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.

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.

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.

“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.

  

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.

The 10th Crusade

 

The specter seemed to hang in the air, reflecting any light that crossed its path focusing everywhere but there making it all the more obvious, but for the others it just looked confusing.

"I know how it works, that's why I won't get under it." 

Standing in a building that was built to fall the fabian way is not intelligent, unless you're running in to grab some one you love to get them out...

Broken systems with a youth that think they know everything and have been taught only evil. 

It's August 2026 and it's a shit show across the globe, as it is supposed to be. 

Note, I said before and I say again now the white paper read the time line moved from 30 to 28.

I'm getting a signal that's not so funny as I watch a Cardinal shake its tail feathers in a bird bath while the hawks learning to catch their prey flock overhead. 

For the August record

Islam has found a foothold in the communist movements, which have become quite the bonfire to put out, if it even can be now. A foothold is how you steer your horse power and they did it long ago with the stirrups on a horse and now the horsepower is the American tax dollar filtered into special funds. 

Saudi Arabia (also Islam, but also different) just signed a treaty with Pakistan (Islam) and Turkey (also Islam-until it's not again). 

I was in thought of Rainbush the other day as I made one of our families favorite whole chicken curry stews. He was of rust and ash brown of color, his hair jet black and he always wore white loose pants with a long white tunic. He belonged to a Pakistani family. Yazmin's husband worked at the Seeb airport while we were there. He was under the direction of the International Civilian Aviation Organization/FAA and most importantly the United Nations. 

Cardamon, cinnamon and coriander waft through the air.

Be still and listen 

One day I will tell you a story

A bit of pirate calling here and there 

Wise men and mur

Coffers with winged birds

Light the situation for there to there

A structure put together for the small g gods was built to hold them, and then it cracked and I gathered the pieces and now I hold them at my stead, until I don't.

Transit Ports

 

Humans, cells growing in a myriad of human ways, fat deposits here, thin muscle structures there. Tall, short, quick and slow. Minds different than one another, some purposely move while the lost flounder about.

A woman whose skin so wrinkled she might have been mistaken for a crocodile skunk chimeric creature. She shows off as much skin as she can in a low trust world of self involved pariahs. Others skin youthful, some tight some fluffy their midriffs for all sorts of strange manner of men to stare into the mysterious middle of the female. 

One woman with long strands of oblong oval tufts of unnatural hair glued to her head, like Medusa but not pretty like a priestess of Athena, nothing with fangs and certainly no depth.

A man with coke bottle bottoms for glasses, his epilates the tell he is one of the pilots that pass through the paths, ways and roads.

Through the clouds and over head each one separate and all aboard, Inshallah they make it.

Just normal regular everyday people, who unbeknownst the temperature be rising. 

Be still and listen 

One day I will tell you a story

The round face with copper fire hair raised from a glass, where x marks a spot and crimson libations tickle the throat.