioning of the mind, they break and reform the psyche, they bring down the blackness that lies on the other side of the page. They can, and do cause suicides - or even the shuttting down of the central nervous system.  Yet because they are so finely targetted, so precise, in their point by point demolition of their victim, they need contain nothing that would disturb a bystander, or - as it might be - the police.

Simply complete the detailed form below, setting out the details of the recepient and we will supply either in plain brown paper, or if you wish - gift wrapped with a message - the book most calculated to DESTROY your chosen victim.  Indeed we are so confident in our algorithmic linkage of book purchases to deaths that we are prepared to offer the THANATOS MONEY BACK GUARANTEE.  A complete refund if the recipient lives more than 2 months after the receipt of the TOME in question.

Remember THANATOS BOOKS - YOU'LL NEVER NEED TO BUY ANOTHER PRESENT!

I HAD TROUBLE GETTING TO UNKNOWN KADATH - part 2

He tried to dissuade me, he offered me cake,

He offered me chips and choice fillets of hake,

He offered me scones and pronounced them just so,

But I sat in his temple and just wouldn't go.

So he told me the fable of Banzi the Wise,

Who offended the gods and fell into the skies,

And only for wanting the merest of glances,

At that lesser, known peak where the gods held tea dances.

For the weak gods of earth, they are petty and spoilt,

And so far up themselves that their icons get soiled,

But dreamer beware of the Dark Other Gods,

That they call when they want to be absolute sods.

"So what then," he asked, "would the punishment be,

if an infinite fall came for peeping at tea,

For those who intruded on Unknown Kadath,

which amounted to crying 'go on show your wrath!' "

His council was cogent. his council was good,

He lived up to the name that he had in the wood,

but still I sat there in his temple, in slippers,

sipping his tea, and devouring his kippers.

At last he grew angry and puffed himself up,

He took back his kippers and took back his cup,

And he said, "On your head be the end that you've got,

I did not advise it, oh no I did not."

And he went on to speak while I stood there and gaped,

of the selfie the gods left which the censor escaped,

Carved on the rear face of the peak of Ngranek,

And he wished me good day and that I'd break my neck.

But I must have looked stupid, or vague, or surprised,

For he slowly explained what I should have surmised,

That the face in the rock had unearthly oddities,

I could use to look out for demigods and goddities.

For in lands round Kadath, if genetics ran true,

I would find the offsping of maidens the gods knew,

And spotting the features they shared with the face,

I would know I was getting quite close to the place.

So I rode on a yak down to old Dyath-Leen,

Where the traders all come and the sailors are keen,

Where the wharfs are filled up with the bravest seafarers,

And you can get a free tea from its free tea, tea sharers.

But oh - what I found there - what fear and dismay,

For instead of the tea ships from distant Carthay,

Black galleons whose oarsmen had no kind of uses,

For Dyath-Leen's many bars, its restaurants or massueses.

Had come into the harbour, and traded for gold,

And for slaves - with the rubies so large and so old,

That were offered by men whose turbans sat askew,

On their heads as if hiding what nobody knew.

Oh the troubles I had on the way to Kadath,

At the city of Leen on the River Dyath,

Oh the sinister secrets implied by the feat,

Of the oarsmen who never bought viands to eat.

I HAD TROUBLE GETTING TO UNKNOWN KADATH - part 1

I HAD TROUBLE GETTING TO UNKNOWN KADATH

I dreamed thrice of a city, but when I got close

My lamp-stand would slip and crash down on my nose,

My sheets they would tangle, my quilt slipped a lot

I never got near it, oh no I did not.

In my dreams it was sunset, and the city shone,

In the light of the rosy sun sinking and gone,

But as I approached there was such a palava,

As I dreamed I was wrapped in a wool balaclava.

This headgear it itched, and to get to the brunt,

It cut off my vision – ‘twas turned back to front -.

And waking I found that it was but my cat,

Who in jest had mistake my face for her mat.

So I prayed to the gods who look kindly on dream,

Such as Cheese-rind the Mighty, and also Sour Cream,

Cocktails-for-Nightcaps, and Lobster-on-Toast,

But those mighty powers failed, my dream gave up the ghost.

So then I resolved I would go to Kadath

It’s a fearful long journey – you just do the math,

Kadath where the gods live, to beseech them at home,

To let me enter my City and n’er again roam.

But where was Kadath?  Now I asked it seemed true,

We had all forgotten, though before that we knew,

It wasn’t in Booklyn, it wasn’t in Yonkers,

It wasn’t in the Atlas, it just drove me bonkers.

I descended the steps to the cavern of flame,

Where Nasht and Kaman-Thah so awful in fame,

Proceded to dun me for funds to repair,

The terrible wear on the sixty ninth stair.

They called me ill-fated, they called me unwise,

They shook their forefingers and narrowed their eyes,

“Young man go no further, this is no safe path,

The eyes of a mortal may not see Kadath”.

I pooh-poohed their doubts, though I shook both their hands,

And delivered their mail from the dull waking lands,

For they get Readers Digest to liven the hours,

When sleep-drenched young maidens are not bringing flowers.

And leaving them there I went into the wood,

Where the trees were enchanted for evil or good,

Their bark it was gnarled, being knotted and rugose,

I spoke to a Zoog – standing there in his Zoog clothes.

“Oh tell me friend Zoog, for the help that before

I gave to your kin, at the Gugs’ vast stone door,

Which way should I go in the search for Kadath?

And the Zoog said “Oh man, you’re just havin’ a laff”.

“We Zoogs do not know of the High and Holy,

We can just spell our names if we spell them out slowly,

But if you go to Ulthar – then Atal the Priest,

It is said knows the gods, from the fast to the feast.”

From the fast to the feast? From the bottom to top!

I vowed if he knew them that well, I would stop,

And pester and question, and ask, and implore,

‘til he’d say what he knew,  to get me out the door.

THE CATS IN THE HATS IN THE WALLS

Reading and enjoying these a lot, I thought - sauce for the goose, and so...

http://www.daveexmachina.com/wordpress/?p=1121


THE CATS IN THE HATS IN THE WALLS

The son of the scions of old de la Poer
Was never afraid of a mew nor a purr,
Until he alighted no more for to roam, to settle in his aboriginal home,
Now old Exham Piory, had rooms, it had grooms,
To tidy the stables, and fabulous tombs,
It had in its graveyard all marble and cold,
It had arms o'er the fireplace, all noble and bold.
It had butlers and sutlers, and hatstands for hats,
But oh what the wizz was it troubled by cats!
They mibbled and mubbled, they doubled and dribbled
They pibbled and pubbled, they troubled and tribbled.
But worse than their spitting, their spooking, and splatting,
Was when every jack one of them got into hatting.
They strolled out in bowlers, they popped up in toppers,
They wore tiny hats, and the wore some were whoppers,
Wished good day in bonnets, they doted on Boaters,
They boated in hats when they found some were floaters,
They howled out in hombergs, they affected the Trilby
Tore feathers from Gainsboroughs, which fact didn't thrill me.
And worse than the worst, there was something so new
For every hat came with Thing one and Thing two.
That's two things per cat, all a making a fussing,
And two things per cat is a double purr-cushing.
A clashing of cymbols and kettling of drums,
A horrible rumbling of rumpity tums.
So in the end what could old de la Poer do?
He bought him a hat, saying, he'd go mad too.
They found him at last crouching there, in the dark,
His teeth fixed at last in a Milliner's clerk,
Who'd failed to appease him, with Fez or Pork Pie,
Such minimal style meant the man had to die.
And still in the walls, and the rooms, and the tombs,
Still chasing the butlers, the sutlers, and grooms,
The wild whirling ride of the Cats in the Hats,
With a thing on each shoulder, went silent as Bats,
To mourn for the soul of the lost de la Poer,
Who'd boasted he fear'd not a mew, nor a purr.

Dreams In The Who House.

A bird that breaks out of the Moon,
Forests that come and go,
The fear of death that comes too soon,
Survivor's guilt and woe.

His own face outlined on a bus,
A thief who wasn't real,
A golden arrow strong enough,
To pierce space-tempered steel.

Robin Hood, who never was,
Afeared of war's allarms,
Fantastic Voyage, sans applause
For Raquel Welch's charms.

A vanishing watch he never used
before, however needed,
Soldiers in all their rainbow hues,
A chalk-board threat unheeded.

Boyfriends who move like ninja's breath,
Children who talk to trees,
People who sell you life-in-death
The skeletons that seize.

The Master who threatens him now,
Mistress in her valediction,
Who makes religions' tales come true,
Is the Master of Fiction.

Doctor Who Discovers Metaphysics: - "Evil"

Evil.

'Evil' is generated by the neurology of a particular set of observations involved in the breaking of quantum entanglements. It was identified as a specific frequency of alpha-waves(1) by the late Professor Keller in 19__(1)

When an observer predominantly 'chooses' a specifically narrow range of events based on perceived immediate self-gratification, without empathy or socialisation, the field strength of Evil around the cortex increases. [The unit of Evil is disputed with the Imperial measurement of Hitlers(2), being somewhat overweighted, resulting in most acts of evil being specified in femto-Hitlers, while the metric measurement (dating from the French Revolution) of Monarchs requires a conversion rate of  17 Monarchs to the nano-Hitler.]  The Monarch as a unit of Evil does not relate to the supervillian of the same name(3), this is a common misunderstanding which has been debunked by Mythbusters.

'Evil' energies  within such fields have been shown to feed a number of parasitic and quasi-parasitic species from the Redjac, and the Beta XII-A entity(4), to the Kelloroid(1).

Oddly there seems to be no similar field associated with 'Good' - where choices are open-ended, non-self-motivated, or atruistic, the alpha-waves involved may have a variety of non-evil energies.

(1) The Mind of Evil
(2) Professor Godwin comments 'Anyone measuring something in Hitlers has lost the right to measure it'.
(3) Professor Venture, comments that Monarch is at best straining to reach an evil level of 0.2 Monarchs, in a Mythbusters interview.(5)
(4) Star Trek - Wolf In The Fold, Star Trek - Day of The Dove..
(5) Mythbusters Meets The Venture Brothers.
See also This Earth Thing Called Love.

Doctor Who Discovers Giant Space Life - "Williamson's Roc"

Williamson's Roc

Mass (variable see below) up to at least 3.7 x 10 exp 23 grams (sufficient to boost Lunar gravity to Earth normal)*  figure revised to allow for smaller Lunar radius, so that gravity at surface = earths (ie an accelleration of 9.8 m/s/s).  [Mass of un-infested Moon, 7.22 x 10 exp 22 grams, mass of Earth 5.98 x 10 exp 23 grams].

Wingspan 10,000 km  (roughly equivalent to Lunar circumference, assumes wings 'wrap' while in egg. May expand further post-birth). It is uncertain if wings function as solar sails, or exert 'pressure' on space-time manifolds.

Reproduction - stages 'seed', 'egg', 'bird'.

First identified in 1935 by the writer-prophet Jack Williamson(1) (exo-biologists will also remember his successful 'dream' identification of the flora and fauna of Barnard's Star, but it is most fitting that this bird envisaged in his writings be named after him.)  A later biologist-writer P.Harness attempted to repopularise the species in 2014, in a TV special(2).

The exact mechanics of the creature's life-cycle remain unclear despite the destruction of Earth's Moon in 2049(2), and the planet Thallon in 2373(3). Much of what follows is speculation. (We are grateful to P.David's monograph on the latter event.) A three-eyed four-winged species has also been noted in respect of the destruction of Stars(4) but it is likely that the latter creature belongs to the genus Photino.Baxteri(5) and is unrelated. The aliens associated with the Beltempest system, may be of this class of entity(6) [cf living stars and living planets].

Williamson's Roc begins as a tiny dense mass, perhaps physically a quantum black-hole, a strangelet array, or a looped quantum string. This 'seed' stage can easily be captured by a small planetoid, at which point it will begin to orbit its centre of mass. Over time the interior of the planetoid will be carved out by the seed, forming a hollow shell. At this point the light shell ought to move into a different orbit and the heavier seed emerge(7). It is unclear why this does not happen, but the evidence is that the 'seed' exerts its gravity as if it were part of the moon/planetoid mass not as a point source. The 'ability' to do this is the first sign of the species' biological mastery of gravity.  This 'gravity' mimicry - presumnably intended to deter predators - masks the 'ghost mass' of the seed, only permitting the original mass of the planetoid to appear, until the Roc is near to breaking its 'egg-shell'. This suggests that the bulk of the 'build' mass in the seed is stored in disassociated cosmic strings and only manifests itself as the 'seed' weaves the 'bird' into existance shortly before hatching. 

Such birds are not inherently hostile and while if one is seeded into an inhabited planet, its fate is assured (only the long time scales involved prevents the species being weaponised by non-time travellers), their effects on Moon and binary 'twin planet' systems, has been shown to be mitigated by their 'gifting instinct'.

While the outer crust of the planetoid disintegrates completely, the Bird will leave a pseudosphere of compacted material behind in the same orbit. While once seperated from the bird's influence this would begin to follow a different orbital path unless stabilised with a graviton, or other re-massing technology, its presence has been know to save a nearby civilisation and perhaps explains the birds' association with good fortune.

It has been suggested that the birds are unique, but the sighting of at least two birthing incidents within 400 years of each other within the Milky Way galaxy, suggests a substantial breeding population existed as long ago as 100 million years.  It may be that the 'seed' stage has been hunted to extinction by Outsiders, but Outsider biology remains a difficult and expensive area of research.(8)

Other possible sightings/collaboration.

The 'bacterial' life, infesting the egg-shell (the salmonelle of space and time!) were first detected by the ill-fated Apollo 18 mission(9).

An alternative universe earth, in which the Moon was blown out of orbit in 1999 appears to have killed the embryonic seed before gestation(10), but to have later encountered a variation of it(11). Oddly no bacterial life were detected in that plenum, perhaps they were killed by radiation leakage from  Area 1.


Biography
(1) Jack Williamson 'Born of the Sun' 1935.  The dream predicted biology of Barnard's Star life appears in the Legion of Space series, as does the artificial life of the Cometeers.
(2) Peter Harness 'Kill the Moon' 2014
(3) Peter David 'Star Trek New Frontier Endgame' - the Thallon bird emits unexplained energy, instead of unexplained gravity. This may be a subspecies, or a simple variation within a species. Alternatively the Thallon bird may be feverish.
(4) Star Trek comic
(5) The xeelee sequence novels S. Baxter.
(6) Beltempest, by J. Mortimore
(7) Colin Kapp, The Black Hole of Negrav.
(8) Starseeds and Outsiders. L. Niven
(9) Apollo 18
(9) Space 1999: Breakaway (TV).
(10) Space 1999: Alien Seed (Novel).

See also Giant Amoeba space-going, Giant Amoeba sessile.
Black Cloud, entity, Anti-matter Cloud entity, Crystalline entity.
Giant Mutant Star-Goat. Galacti, Celestials, Great Old Ones.
Living Planets, Living Stars.