Monday, August 17, 2026

Behind the Glass Partition

 


Mrs. Whitehall stood lost. An old woman who was pretty once. She was well put together but her concern coloured her. Her husband went on to the woman behind the pushed to the side glass partition. 

"I've seen the doctor before."

"I'm sorry sir he isn't taking any patients." A disembodied woman's voice came from behind the partition.

His wife touched his arm.

"The soonest I can get you in is September." 

It's not even mid August yet. 

"Sir, can you tell me what's going on?"

"I have blood in my urine and I need to see someone."

"I'm sorry sir I don't have anything until September."

Mr. and Mrs. Whitehall pass Death in the hall on their way out.

"May God be with you."

Death opened the door to the waiting room with signage taped methodically to glass partitions, walls, doors and next to door and partitions. Death took a seat and sat in empty waiting room.

"Why didn't you give him this appointment?" A male voice from behind the partitions.

"I blocked that out for emergencies."

Blood in his urine

"We block sections out so no one else can take it. We don’t like that patients can change their appointments and reschedule."

Blood in his urine 

"So no one can access this if it's blocked." 

"So if some one comes in with a catheter problem or a stone blockage we can get them in."

Blood in his urine

"I’m sorry sir the earliest appointment I have is in September."


The sweet voice from behind the glass partition with signs taped all over and one to the left of where Mr Whitehall had stood is a sign.

We care about our team members. 

Aggressive behavior

is not tolerated here.

Aggressive behavior includes:

Physical assault 

inappropriate contact

Abusive or foul language

Threats

Aggressive behavior may

result in removal from this facility and

prosecution. Thank you


Signed a pyramid scheme 



Blood in his urine.





Be still and listen

One day I will tell you a story












Death looked at the woman with the sweet voice from behind the partition and said nothing as she walked out the door. 



הב

 




The rest followed one by one, some not the original Numbered Names, human life has a timeline end.


...


Where to begin is a question of time.



Number Two was one of the more interesting members of the Kinematic Group. They never called her Number Two, that was her designation. Number Two was a blood line and she had to be pregnant. They called her The bet. In 1982 her mother had stat on a velour chair in the Gold Box room, silent and absorbing. The bet's position was the most unique. She passed down the library. Her life ended softly while sleeping, an easy brain aneurysm. Her mother had been a great soldier. 

Her soft facial features and creamy skin sparsely dotted with freckles on her nose and cheeks were framed with care. The bet had tamed curly locks the color of a sunset after an earth release, orange, gold and streaks of blush red that gathered and dropped over her shoulders. She walked tall through the crowd of westerners and Omanis dressed in their dashes and head toppings, some of the women completely draped in black. There was no baby bump for others to see, but some women could see them both. 

The bet felt at home as she made her way through the sook stone alleyways. The bet's father had been in United States Marine Corp Intelligence and she had spent a better part of her time in the desert with her sensitive skin. Home schooled but not sheltered. Her father had been her mother’s handler and wife, chosen by the Diwan, she was the same as would be her daughter, the library.

The crowd eased and the air opened up as she came upon the sidewalk. A Range Rovers door opened, she sat down with her knees touching and rotated her legs in as if she was part of the machine. Behind her three men in short sleeve button down shirts and relaxed pants moved in sync with no ear pieces to see. The were the Mythos Rangers, genetically enhanced eunuchs that moved like panthers and looked like gods. Their assignment was her security. Their creation was altogether something new. 

She sat quietly as she was whisked away. Then asked the driver to slow down. She knew 13 wanted to be there second and she wanted to be third. Everything had meaning. Everything done with purpose.


...


As they drove down 18th November St she watched the people go by and then she saw pointing to the Gulf. She looked out the other window towards the water and she saw what people were stoping to see. A squadron of manta rays were flying over the glassy waters of the Gulf of Oman, entering again with no splash and then staying mid flight for an odd amount of time. 


Sunday, August 16, 2026

2028

 

(excerpts from https://behindthebookscover.blogspot.com/2024/07/kinematics.html with a few changes and https://behindthebookscover.blogspot.com/2026/08/operation-oak-tree.html)

The Velocity


I don't know what the year was, women wore dresses and men wore suits, side walks were swept and books were kept, I'm not even sure how many languages were spoken, Greek and Latin were alway a token. 

The floors were smooth and milky with marble of gold flushing through and they radiated a coolness. The chairs and lounges had arms made of dark carved wood and velour, colours of a halcyon in a pressed pattern. The air was fresh but some how smoke would waft and leave no mark, there was a vibration in the air of a musical tone, not drums or electric, a sound you could only feel. The hushed voices of aww, delight and confusion filled the empty space. 

A complicated problem at hand in this year as information that was born long ago had been validated to be true. Histories retold as the real world of fiction was about to explode for a lie they had been stold. 

"Where to begin is always a question of time."

The men and women in the room were an array of sorts but all had one thing in common, they believed, had knowledge, and also understood. They wore robes of black, one red, and another brown, others white, some had their head covered, turbans, yarmulke, habits and more, some no faces could be seen, and then another a mask of metal draped across her eyes and nose with eyes black as coal. Then there were still more, a woman in a mans suit, woven brown with treads of orange, and then there was a man with swords and a dagger shaped of a dragon, draped across his waist, his arms comfortably at rest upon them. 

1"How do we teach the world this?"

                        6"What access do we have to each individual on the planet?"

                4"Eyes with which to see and ears with which to hear."

                        6"What access do they have to each individual on the planet?"

                    5"They can reach everywhere, anywhere." 

                            7"How long do we have?"

                    5"Time and space doesn't exist, you do though and you don't too."

            3"If we could get into the minds of...everyone."

1"What if we could impress upon the mind through the eyes..."

1"The printing press."                    

                    5"We have wave/matter access now."

                                            11"We knew long ago to keep track of old ways, capture the books until the time of the day. Here we are upon us a time, we thought mythical stories we had it wrong in our minds."

                                    9"We need to put the lines in the sun, keep them apart from the sum.  Know that evil is real as well as we know the Good."

1"Communication system with branches that have different capabilities/reaches, we still have to work in parameters of our own knowledge while we work beyond how we know. Nothing is what we thought it was."

                    5"Evil exists, it will grasp you as we walk our paths to meet back up, none of us, even the most wise can understand what that is until that moment. It will touch you." 

...


The old ways are deep in the threads and we can unwind them and put them back together.


...


What might have been 600 years later or maybe even just 6. 


"Everything is touching because all waves are connected as a vibration through time." "What if you could really learn through osmosis." "That would be a neat trick, I hug you and learn maybe not everything about you but pertinent information." "What if we could hook up every typewriter and see what it said, every word sketch on paper ever query in the air..." 

"How the sun waves travel through the skin and light our minds eye."

                            7"fast thinkers, all the libraries of every thought through time."

1"why"

                            7"So we can control what they see and hear."


The Acceleration 


                    5"What about mind trigger, we have wave/matter access now.""


...


 The old ways are deep in the threads and we can unwind them and put them back together.


...



The year on Earth is 2028.

The Gold Box room hadn't seen action from the Kinematics Group since the last meeting. Much had happen on the surface, below and above. It had been used by selected diplomats to meet in secret through out the years. Nothing could be heard from the outside so it was a prized place, no one understood how  but a select few. Their planes landing at Muscat International Airport and taxing into a nondescript hanger where whispers and nods for action were made. There was the under pinning hummm in the air always, someone there or not. 

It was August and Oman hot, dry, blistering if you stayed in the sun too long. This day the air was still and the Gulf of Oman was perfect for peering if not so hot. Number One got there first. His plane had landed, he unbuckled his seat belt and took the papers he had read more times than he wanted to admit, placing them neatly in his attache. Assigned numbers were not random, nothing was random and there were no coincidences. He was always first, arriving first to first in his class. His unkept silver hair seemed to sprout out of his yarmulka.  He was 86 now. His real name was well known in the halls of higher mathematics and theory from M.I.T to Cern. In The Gold Box room he was Number One.

The hanger door started closing as soon as the tail was in the building. When the door to his plane opened the stairs came down. He took his attache, threw the strap over his left shoulder and took the deepest breath his old body could take. This was the most unprepared he had ever been, it was uncomfortable. He had all the information to present. He understood it, knew it and had experienced it, and he still felt unprepared. He loved to be uncomfortable, this was a dangerous uncomfortable.

The young soldier stood at the foot of the stairs. A member of the Katoom Brigade, he stood upright, eyes forward in his tan uniform with red and green accents. They had been bread for silence. Oman was quiet, out of the way, silent, where magic and science intersected. 


...


"Earth Port GoO. We are 36 minutes out. Cargo is Lobster."

"Moon Port Tycho. All cyber signals clear."

The salt water of the Gulf of Oman was glass, perfect for landing. 

"Moon Port Tycho. Manta Rays are on the way."

There were no bubbles as a tale on the water surface. Underwater the Squadron of Manta Rays moved with the coordination of sparrows flying through the sky, because they could. There were no signals that would bounce as a tell of their existence by radar or anywhere on the electro magnetic spectrum. The lead was female the rest male clones, communication was instant. The skin of the Manta Ray was artificially grown on the surface of the half artificial animal and machine. The Manta Ray was multi modal from the sea to the air. It wasn't restricted to forward movement. It could stop, go, up, down, left, right and moved with unbelievable speed. The weaponry was sonic. 

He thought the tag 'Lobster' was apropos for the time. He was meeting the Kinematics Group with concerns of the dynamics taking place globally, in the gold box room, with the velvet chairs he loved.

When the Manta Ray Squadron breeched the water surface the Earth would never be the same. 

'Lobster' was about to make an entrance.


...



The rest followed one by one, some not the original Numbered Names, human life has a timeline end.








Saturday, August 15, 2026

Operation Oak Tree

 


"Earth Port GoO. We are 36 minutes out. Cargo is Lobster."

"Moon Port Tycho. All cyber signals clear."

The salt water of the Gulf of Oman was glass, perfect for landing. 

"Moon Port Tycho. Manta Rays are on the way."

There were no bubbles as a tale on the water surface. Underwater the Squadron of Manta Rays moved with the coordination of sparrows flying through the sky, because they could. There were no signals that would bounce as a tell of their existence by radar or anywhere on the electro magnetic spectrum. The lead was female the rest male clones, communication was instant. The skin of the Manta Ray was artificially grown on the surface of the half artificial animal and machine. The Manta Ray was multi modal from the sea to the air. It wasn't restricted to forward movement. It could stop, go, up, down, left, right and moved with unbelievable speed. The weaponry was sonic. 

He thought the tag 'Lobster' was apropos for the time. He was meeting the Kinematics Group with concerns of the dynamics taking place globally, in the gold box room, with the velvet chairs. 







Be still and listen

One day I will tell you a story






When the Manta Ray Squadron breeched the water surface the Earth would never be the same. 

'Lobster' was about to make an entrance.



Wednesday, August 12, 2026

X a Booooo0



The single serving kind


It’s through the water of life we See. 

The conditions continued from air in the buildings to the minds and the bodies. 

She sat across the table the last time from her old friend. They weren’t friends in a life long way. Their lives had crisscrossed in a fabric stitch, once for a few years, but they had no past or future. She had decided the ‘no’ future at the moment she was in. It was the going joke her friend would be late and she was yet again. It was that moment when the clocked striked 15 as she entertained herself as she waited and waited and waited for her friend. It was going to be the last time so she waited some more, no one across the table.

They were the same age and in truth not much in common. They did have some past and when her friend walked through the door they greeted with a hug and a fill in of their children as they sat across the table from one another. 

The conversation filtered down to how her children that had children now would use the grand babies as a way to get her thought pattern in line. ‘Mom isn’t believing in the Queer enough, she can’t see the babies.’ That sort of thing that was the behavior pattern of a child being a child and not an adult. That sort of thing was the behavior pattern of a religious bigot with unclear intentions.

She sat and listened as her friend described an old school communist struggle session which her daughter had put her through. The price was heavy. As the story went on she realized her friend, sadly, had lost the struggle and her friend had no idea she lost and there is no winning.

The subject changed to their formative years. Her friend was brought up by her single mom that spent money on cigarettes instead of dance lessons like her own mother had gotten. An obvious wound where none should be. A created victim. A woman that didn’t look at her own mother as a person getting by, dealing with the world and all her decisions. And then she wished like a child would do for a different past that wouldn’t be true. A 50 year old woman that wished she had had a different childhood because she didn’t get dance lessons.

She sat across the table from her friend as she listened to how selfish her friends single mother had been, oblivious of her own self ness that was whining.

Truth is expensive in a world made of illusions






Be still and listen

One day I will tell you a story 




The love between mothers and daughters, Earth and moon, Saturn and her moons…Jupiter and…..there is conditional love, these are our rules to make the future. 



 

I’ll take four minutes. People are incredible. Some people do not admit the skills they have when met. And here we are. 3 minutes. To roll and let’s go into the future, a Gardner we all need.











Monday, August 10, 2026

“By Sword, Deed and Word.”

 


“Sometimes we have to bend the truth, that’s your mission. By Sword, Deed and Word.”

There was no hot lights like the old studios of producers, editors and faces bustling around with papers and phones in hands. This was a calm -versation in an era of targeted podcasters. Assignments ran the gamut...

"Tuesday, I gotta guy named Mike comin' in. He's a retired Army Psyop. He’s an expert in groypers, Russia and stuff like that."

The pod caster had a decent net of anti-diversity, equity and inclusion listeners, as far as traffic went it was honed to a certain group when ever they could grab an ear. 


Some random Tuesday in the middle of the recording with Retired Army Psyop Vet...

"Russia has been doin' information warfare since Vladimir Lenin, and they are very affective. And they don't like, with US psyop campaigns, we have, we are are constrained rightly so by our constitution." 

*\| this is the bend |/*

“You don't psyop the American people. I'm not saying it's not happening behind closed doors and in spooky ways that's above my pay grade but, we don't like just have this, people think we have this massive targeting of the American people with some coordinated, you know synchronized campaign. That's literally illegal."

Mike takes a drink and the podcaster recalls a question he asked someone else regarding training women to be foreign operatives and that we don't do that.... 


א. Smith-Mundt

ב.The Constitution is not the Bill of Right, which should be sacked altogether.

כ.The Patriot Act

ד.He's lying or doesn't know what he's talking about



This is the way.

“By Sword, Deed and Word.”




Be still and listen 

One day I will tell you a story




I have 8 minutes. All that is holy what the actual F, everyone in the world knows we are all being monitored by almost all our electronic devices. I turned the above podcast off as it’s a turnoff when someone lies out right and gets paid to do it or let it happen. 4 minutes. 3 minutes. Sometimes it’s similar to listening to a preacher making shit up to a religious person that consumes garbage as a belief. This garbage moves people, all ideologies move people. 1 minute. This trash is fit in all over like critical race theory.







  

Saturday, August 8, 2026

Puerto Leonis

 


I wish to speak of people traveling from here to there, bright bags some thread bare, probably no idea how they even got there.

Blue winged horses

Red winged chickens

The portal open

She peeked through the clear clean glass window as time sped up. She watched the mortals spin tales of themselves, no more of the gods. She watched the individuals and the groups move like the sparrows mesmerizing flight.





Be still and listen

One day I will tell you a story






I have 3 minutes. That Arday guy Cambridge uni gave a doctorate in sociology and education is extraordinary embarrassing and sad for him but he and they are all responsible. It’ll get worse.