WHO IS PAYING ATTENTION AT THE SYMPOSIUM 컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴 旼컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴커 � This is a fictional story which tells of the manifestations of � � Perfect Solar Total Eclipses, presented through the eyes of an � � awake and aware on-planet Observer. In a later encounter the � � on-planet Observer continues the insight through the domains � � of subatomic elementary particles. � 읕컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴켸 That quantum gravity exists in a solar system is not going to be easy to reveal. Not here in this place, at any rate. Everyone is, too many are, ambitious. Looking around the room I feel funny. This is the world's most modern auditorium. But the profound silence which now follows my opening statement is very old, to say the least. Standing here with nothing to do, I have a moment to reconcider the situation, wondering what to say next. I can image myself saying... 'Look real close to Illustrations 7, 8, and 8A .... if you really want to get the goods on gravity'. In this momentary thought balloon, I can see reactions as I hold up one of the Illustrations - a master copy - and add: 'in this single gyre the planet's icecap and tropical radii are calculated to ABSOLUTE accuracy. The Moon's polar and equatorial radii are also calculated to ABSOLUTE accuracy. The Moon's mean of orbit is detailed right to the limits of digital accuracy. And the planet Earth's aphelion, mean, and perihelion of orbit are calculated in precise detail to six and seven digits. All calculations are inherent without malpractice, without scientific correcting factors, without ego or fudge, and without any percentage of ERROR whatsoever. The principle in the Gyre is perfect'. (I can feel a buzz of excitement, an anticipation, in the audience, in the thought ballon, as I continue); 'Amongst other things, the gravity gyres successfully predict the exact sizes of all of the parts that take place in a traditional total solar eclipse. But importantly note, no tangents occur in a gyre. Measures contained in the gyres proceed between gravitational points of center. This is a radical departure from your historical ideas. In forming these metaphysical Perfect Eclipses, all orbits and radii are percieved at right angles along a centerline that runs straight through the centers of every object involved. You see the full cross sectional diameters, in these eclipses'. HOPE YOU GET THE CLUE! My, uh, fantasy is interrupted by a couple of static sparking people hassling each other by a far wall over control of one of the portable microphones which have been moving from hand to hand and mouth to mouth randomly throughout the day in the auditorium. We are waiting for a pair of technicians to fix an intermittantly buzzing microphone which is connectioned to the speaker's stand, where I wait, facing the looks and judgements of this astutely scientific audience. The head of one of the technicians bumps against my knee, bumps my knees again, bumps again. Nothing is said. The hair transplant plugs on the technician's head are getting slightly mussed is all. I quickly backstep a short pace so the technician can rummage deeper in, under the speaker's stand, reaching far in to a tangle of cables Otherwise there is a real heavy duty L O N G silent P A U S E. 'My opening statement seems to have had the impact of a loud fart in church', is a quiet thought that strays in from someone else's thoughts, and that almost makes me laugh out loud. Not really. It is not really quiet, depending on how I look at it. Smiling to myself. Gee whizz is time ever passing slowly. Wonder who thought about the fart in church. My attention lapses a little further afield, drifting a little further from the present Time and Place and Space in the movement in consciousness. Gotta stay stable. As we all continue to wait, I imagine the big load of illustrations and disclosures cradled in my arm being passed out, a copy to each person. Then after everyone has had a serious good look at the three self evident Illustrations which I've just (along with the copies of the disclosure) imaginarily handed them, I can imagine what comments might be forthcoming. For instance it is easy to imagine the scot saying; "Aye smoooth, verrry lean on co-incidences". But the PhD of very Moslem extraction would be saying something more like; "Indeed no surely yes indeed I won't bother thinking this about THAT. Praise Allah. Surely indeed no. I am a master of eclipses already, you see". Sooner than soon my reverie completes a nosedive toward a downhill spill right into the pit, because I begin to imagine bigger point loosers. For instance the dogma controllers of the ivory tower might say; "what's THIS! THIS is a JOKE, of COURSE!"; and turn their copies hard over to see if there is a formal presentation on the back. The fund grunting chief from the federal government will probably say; "Right! got it! you CAN'T be serious"; with eyeballs pinging rapidly around the room to several others, who, who, get it. The perpetual scholar with the bright right eye will say, "Is your's an open or closed universe, of ten dimensions, or more? Or have you thought about it yet?", the eyeball aglitter with conceit. The god Oden heavy in the ethers with THAT right eye. And the secretary sitting with the hand tooled briefcase in the front row might say; "Why again eclipses? It's already been done. Look at all the rows of books in the library. Unless there is something YOU know the books don't". I have looked at over 200 hundred books in a row in a university library and know that not a single one, knows what I KNOW, about eclipses. Just thinking about all those books and what they DON'T contain, jars me aware, suddenly. But what the hey. All of these random thoughts are being provoked by stray thoughts impulsed from other people in the room. Shifting abruptly out of the fantasy, I can see that the silence of the awkward pause in the auditorium is growing pronounced, intermezzoed by crude noises from the short circuiting microphone, as technician Number 1 continues to fuss and fume furiously in a corner behind me. While technician number 2, who was rummaging under the speaker's stand, is gone. Can't figure out what might be wrong, is the first technician's problem. Suddenly OUT LOUD a dutch pipe smoker in the audience whose bike is parked, no, let me be more precise, is chained to a lecture table in the hall outside the auditorium glass doors so that I can clearly see it's spiderwire frame from here, speaks. This person enthusiastically says out loud; "Congradulations I loved your paper I was particularly impressed by the way you showed how such randomness in the Moon can lead to more amazing co-incidences. Nobel Prize for sure, if you can verify your concepts". The pipe goes back into the mouth slowly, then wags up and down rapidly, after a click. "Just wait a sec", I respond aloud, index finger up. I never intended anything so ridiculous as that! But (as its been turning out) such comments as these have been par for the course although few in coming during the weekend, thus far. Even after experimenting with certain prevailing attitudes by passing out exactly a dozen full copies of my disclosure at random around several tables during breakfast yesterday morning - passed them out like handbills only these came thick - I'm still impatient with those who get it part way, and start making jokes about the Nobel Prize, as if such jokes are a secret password into science. I've come to the opinion that the secret is that Nobel Prize jokes are rarely really funny. Just joking for the hell of it. And everyone HAS to laugh. And none of the jokers will ever win a Nobel Prize. Which is why so many get away with the jokes. The first two Nobel Prize jokes were duds, I thought, because nobody laughed. And then as it happened two people at one of the breakfast tables quickly fanned the copies I'd given them and said; "Way over my head"; and; "Not my expertise"; handing the copies right back. One of them worked in an observatory studying, would you believe it, eclipses. These two then immediately departed the table boisterously making jokes to each other about winning the Nobel Prize. A third person still at the table said; "Not in the mood"; and continued slowly shaking heaps of salt on their bacon and eggs. Thank god they didn't heap salt on their pancakes. Although some salt spilled onto the buttered toast. After breakfast I rescued three more copies of my disclosure from where they'd been pitched together in a waste basket. Another copy had been scattered across the lawns and into the trees by one of the quick thunderstorms. So it I had to gather and pitch wet and wadded into a Glad garbage bag. I'd seen another copy being used by one of the media in the audience, as scrap paper with symposium comments being scrawled on the back, page after page. This particular person was an alcoholic with a physical look 20 years older than genetic clock time, fingernails chewed to the quick, wouldn't speak to me, "Busy, buzz off", they said, scrumpling up one of my pages and pitching it to the floor. They didn't know that these sheets with brand new gravitational physics on the front were from me. They didn't know the physics was brand new and genuine. Their main interest was in a young genius named Pee Wee Bong Bong. We are STILL waiting. We are still WAITING for the microphone to get fixed. Me still standing along at the podium in front of the auditorium. Mood is getting figity. But the secretary is starting to look puzzled, looking around the auditorium with more alert eyes; puzzled, perhaps, by the gist of me standing at the podium straight faced but feeling like a turkey with lips peeled back waiting with nothing whatever to do for several minutes. We wait everybody growing distracted. I don't repeat DON'T want to pick my nose in public so instead I rub it vigorously with the back of my wrist, head bent forward, let's pretending as if having an important thought. In this pose I glance casually sideways to one of the master copies on top of the stack of disclosures cradled in my arm. "What's THIS! It's as if my eyeballs grow foward into two space tubes and a round grow on the master copy glows. I peer upon a brand new bright fly speck SMACK on my master copy of Illustration 8. The dot specks a niche, changing it to a meaningless squibble. With a minimum of fuss I am able in haste to inspect one of the photocopies. No, the speck is not on the photocopies, fortunately. (Amplified shocks through the adrenaline are sensations I definately don't need and can't use, plus the effects can be hard to get rid of, especially if others feel the effects leaking across the 4th dimension from myself in such a way as to get power amplified by negative feedback from others). Ah well it is mid summer, working day and night on the master copies, with a single 60 watt desk lamp, little bugs have been staggering aplenty around my work surface, getting sandwiched between pages, squashed on my best drawings. And fly specks appear the moment my back is turned. A funny thing about flys is they easily avoid a red fly swatter but don't seem to see yellow coming. You can swing till you are futile with a red fly swatter, cursing your bad aim, wondering if these flys have been genetically engineered to have skyhigh I.Q's. Till one day you accidentally discover that a yellow fly swatter gets 'em every time', so effortlessly that you begin to feel guilty for the poor little buggers, lying on their backs, feet curled up in the air, after one deft flick of your wrist, over the shoulder with a yellow fly swatter... Holy smoke the moderator is waving the palm of a hand practically straight in my face trying to get my attention. SILENCE in the auditorium seems thunderous because the loud buzz and whumps from the microphones have abruptly STOPPED. WOW! WOW! I can feel an interdimensional squeeze closing right in on the glands in my brains; actually certain energy centers of consciousness; as the full audience bores their thoughts in on me, as I stand here in a hyper present come-to, instantly on the alert to get my act together. Upon this moment is a tendency to physically lean to the left, so heavy is the load on my right brain hemisphere from the sudden mental pressures of the audience. It doesn't take long for me to catch on. And then it takes only a few long seconds of indwelt investigations to monitor other actions in my head, throat area; (I decide to go more thorough); chest, solar plex region, groin, even the knees, to determine that there is nothing wrong with me and that the discomforts, and the tendency to lean to the left at this moment, are audience caused, by the audience's mental pressures. It takes two quick adjustments to get free. The first takes only a tenth of a second, a snap which disconnects a frequency. The reaction is strong, feeling like an elastic band snapped between the eyebrows. Following then, an adjustive jump deliberately made in the heart center reverses a crucial flow foward again, to an outward movement from the former insidious inwardly flowing downsink. And finally, to modify the burn of hostility I feel in my mind as akin to a couple of tiny hot spot fires like mini headaches of toothache frequency, eminating from the more aparthied minded negative stinkers amongst the audience. I pass PINK light through for several seconds, struggling briefly to hold steady on the pink color till the dam bursts and the audience as a whole, plus part of the surrounding area's population, begin to accept the pink ionnic radiation. Its the kindest thing I can think of to do at this moment in time. All of this takes place in the space of a few bodily moves as I re-organize a few things on the speaker's stand, and adjust the mike sticking out from the stand, so it doesn't broadcast my breathing. The question now is where to resume my presentation to these scientists and attendent media, and beyond them the public. A final impulse to be arm wrestled out of my emotions, is not to be queered by the obvious realization that all of this PAUSE has been uneccessary. When the microphone from the speaker's stand had packed it in as I made my opening statement - I know why the microphone crapped out, by the way - I could have just as easily proceeded without electronic amplification (or used one of the portable microphones from the audience) and kept right on with my introduction. Instead, as I was reaching for a portable mike being passed toward my hand, the auditorium's engineer had interferred. And the moderator summarily had waved the ongoing to a standstill. That, plus the fact, that upon my opening statement a bystander, actually a favored guest at the symposium no need for me to say who, had jerked as if struck on the inside by an earthquake, knocking a coffee cup onto a T.V. camera when first I spoke, and my microphone quit at the terminal end, not by spouting sparks but in a rasp that lasted for nearly three deafening seconds. Such as these events are reactions to the field I can carry. This is when I became very alert against impending negative reactions, that is, psychic attacks, both. Now all of this is in the past. I have the official nod. And so what will I do. Start before the finish is what I decide. Start over again, in other words. Since this was my initial intuition when the stall first began, I presume, under the present circumstances, all things concidered, that this initial intuition is the one most on track with Reality. In this moment I've also monitored a couple of other things, including a false feeling of confidence. It is part of the aura which exudes from so many conceited audience members. With it, a phony euphoria wafts from their false confidence. This is what has been causing me to swoolie around the pools of worthless fantasies and escape from present place, through the PAUSE, instead of holding stable in the here and now in the face of the audience. That's a simple way of putting it. The fraudulent conceit factors and the phony euphorias it can endgender is one of the main dangers polluting this planet. But to get on with purposes. I begin afresh, by re-introducing my original 'opening statement' and this apparently catches most everyone by surprise. In front of me, I center the 'opening statement' written on a napkin. And in a voice that would be loud and clear even without the power amps of the mike, I say; "FOR THE SECOND time, so you can't MISS IT, HERE WORD FOR word is MY OPENING STATEMENT. The statement IS AS follows: "THIS, for THE FIRST TIME SHOWN on this world, is the EARTH's radii, the MOON'S RADII, the MOON'S MEAN OF ORBIT, the EARTH'S ECCENTRICITY as well as ORBIT, and the SUN'S RADIUS, ALL CALCULATED interconnected together in a SINGLE STATED FORMULA. The INTERPLANETARY DATA IS ACCURATE RIGHT DOWN TO THE HIGHT OF the TREES ON EARTH, SO TO speak. These RADII AND ORBITS ARE INSTANTLY CALCULATED BY TERMS IN AXIOMS OF GEOMETRY". Ouch! Ouch! A technician abruptly turns the amps down instead of up more, to more tolerable levels. (From the first words I'd realized the artificial gain was at preposterous levels and I'd been trying to flag a young technician wearing giant earphones to get reasonable. I'd voiced down and was virtually whispering at the point my voice was booming in the auditorium at its loudest. Its what you get when eager young specialists use disco equipment for loudspeakers. But now as I speak aloud the volume settles in to a good comfort zone. "Here it is right now, on page, on this sheet of paper I am holding out to you. (I hold up a copy of Illustration 8A). There are no text books or any library on the planet which has such prior illumination. Anyone who claims otherwise is lying! Not even your most far out movie makers or science fiction writers have ever tried to tell you what I have just told you, seconds ago, about eclipse structures!" This completes the contents of the napkin, front and back. I scrumple it up and stuff it in my pants pocket next to my identification holder, and, uh, clear my throat, getting ready. "Heav-vy", someone mutters. There is no other responses. Yes these are extreme times calling for extreme measures. I'm aware that some of those present must think I'm a crank, due to the introductory hard push at this moment in time. The hard push is because, so far at this weekend symposium, a humilitudinous approach hasn't worked at all in trying to get some sort of message across. There are several here who seem importantly humble but these are well known characters, prestigeous, in the company of well known collegues who stick close together when passing through a door. In the meantime I'm also aware that I'll have to borrow money for gas to drive the old Olds sedan back to my cabin tonight. At least I'm through the starting gate. It has taken all this time since stepping to the speaker's stand just to get through the first negative blocks, and that says a lot for the scientific condition of this planet. Now, a pregnant silence lingers through the realm. There is a hush, with no murmer, no stamping of feet. It appears I may be home free to be able to continue to give a few explanations in brief about my disclosure's contents. I get the drift that nobody can tell if I've just set them up for an outrageous science fiction story, or am going to be serious in ways that might proove VERY embarrassing to certain socially prominent scientists. The fact that my opening statement actually stated facts will no doubt tick many off. The fact that I never got an A in physics might tick off the rest of them. Let alone a degree. Or even passed first year. Passed high school physics on the third try. Passed high school math on the second try. Went to university as a creative writer. Some of my best known small journal publications were failed by the Creative Writing department head, ending my academic interest but that is neither here nor there think I bailing out of the planet's thought stream like spew from the mouth of a police state mentality. The listeners are waiting for me to say something. I go ahead and say; "The question is in asking yourself WHERE, when the Earth is at the mean of its orbit, EXACTLY does the Moon locate during an eclipse of the Sun. The Moon physically turns up just inside its own Mean of orbit. WHERE, then, is the Moon when the Earth is at Aphelion? And at the Perihelion of the Earth's orbit? It turns out that the Moon shifts either way, for Earth's aphelion and perihelion of eccentricity, by only a token, by no more than TWICE the Earth's own RADIUS, ie. the Earth's diameter. And that is where the curiosity has to start, because you already now have new useful information. In fact, there is a bigger, more profound, metaphysical system, hidden in the existence of this solar system's Total Eclipses, one accurate enough to calculate the actual polar and equatorial radii of the Earth and the Moon, no less, as well as the radii of Venus, Mercury, and Mars". "By ignoring the side tangents of traditional eclipses and going straight to right angles forming perpendiculars along a base line through gravitational points of centers of the bodies involved, when you balance the facts so the Moon shifts along the base line by whole increments exactly the equal of Earth radii, as the Earth's gravitational centerpoint shifts exactly to its three eccentricity focal points along the same base line, the eclipses become PERFECT. Perfect means quantally exact. Oh yeah, first you ADD one radius of the Moon to the Moon's mean of orbit, THEN deduct one, two, and three Earth radii in the Moon's orbit along the base line to position the Moon, as you first shift the Earth's centerpoint exactly to the Earth's Perihelion, Mean, and then Aphelion of solar orbit. Knowing this, a whole other hyper active apparatus throughout this system of planets and the Earth's Moon begins to resolve into place in consciousness..." "You mean revolves in place", a voice with a wrinkled grin calls out cutting me off and triggering a fake audience response of about 7 on the Richter Scale of laugh value, the kind of a laugh to indicate the owner of the interrupting voice is SHARP. "No", I say. "We are now dealing with a new illumination of phantom and Empirical Steady State Solar Infrastructure Eclipses in a Quantum Gravity Structure, including multiple planet schemes of many such eclipses, in straight line phantom conjunctions all the way out to the orbit of Mars. Orbital motions, masses, and tilts, are not terms in the metaphysics of such structures. The truth itself is in simple geometric proportions of understucture configurations". I turn a page of my notes without bothering to look down, since I am not reading them anyway. At this point I am .... 'ad libbing'. "Mass and orbital tilts are NOT a factor. The thermodynamic solar system is superimposed upon a more absolute blueprint which has inherent constant images throughout a certain realm within it. Or should I say there are more fundamental metaphysics easily seen by knowing the laws, rather than seen by the physical eyes. More to the point..." In the rapidity with which someone holding one of the portable microphones cuts me off I don't have a chance to finish. They hop right on it; "I heard you mention: 'The Earth Moon Metaphor For Sub Atomic Phenomena'. Does that have anything to do with this stuff you are spouting now"? At this instant someone else leaps in, over another portable mike, loud and clear saying very slowly, each word chosen as if chisled in iron; "During the weekend you've used the phrase 'from the maker of gravity'. What IS the point of your thesis, then"? (Whoah, I haven't been thinking loudly enough, it seems). "Certainly not astrology, I, er, we hope here give me that mike", interjects another voice. This time I see who it is because of a slight commotion back against a rear wall. Before I can respond, someone, (one of the media with a lapdog portable computer, head bent looking latently into it), reads: "The key question is, is there any relevant significance to the question of the meaningcies of your conjectures, relevant to the real question, which is, are they viable when..." "Did you ever get a grant"; calls out the original quip voice. "Yes I did. I had to go on welfare to finish this project", quip I, back. A snicker flicks across the audience as if recurring through different regions of space simultaneously. I won't say there are a few groans in it but I know full well that there are those who will not want to appreciate my financial circumstances in a kind way. Someone else cuts off the twitter by calling out in an unseen voice, "more to the point, how many places have you TRIED to get your work published? Have you consulted with any authorities, you know, reputable scientists"? Holy smoke, I've hardly opened my mouth and already there is this! I only finished my working draft a few days ago out at the the one room cabin (all I can afford) at the lake I've been calling home. Even so the resulting fake audience response wavers between a laughter of 7 and 8. The words 'reputable scientist' must have several funny conotations, it would seem. I can hear myself aroused to where I'm saying to the large assembly; "...Slow down and listen for a minute. The principle of a steady state gravitational picture image is a fundamental geometry. This is not a thesis which I'm trying to introduce. It is not a mathematical game. I am not here to further a career. I don't have a career. (I hold up copies of Illustrations 7, 8, and 8A). Here are self evident truths right in front of you, RIGHT UP THERE in the SKY. And now the same in your own Earth-found languages right here on these pages. (I wave the pages in the air - unfortunately to some it must have looked like a preacher waving a bible). And yet the more I ... announce ... the more I proceed ... the more I'm contending with presumptions and errors on your part. But I didn't come here to proclaim or be in contention. If its proclamations you want go across the street to the temples and tabernacles and you'll get all the proclamations you could ever wish for about lords who take telephone calls direct to heaven and give you rewards with sex and other diabollicals dependent on how much you donate to a particular preacher". Oh Oh there is a problem. Before I can shift spit out of the way to the back of my mouth in preparation for getting back on track with my disclosure, another more professional type is fast on their feet with a loaded question, again through one of the portable microphones over top of the fading echoes of my own voice, saying; "I'm reading from notes. You are being quoted as having said; 'Is this all a farce, a fable, magic numbers only, are these the factors of strange co-incidences, a few illusionary grand gestures performed as accidents by fitfull gods, make believe rulers of the heavens, the kind of gods this world has MADE and who LOOK for a good war, prayer seeking fiercly independent personalized icons obnoxiously playing dice with your intelligence? Or do the Supreme Creators have at command far reaching standards as their casual straight edge and compass? The evidence compellingly should suggest to you that straight edge and compass is the rule for the Supreme Creators and Family, and not the exception, even in something so mundane as solar gravity, even when in an outer arm of a giant spiral galaxy with a yellow Sun as commonplace as Sol'. What in HELL do you MEAN, 'the Supreme Creators are totally unlike THOSE KINDS OF GODS FOR WHOM MAN WARS!'", asks the person, with amplified resonances pounding ego slam into every word. The words, the way they are uttered, surround the spaces in this place like psychic judo chops, with the kind of stink that can kill kind thoughts in an instant. Right on top of this comes another query: "Are you a member of a cult"? This last, from a front row seat, is made with the oily pride in voice of having been the only one here, to be the very one TO BE intelligent enough to ferret out an ingenious cover to expose another's scam for what it is, for instance me, I assume instantly. And don't answer. 'Wow', I think. I'm more than a little taken aback by this multi pronged attack, so soon after starting the preliminary explanations of my disclosure about the existence of Perfect Eclipses in REALTY. I don't know how to respond to this manner of attack. In fact I'm having a bad time remembering the quotes, supposedly mine, except they might have been said when elbow rubbing in casual chit chat yesterday afternoon with a group of people taking a cigarette break along the rocks by the waterfall, under the open sky between thunderstorms. And I can remember that some of them had tape recorders going and I wondered why but I wasn't being interviewed we were chitchatting and now I remember sensing that one of them might have been a secret agent in disguise, wearing a tee shirt with "Give Me Five!" as its slogan. It seems the best thing for me to do at the moment is to shut up, and let the cold vibes pass. The moderator intervenes at this moment, saying with painted authority: "Please, you may proceed with your brief presentation". So I do, but before I can, someone else calls out in a weak voice unamplified by either distance or the aid of one of the portable microphones; "Who are you? What are your credentials? Surely indeed yes you havn't even told us ANYTHING about your degrees, or what university you come as. Perhaps it would be helpful to serve the congress, here, if you re-iterated again what your degrees are, and where you are in publications, yes?" Very Moslem colors in the face and expressions of THAT speaker. It seems for sure that the members of this scientific community don't want illumination served on a platter. Fortunately by now my normal inner peace is starting to come back. I'm intuned more stably single minded to the purpose at hand, as it happens. And so .... I reply in seriousness; "I'm sorry but so many of you keep barking up wrong trees. In the first place, there isn't any publications with me in them at the moment. (Not even a snicker). What's more, I'm not sure I like having words insinuated right into my mouth". (Again it is time to shift the stack of copies cradled in my left arm to a more confortable grip, giving fatigued muscles some time off. I have been standing here the whole time with a stack of manuscripts, cradled in my arm). And continue; "Specifically, I have no degree. What credentials should I have. And no, I do not come from a university. I am here, myself, in the flesh. I stand here saying these things only to set some planetary records straight". And resume my presentation; "With that said, I should now like to go back to my urgent purpose in coming here. In continuing, I would like to reveal something about Golden Eclipses in the Jovian group of planets, as you look from one planet past the adjacent planet to the Sun, and wonder what size of object in that second planet's orbit would eclipse the Sun when both planets are at aphelion, mean, and perihelions of their orbit. These Quantum Gravity Eclipses are again ideally at right angles; slice the objects in half, and the cross sectional faces are the significant diameters. For instance, amongst the Jovian planets, for each and every given eccentricity local point in orbit, not solid objects, rather, eclipse apperatures are found in phantom states, having the parameters of being constant steady state images, found in the form of focused windows which Flex, i.e. vary incrementally in size, according to the exact eccentricic point locations of, for instance, Jupiter, from Saturn, in focus with the Sun. The amount of Flex is a definable pattern. Whereas the apperatures themselves ALL APPROXIMATE the size of the ORBIT of the Earth's MOON. None approximate the size of the orbits of any of Jupiter's Moons, or Saturn's moons, for instance. Only the size of the orbit of the Earth's MOON". I don't know why I would have wanted to say anything so FUNNY. Even though hilarious had been far from my mind I find myself grinning along with everyone else in the roar of disbelief that suddenly roars as if soaring through the ceiling of the auditorium. The roar of sound had began with a crack of laugh. Feeling promisculously impulsed by the laughter, I boot things along by saying; "Okay, then, how about focused windows for model Suns as when the Sun is projected into the orbits of Saturn, or Uranus, or Neptune, for instance, and such eclipses are looked at in reverse, from the solar center, out to those model Suns". It isn't so bad being laughed at. There is a rejuvinating feeling which comes in the warmth of any laughter that is strong enough to be heartfelt. Amid the rounding off of the roar, a somehow confident voice speaks; "What... (a hush)... what the heck does 'Hyper Present' mean? I heard you mention it a couple of times yesterday afternoon out by the waterfall. You were asking a person in an orange tee shirt if the YEP! on it stands for "Yesterday's Established Practices'". This gets a chuckle from much of the audience. I, intuiting that the comment was meant more as a chuckle for the audience than as a question for me, so leave it be, but enjoy the moment, smile, while collecting thoughts for resuming the disclosure. This person who has just spoken is Pee Wee Bong Bong who I'm aware is associate in one of the top ranking theoretical high energy physics institutes, and in the fast lanes of the ivory tower, with many friends sitting in the auditorium, which is why the audience chuckles so readily. It is rumored that Pee Wee Bong Bong has just finished a new theory that 'Solves The Solar System' - whatever that's supposed to mean - and is working on a broader theory that should 'Subdue The Universe'. From what I remember from popular science slicks oh, say, two years ago, Dr. Pee Wee Bong Bong was thought to have solved everything then, but this year has decided to change everything, touching off a mad scramble amongst associates to try to catch up. It is rumored that Dr. Bong Bong is so advanced, that Bong Bong's documentations don't HAVE to be secretly backdated. The emphasis on HAVE is how I heard it said on T.V. last week in a news brief hyping this symposium. Something that Bong Bong does that I don't see causes another vigorous uproar, a vortex which livens things in fully the whole right half of the auditorium. This is the left side of the auditorium from where I see it, not in a mirror but in converse, physically faced to them. All I can do is wait, patiently. Soon enough the uproarious manner runs its course. But before I can get a word in edgewise (about more salient natures in the JOVIAN Golden Eclipses), an earlier questioner now stands to their feet to say in the earnestness of one who is truly asleep but thinks they are very wide awake, that they would be more inclined to believe when they can see my evidence in an official journal, even a thin journal with very limited circulation, if I would simply say which publication, they even might have it already in their own personal library. Now that was dumb, I think, catching myself quickly before the thought leaks too far. It is now obvious that a catch 22 situation is interfering with the mass consciousness here. Not wishing to further the conundrums I decide the thing to so is to make a frontal attempt to try and break the crystallizations in the thought frequencies from the millions of thought impulses a second that are interfering direct from the mass consciousness of the planet's population at large. This requires that I delve into more personal experience levels, something I hadn't planned to do. Nevertheless, lifting a pad from amongst the few sheets spread on the speaker stand, I quickly scan its notes to refresh my memory. And when ready - only seconds have actually passed since Dr. Bong Bong spoke - I begin with: "Okay, let's leave the Solar Golden Eclipses aside for the moment and concider something else. It pertains to prevailing attitudes. This morning I was pulled aside in the outside alcove by an individual who announced they were on the adjudication board of a major theoretical journal. The person said they had not read a copy of my text, nor seen Illustrations 7, 8 and 8A although I'd given this person copies along with all of the text yesterday - then this smiling person proceded to volunteer free advice, which I've now got printed out from the recorder cookie and shall read as follows; ' ...if you want to have any hairbrain ideas published wouldn't you be better off providing a proof of your thesis? You'd be better off trying to get an abstract published in one of the official monthly reports on new abstracts that comes out once a month so that someone like me might be intrigued enough to read it, if the abstract intrigues me enough. Besides, it can take up to seven years to get a page published in the journal of an international mathematics society, providing you have enough funds to pay for the page. It might be easier to get yourself on one of the nut computer networks; you won't be able to break in on the established networks; if you feel you have to be heard. My worst problems come from ambitious late starters and clamoring outsiders who while away their days inventing new gravity theories by the hundreds, and crocks about the electron, subverting good solid physics not to mention the laws of the universe, with...'". Suddenly, that very same person to whom I've been referencing shoots to their feet (I know his name by now, its Dr. Sharples) proclaiming; "but... but... this is stink... as I succinctly pointed out this morning, you... you... haven't even explained your theory about why you think it exists in the first place"! Bingo! Unfortunately. Back to square one, the assumption that I'm supposed to have a theory. But I have patience. I reply; "What theory. I don't have a theory". Silence strikes like a thunder, as a fake audience response shuts down to zero. That same person moves forward a couple of isles and calls out; "Slow down there, pal, you say your FACTS aren't an invention, you say your FACTS mean something ..." (fake audience response seems to cut hard at point 1, about enough to register heartbeats and swallows) "...or are you saying they don't mean anything at all"? (The fake audience response sound level returns with a soft whoop and levels at about 4. It is not a healthy laughter because there are obvious cynicals in the overtones). I answer straight across to the center of the auditorium; "Are you still talking about the Illustrations"? "What illustrations"? is the person's response. "The ones I gave you yesterday morning at the breakfast table, the Perfect eclipses", reply I, holding up my master copies of Ilustrations 7, 8, and 8A. For some reason the fake audience response jumps all the way to 10. "Well, SURE, pal, you can't go around making crocks and offering it as physics, that's... that's bullshit, its a brand of nothing... its twaddle, its... its real dumb"! Oh oh now a doubtfull audience response begins to orbit to around about 2 point 6 on the video cassette meter. It is because this person (heard it at lunch in banter about high I.Q.'s) having a well known high I.Q. of 196 plus, now wants to demonstrate a functional I.Q. of about 95. Some collegues have begun to twist in embarrassment in the assembly. The conclusion is unmistakable, something about this person is clearly backfiring in the auditorium. Meybe it is because I've accidently violated what was intended to be this person's friendly albiet conceited help in giving me bad advice good enough for Bo Bo. Meybe it is environmental paranoia at a root frequency, loss of reputation via mere association, or peer pressure, et al. On the other hand I also suspect a more sophisticated basic reason. That this person is TOO specialized. According to the symposium spreadsheet this mental giant is one of the world's leading experts in astrophysics including the phenomena of solar sub-nuclear theories plus solar eclipses, has just published revised edition Number 17 containing among other new works re-thought out engineering principles on how to manually observe the solar corona during an eclipse from a longtitude of 54.32 degrees, a latitude of 67.68 degrees, and an altitude in space of 246 kilometers. The revised book having a whole new cover with book jacket added, is being presented to all space shuttle navigators at an official ceremony Sunday evening after the symposium closes, autographed by the author. An archbishop will bless the presentation. A high school choir is to sing the national anthem. A President and a visiting Prime Minister will be here, because this person has also become a keystone scientific advisor to the industry of higher education. It is not wise to rattle such a powerful keeper of the cage. "Your eclipses suck"! that individual says, sitting down. Things are definately taking a turn not to the worst but to the ridiculous. That unpredictable X factor. I look to the moderator, who doesn't look back at me. The moderator is in fact at the moment ducking down below eye level of the podium to fiddle proposterously with a power cord, puffing with the effort. Looking around the modern auditorium confirms that a peer pressure paralysis is crackling out in the open along the aisles. A real bad flash can be felt, slowly epiphanating through the ethers. I am doing what I can to hold my emotional connections together steady and stable. And so here it is, I am left alone, a suspect dropped in the crunch like a hot potato. And yet anticipating that the frontal attempt will work in time as intended, (because I'm obviously not working alone), to help dissolve several of the more crystalized thought frequencies of this very regressed planet. The most incredible thing is that I know that the principle of the metaphysics in gravity is perfect, and anybody's consciousness is opened wide the moment the realization of the truth of Perfect Eclipses is taken in. The solar system did NOT accrete, randomly, as dust, in someone's thought hallucinations. It was created by CAUSE. Besides that, in this whole weekend I haven't yet had much chance to mention any major details, such as the many phantomly Perfect Eclipse states between Earth and Venus, for instance. So PERFECT that measures as small as the difference in size between Venus's polar vrs its equatorial radii turn up as being openly apparent. Even Mercury. These radii are right there, right out in the open, in the mathematics, pinpointed as the end results of constant steady state gravitic vibrations. Anyway, my alloted five minutes for presentation are officially over gee whizz I never did have a chance to hand out the photocopies cradled in my arm. Over ten minutes have passed. And I haven't yet got to the key equations. And won't, it looks like. The science symposium is fast embarking on a new regime with a different tempo. There is restlessness in the magnetic vortex, and a lot of murmer, with crisp wasps of emphasis, seat to seat, person to person, on every subject it seems but eclipses. The T.V. cameras are being relocated, the bum camera with the coffee spill is being carted out on someone's stooped shoulders. And quite a few people are starting to up and leave. The whole thing seems to have just, fallen apart! Talk about being able to empty a room! I clear the speaker stand of paper and go over to stand by the brick wall, because it is easy to stand there, out of the way of the T.V. cameras. Following a somewhat difficultly manouvered waggled nod and eyeglint from over the lip of the podium by the tense-faced moderator who then continues flubbing the dub amongst the tangled broadcast cables, one of the more importantly treated guests, a representative; this time of the east/west nuclear wars liason dissolvement committee; shifts their big body getting ready to speak. Importance exudes in the very manner. Everybody already knows this former statesperson cum famous opinion speaker is against anything of low military value and has been getting extra press in the newspapers lately, or so it was being said earlier at the donut table. The person rises, proceeds to the speaker's stand, sifts papers, adjusts eyeglasses, clears their throat from a mightily conjested Taurus center and after several attempts phlegm hits the glottal stop with a sticky sounding fop!, amplified preposterously by the disco system. A young operator yanks off a pair of giant earphones with a painful yelp. The writer sifts papers one more time, adjusts eyeglasses, looks to the podium, pauses, clears the throat one more time this time hucking a gooey quietly into a hanky, sifts papers one more time, grips the speaker's stand, and raising the head begins; "MY FELLOW CITIZENS... " Well, who is paying attention at the symposium. PART TWO INTERLUDE 1 컴컴컴컴 컴컴컴컴컴컴 My bit at the symposium had started out as good fortune. A kindly contact at the science council had told me about it coming up. The contact mentioned that outsiders could make new presentations in five minute briefs. So, thinking a bit, I invested a few dollars in a long distance phone call to the symposium directors from a pay phone. Turned out this year no one had registered to give a brief, scared off by the serious military intensity of this year's symposium apparently. So the officials were happy to hear me calling from out of nowhere saying sort of, 'can I', 'me too' but politely and very formally of course. Specifically I had been invited to attend for the purpose of giving a brief presentation. It was said I'd be welcome to stay as a guest for the whole weekend, an unusual liberty concidering the high powered ivory tower nature of THIS particular annual session, because I would be fullfilling the off-the-wall portion of their program. But I had no money. Yet, still more good fortune seemed to mira- culously come my way. It turned out that a chartered bus was picking up a load of people from one of the universities so all I had to do was make it to the bus to be in the door of the symposium for the whole weekend. That is the story of how I got to attend an international class annual science symposium to make a brief presentation which turned out to be more than brief, it was almost non-existent, as far as getting some good news across to inhabitants of the planet. I'd been hoping to get some of the best highlights out onto the glass top table so to speak, but, umm, didn't. But I did meet a person named Dr. Particle who seemed to be interested. Dr. Particle came in on the last day for a few hours and was quickly hearing about me for obvious reasons, or so it was said to me with something of a sly look along with a friendly curiousity on Dr. Particle's features. Dr. Particle had stopped me outside the main lounge and into it we stepped, late in the afternoon, after my 'famous' debacle in the auditorium. Dr. Particle seemed genuinely interested in anything new, especially when I mentioned that such solar perfect eclipses as those I wanted to show reveal the existence of Quantum Gravity States in the solar system. I suggested these might prove to be a basis for usefully modelling certain things about elementary particles, even to the extent that (this was my intent) I might end up being able to show exact mass-energy states for many particles which at the moment have masses which can't be predicted directly, particularly not as constants. The problem was I knew they existed but it was my job as an on-planet observer to do the most very difficult work of figuring out how to present the information in a language, including mathematics, used by the planet. An odd thing happened as I was saying this: Dr. Particle went into a fixed stare, focusing at a region of space just about exactly a foot beyond where a nose would end. And when I stopped talking, Dr. Particle said without interrupting the pose; "Go on". Right then Dr. Particle was abruptly interrupted by Pee Wee Bong Bong who came swinging in on an angle through the door, skidding around and in on a tight circle on one foot, let go of the doorknob and glided in stocking feet across the waxed floor to a stop right in front of Dr. Particle's face. Snatched Dr. Particle's attention as if it was on a platter. And after a bit of fuss and protest Dr. Particle left with Pee Wee Bong Bong. Leaving me standing with an armload of disclosures still cradled in my arm in an empty room and not even a copy passed yet to Dr. Particle Dr. Particle did leave in a hurry. Something about a 'push warble effect' had just turned up in callibration tests of the new super conducting collider. This is the one that totally replaced previous plans with a smaller, far more energy effecient giant machine than ever planned before - until they saw how to REALLY use room temperature super conducting ceramics to not only trap hardware in rigorous tracking but particles too, finally overcoming the hard part in targeting elementary particles in direct head-on hits one at a time. They still had not been able to figure out how to actually use lazer light to push along particles in small areas so an old fashioned giant ring was being used for this super new device, about 54 Kilometers. 'Something is amiss in playland over in Mustard Ball Flats, er, the Valley', was all I heard Dr. Particle mutter as he got dragged off by Bong Bong. Shortly after that came the call up the hall for anyone listening. It was definately time for me to hop the last charter bus heading home, or at least to where my car was parked at the university, out of gas. PART THREE INTERLUDE 2 컴컴컴컴컴 컴컴컴컴컴� And so here it is still summer and not only have I not got to work on any of the mechanical projects, such as the FARSTAR computer model. There has been in effect a major continental recession again. Not only that, there has been a change in federal goverments with a surprise - a change in the philosphy of the population. The change can most easily be summarized by saying that people have become selfish with their money, motivated by the government's new practices which are to reward the rich and to give all favors to political insiders only. And in general spend spend spend, but only on self interests where it is most politically expedient. The word humanitarian seems to to have been striken from all letterheads originating from the government's head offices. Too bad. Nothing is being spent for creative purposes. Oddly enough, the most creatively intelligent seem to have become the bad guys of society virtually overnight, Deep distrust is the attitude by those who have hit the big time, with THIS government. I am back in my one room shack at the lake. But this time it is not a desparate situation as I am regarding it as something of a holiday, even tho I am working on some new harmonic relativity information around the clock, working till fatigued, sleeping till awake, and no interruptions. There are some nice things about this lake. Because of the recession people can't afford to run their speedboats and the Loons have moved back. One pair is actually holed up near the shore only a few hundred yards from my cabin. I am up on the shore on a bedrock uprising about 33 feet listening to the pair call each other, or, rather, talk about matters important to birds in bird talk. From here, the angle is ideal to catch the Sun, showing the effects of sunrise and sunset in the most spectacular ways possible. There is still the problem of the acid rain in the environment, however. But before I tell of that I want to report on something else. The first day out here I drank water from the tap at the sink in my cabin and raved about the delicious tasting water in comparison to the chlorine sobered stuff in the city where I was recently living. Later in the day the manager of the camping ground came around to see how things were going and pointed out, when first I raved about the delicious tasting water, that this was being pumped straight from the polluted lake. The water for drinking, it turned out, is an outside tap connected to a well behind the store. But, now, about the acid rain. About every four days my eyes start to sting and I have to splash warm water in them as fast as I can get to the sink. This effect is from the acid content in the humidity of the air wafting east from major industrial centers several hundred kilometers to the west and south. Not good for an environmental crisis. The polluters claim there is no pollution at all in the rural air. Meanwhile city officials are telling the population that the tap water in the city I've momentarily left behind is the best water the city has ever provided, one of the finest waters in the world, despite the fact that it turns brown when boiled, and daily beach closures along the river shore where the water comes from, and steady increase in raw sewage being dumped by more communities upriver. The bucks earmarked for new sewage treatment plants vanished when the new federal govenment was elected. Alert people are grumbling about the heavy chlorine taste in the city while the officials keep saying that the machines they use CAN'T put too much chlorine in the water. And people everywhere make jokes all the time now, even when swilling beer, about the organic and dioxin count which is become one of the highest anywhere. Otherwise most of the city's urban population seem to prefer to believe the city officials. PART FOUR INTERLUDE 3 컴컴컴컴� 컴컴컴컴컴� The voice on the tape I've just made, having walked around the small room talking, is distant, as if coming through an echo chamber, and is too wobbly at times. This is the problem with cheap walkman's, you never know what the recording quality might bring you. I let the last part of the tape play again, wondering if it is good enough to pass on to the contact at Dr. Particle's Headquarters. Through the window of the cabin I can see the pair of loons about a hundred meters from shore. They are conversing with another pair about 2 kilometers distant at the other end of the lake. The sound rappore between the two families of loons is nice in the evening to listen to. The sunset reflecting off the clouds and water has turned the world colored, hitting the high point of incredible. The mauve and magentas, orange and yellow colors are very stirring in a most peaceful way. Too bad the colors are due to high stratosphere dust from a volcano. The small dog sleeps with a paw across a bone. The chipmunk is back in the cabin stuffing its pouches using tiny paws like hands with nuts and granola from the little pile spread between my feet. Away the little friend goes out the door to stash the booty under the cabin. My attention comes back to the tapes: " ... the following new pages on gravitational relativity should be of extreme interest to astrophysicists, as well as cosmologists, and supergravityists, plus everyday people of the Earth public of course. "Astrologers too, for that matter. Such newsy solar and cosmological information as to be imminently shown, fairly EXUDES whiffs of an inner influence in what might be felt, living in gravity and magnetism, including the powerful magnetic vortexes known as cities, each with their own distinct personality. And the sense of inner heard sound - the hiss some people call the audible sound current - and a few call inductions; the hiss who others in dismay make trips to the doctor over: "Doc, Doc, you gotta tell me I'm not crazy tell me my ears ain't going bad Doc, but I swear I hear a high pitched hiss like a pissing inside my head sometimes, and sometimes ringing in my ears, especially the right one. Got any aspirins for THIS Doc? "The doc, being into the future in the present from more mundane matters smiles in a kind way but the patient doesn't know why. The patient thinks the doc might think them crazy, and the doc knows the patient is too crazy to understand the explanation for the hiss and the ringing. Yes any comments about Cosmic Inductions and the like might scare the patient off to a quack who only practices orthodox medicine. "The doctor is saying; 'Beer parlors, I think, do a good business over such dilemmas. But actually, in the real world, the hiss or piss can be high enough in frequency and power to be felt rather than heard. "This is not to say you are home free. Some wild stuff can come in on certain frequencies of that sound; stuff you can't use, don't need, and definately don't want. The thing is not to get psychologically disturbed about the stuff, because many people do. "The doc hopes the patient has got an understanding, now, or, at least, a better grasp of these everyday circumstances. And yes, prescribes a bottle of aspirin for the headaches that sometimes accompanies the hiss. "Oh, something else you should know before ever going back to the beer parlors. The body in quick slight jerks, localized jolts, and twitches in muscles, tugs you cannot do alone in your systems that not even yogi's in India can do in their prime or aspire to, these can be caused by exploding thought balloons, as you rest there drifting just before dipping into sleep. "The doc is pleased with the way the patient seems to be responding, knowing that, intuiting that, cadance and rhythm are part of the powerful new inductions coming in to uplift the planet". It is unfortunate. The voice on the tape is simply too garbled to be useably worthwhile, and I am going to have to forego the opportunity tomorrow morning, to pass on a request for something I can put on tape for some members of the wellwisher's contacts. The contacts will have to wait, er, if they are in fact waiting. I somehow doubt it. More like polite stalling is what my contact says is the case. I remove the cassette, casually pitch it into an open cardboard carton sticking out from under the bed. I think of casually pitching the walkman into the garbage can, then decide to hang onto it. Who knows, maybe someday I'll really need it for something important, as cheap as it is it's the only one I've got and who knows when I can afford something better, in THIS day and age on THIS planet. PART FIVE INTERLUDE 4 컴컴컴컴� 컴컴컴컴컴� ... ? is there more for this story in my notes? I seem to remember writing some stuff before, but it comes in like a dejavu, and has no details. Perhaps there was some more, in the notes which got lost in the house fire. Anyhow, tomorrow I am thinking of giving Dr. Particle a call, mow that I've got the hyperwaves solved between orbital distances and fragments in the cosmic realm of the solar system, and interlinking super high frequency recurrances of similar kind amongst the elementary particles. I can even show Dr. Particle a mechanical model which predicts a host of mass energy states for high mass mesons, the model built entirely upon a similar model occuring amongst the Perfect Eclipse states in the solar system, the only difference being that in the subatomic realm in factors relating to wavelengths, distances are reversed; a plus factor becomes a minus factor, and visa versa; between the cosmic and sub atomic recurrances of ionnic energy principles in the mighty Impact Vibrations of Reality. Oops! Oop!. The pot's got too hot on the stove. A sudden power surge has got the coil. I can hear rice kernals popping and spitting into singe, and see faint curls of smoke already amove in the cabin. Too bad, this was my last collage of anything to eat today, and now its going to have a difficult flavor. Oh well, I've eaten it singed before. Maybe I'll be lucky, maybe its only singed enough to have a slightly roasted taste. I've eaten that before too and kind of like it. I shouldn't walk around thinking so hard. But, I wonder what Dr. Particle's resonse is going to be when I call the oceon liner. How did you get here?, Dr. Particle might ask. By birth canal, I might reply, since you're asking you clearly didn't materialize up and running ready to do work from the 4th dimension. Actually, I came from the 6th dimension, but came the most direct but inefficent way possible, squeezed through a tiny cluster of genes into this fevered dimension, the 3rd. But that shouldn't stop anybody from getting it on, even you, Dr. Particle, oh, did I say something WRONG ? Yep. Nope. Meybe. Fantasies can be fun even if useless. But sometimes they can cause real problems, for instance ruining your dinner, boy you should taste the way this tastes, even fresh frozen peas are half black and crunchy after the power surge. Who am I talking to anyway. Nobody of course, just random thoughts straying around because I'm not really paying close attention. Hmmph. Well, enough of that. Nuts. I have a lot of internalizing to do if I am going to get all this static cleared away in advance before being able to penetrate down south into the thick of things, in chancing a visit to the offices of Dr. Particle and the builders of the Super Collider. One nice thing about being fed the static in advance to clear it, is that the result can be a rather enjoyable, if nonetheless urgent, adventure into one of the really strange realms of this incredibly disturbed but rapidly getting straightened around planet. We'll see, once I get down to the oceon liner. It would be nice to fly, but since I don't teleport yet, going by bus will have to do. I've got just enough money, including the pennies, to make the fare. Actually, this concoction called dinner isn't all that bad. It has that roasted taste to it which is kind of nice. Would have been better with more cheese, but, gave the rest to the dog who is a cheese freak and besides I know I don't like feeling selfish by not sharing. Besides, this time I suggested the little pal chew the cheese and the little guy did, teeth clacking, lips pulled back grinning, tail wagging in beat to the music on the FM radio. Yesterday the dog caught my attention, and as I looked, there was the little guy standing there with head slightly turned in concentration, tail beating away in 3/4 time in perfect synch with the music, beat twitch twitch, beat twitch twitch. There is something uplifting about a dog who makes such an effort. FINISHED 컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴� Originated 1987. Revised etc. etc. Oct. 1995. A very difficult story, revised many times through to the present incarnation of this story circ. Oct. 1995. As of this moment, circ. 1995, every concept in this story can be defended. Hint hint. Greydon Moore Who am I competing against. You figure it out. Email: farstar@storm.ca Site: accura-av.com/farstar.htm